I had to have a blood test last week. Not a big deal, right?
My Mum is notoriously bad about blood, needles, the lot of it. She considered not having a second child (me) because of how many blood tests she had to do whilst pregnant with my older brother. In the end, Mum discovered she was able to make it through a blood test - if they took it out of her foot.
I like to think I can handle it better than her, but that's giving me too much credit; during my bloodwork last week, I nearly blacked out. Maybe it was the 12 hour fast, maybe it was the ammount they had to take out of me, but after 2.5 tubes my arm dried up and I started seeing stars.
"You're going to be okay," said my nurse.
"No I'm not!" I wailed, fully prepared for my soul to exit my body.
This went back and forth a few times, before she let me lie down on the comfy floor for a bit. I must have made a lot of noise because Stecie, another nurse, came to check on me. I recall begging them not to leave me alone. I was able to salvage some of their respect, however, impressing one of the nurses with my ability to drink a glass of water lying flat on my back; "I've never seen that before," she said.
After a few minutes, still looking a ghastly shade of porcelain, they told me they wouldn't try and squeeze another half tube out of me, but suggested I wait in the lobby for a while still. I didn't have any snacks on me, so Stecie ended up giving me a muesli bar she was saving for morning tea: "It's okay, we only work 'til noon."
Belive it or not, this was after I was deemed well-enough to sit in the foyer.
Eating the nurse's lunch is something I may never live down. It's on me that I turned a routine test into a critical life or death scenario - but I think this also means I owe them my life.