not for the faint of heart

There’s something I haven’t told you. There’s something I’ve kept from you. Something that shames me more than my uncooperative ovaries and over sharing, combined. But because we’re all recklessly divulging our most vulnerable thoughts to strangers friends here in anonymous-blog-land, I am going to be nothing if not candid.

You guys – I faint when I get my blood taken. Not every time, but kind of a lot. Enough so that there was[1] a special note in my file that two nurses should be present whenever I have the privilege of giving blood, in case I, you know, go down. I cannot lie: the nurses were INCREDIBLY UNAMUSED by this requirement. Because on top of the 30 other hormonal pincushions they have to deal with in a very short period of time, very early in the morning, there’s this super high maintenance chick. *takes bow*.

Plus, I also have to contend with this incredibly demoralizing fact: C is basically a phlebotomist’s wet dream. Because he is a self-righteous saint has a rare blood type and is a glutton for punishment, C gives blood at every opportunity. Doesn’t flinch, keeps his eyes open, chats away – the color never even leaves his face. But I, well, I am a freak. On bad days, sweat starts pouring off me with brazen abandon and my until-now-quiet-stomach lurches into a volcanic frenzy. Within seconds, I’m down for the count. The nauseous, sweaty, count.

Suffice it to say that the news that infertility – on top of being a barrel of laughs – would also entail near weekly (and for one fantastic week, almost daily) blood draws, was not the highlight of my first meeting with the doctor. That and the fact that I like to think of myself – erroneously, of course – as a strong, capable woman. I mean, I can handle pain (sort of). I’m athletic. I’m (kind of) handy. But this, this – and, let’s be honest, my ahem, challenged, sense of direction – have reduced me to the stereotypically demure and fragile woman I never thought I was.

(And for those of you who are cringing/laughing-very-much-at-and-not-with-me/judging – yes, I know. This whole “fainting thing” is completely, 100%, without a doubt mental. And yes, I’ve tried having a glass of wine pre-7:00 am blood draw visualization and meditation and aligning my chakras. But it only kinda works. And only sometimes.)

Somehow though, for the last three blood draws, I have managed to remain upright and unsweaty – a major victory. I even graduated to a 1:1 ratio with the nursing staff. Who, following our last success, turned to me and, I am not kidding, said kindly, “you should be proud of yourself! You did great!” Which made me feel incredibly mortified, patronized and also mortified like I deserved a gold star and a toy.

Alas. Worry not my loyal readers, I will press on. I shall, once and for all, overcome this FIRST WORLD PROBLEM OHMYGOD WHO CARES adversity. In the meantime, please enjoy these fainting goats (which totally confirm that I am approximately six years behind every internet fad and “viral video.”).

---

[1] Spoiler alert: past tense! *spikes football*