Don't Worry Ma, I'm only Bleeding

For as long as I can remember, I've been afraid of needles. When I was 9, the doctor had to chase me around the exam room to try and get a blood sample. At the age of 20, I needed an MMR (measles-mumps-rubella) booster. It took 2 nurses to get this done: one to give me the shot and another to talk me through it. Oh, and I cried. A lot.

However, this year I was diagnosed with a condition that requires that I go for blood testing several times a year. News of the condition was bad enough, but hearing that I'd have to get stuck with big giant scary needles more than once a year was oddly more frightening than anything else. I braved the first blood test like a trooper--it only took me ten minutes to get up the nerve to walk into the lab. No one there could believe that at the age of 27, I was a blood test virgin. 4 vials of blood later, I walked out feeling accomplished and very much an adult.

Last week I had to go back for another round of tests. Slightly emboldened by my previous experience, I soldiered through it and openly mocked my fear with the phlembotomist. This time I walked out relieved that I wouldn't have to go through this again for another 6 months. All was semi-right with the world.

However, the god of needles and other sharp things has a wicked sense of humor. Due to complications, my doctor had me go back in yesterday for more poking and blood letting. This time, rather than the usual 3 or 4 vials, they needed 6. As such, they needed to use "the big needle." This is something a aichmophobe does not need to hear. However, I had little choice in the matter and suffered in silence as the BIG needle poked its way in. Ouch. At one point I actually heard my blood splashing into one of the containers. It was an eerie sound and even thinking about it now puts me ill at ease. Leaving the lab this time was a bit less triumphant than it had been in the past; my arm hurt and my ego was bruised. Apparently I can be brave for only the little needles. But thankfully, it was over ... again.

Now here is where things get amusing. Checking my voice mail late last night, I hear a message from the lab to call as early as I can the next morning. Assuming it was a problem with my insurance, I called today, insurance card in hand and ready for a fight. To my unpleasant surprise, it turns out one of the vials from yesterday had cracked and could I please come back later today. I won't lie. A wee tear escaped my eye. I had spent all last night feeling woozy and making sure not to bang my right arm into anything. But what else was I going to do? Back I went to the lab, knowing that at since only one vial was problematic, I'd only have to brave the little needle. Once I was settled in the throne of blood (as I like to call it), the very same technician as yesterday began to lay out one small glass tube after another. Five in all. This meant the big needle again. Oh joy.

Of course I'm still here. Granted now my left arm looks like it belongs to someone who is trying on a heroin habit, but I've checked my voice mail and no call from the lab. Barring any more unforeseen events, I should have around five months to heal up and garner all my courage to face that big bad needle again. Unless I'm told they need to use the really big needle. Then we're all in trouble.