I feel brave.

Those who know me may know of my fear of having blood drawn. It is incredibly difficult to communicate how truly traumatic this experience is for me. From the moment I hear I have to have blood drawn, I begin having palpitations, little mini-anxiety attacks that make my head swoon and my shoulders hug in to each other to protect myself from the fear. The actual moments leading up to the blood draw only increase my anxiety. I am a rational person. I know I will not die from a blood draw. It does not matter. I cannot control the reaction my body goes through once the process starts.

Arriving at the lab, I must always convince the phlebotomist that I am not overreacting, kidding, or being over-demanding. If I have someone with me (which I always try and do), I explain how they need to come in with me. Then the rest of my needs: I need to lie down; I need them to not tell me anything about what they are doing; I need them to put the blood out of my line of vision; I need them to try not to judge my ridiculous rambling attempts to distract myself with endless chatter; and oh yeah, if there is no one there with me, can you please just keep me talking about anything other that what is happening? Once I get past all of this, it just starts to get worse.

I not only hate blood draws, but on top of it, I have small, hard-to-find veins that every phlebotomist struggles to find. There is nothing so comforting as knowing that the person who is going to stick the needle in you can't find the place to stick said needle. They put the tourniquet on one arm, tappity-tap-tap, then the other, tappity-tap, then back again. Finally they say something calming like, "Well, we'll just try this one". They have no idea that they truly only have one chance to stick me, cause if they miss, they will never be allowed near me again.

At this point, my breathing is becoming shallow, I am talking my head off, and I feel the swabs and the poking, knowing that the needle is coming. And that is when it all goes to hell. Moments after I feel that little prick in my arm, it is like my life-force is being sucked from me. My head is full of tingling cotton balls. A deafening silence takes over my hearing, then the distant ringing sounds. I am cold, clammy, hot, and feverish. My face is now white, devoid of all color and feeling. And then I feel it coming; this approaching swirling blackness. I can't do anything to stop it. I am screaming inside my head for them to hurry up and stop. I panic. I try and not panic. It doesn't work. Just as I approach the abyss, I hear the only words that can start to bring me back: "Okay. All done. Do you need some juice?"

Believe it or not, it takes me longer to recover than it does for them to draw the blood. Ten minutes lying there. Drinking bad juice that is like licking the frozen concentrate straight from the freezer. Testing whether or not I can sit up without the woozies coming back. Eventually, I began to feel some semblance of my normal self again. And I can get up and walk out without falling flat on my face. I am still creeped out every time I notice the bandage and remember. It will linger and haunt me for the rest of the day.

Today, I had to have blood drawn. My doctor said I had to leave from her office and go get it done. I didn't have anyone to go with me for comfort and distraction. The amount of willpower it took to even get off the highway exit was astounding. I was talking myself out of it and back into it every other minute. Pulling into the driveway, I felt my heart start racing. Getting out of the car, my limbs felt like weights trying to keep me from moving. At the registration window, I was praying for the lab to be closed. It wasn't. I went in. I had my blood drawn. All by myself. I almost passed out, but I did it. And ten minutes later, I got up and walked out. I was truly proud of myself (and still creeped out).

I felt very brave.