Cowardly

It turns out I'm as much of a coward as I thought I was. Jonathan and I are doing a study and needed to have our blood drawn. I was not excited because I hate needles. I actually did OK on the first try. She poked my left elbow, and it hurt, but not a lot. Unfortunately, that vein was too slow. So she switched to the right elbow.

That was when things started going downhill. In retrospect, I probably should have looked away the entire time. It really hurt, which prompted me to look. The right vein was apparently so ready to give up its blood that not only was the phlebotomist able to pull all the blood she needed, but I also was bleeding internally and externally around the needle. I started feeling a tad (as in extremely) unwell. The phlebotomist instructed her assistant to run get me a glass of water. She told Jonathan to talk to me and me to put my head down. Apparently the only thing my husband could think of to say was "it's OK, sweetie." Very encouraging.

So the room swirled, my hands got all tingly, she finished taking all the blood she needed, I didn't pass out (by a narrow margin), and now I have a nice nickel-sized bruise on my left elbow and a three-inch long bruise on the inside of my right elbow. I'm starting to agree with Jonathan that this study is not worth it.