Saturday, August 4, 2012

givin blood like a BOSS

One thing's for dang sure: I will never forget my blood type.

Here's why.  Because every time I get near a needle (either in real life or just in my mind), I pass out.  Not exaggerating, people.  All blood rushes out of my face, I turn green, I go clammy, I think, "Aw crap" and then I'm gone.

Sometimes vomiting accompanies said passing out.

But today, oh no. Today I gave blood like a BOSS.

I had to get my blood typed. (Deep breath.)

So I stopped by Wendy's for a little natural-cut fries with sea salt (really Wendy's? Are all six of those words necessary?) and a frosty to get my blood sugar to a non-fainting level.

Drove myself to the clinic.

Waltzed right past the huge blood-red sign on the wall: BLOOD DRAW STATION.  (Really clinic? And was the red really necessary? How 'bout the all-caps? How bout the words "blood" and "draw" and "station"?? Might as well just write "Bloody Hell" which is what such a station is to me. Surely "A Helpful Place" would suffice. Or maybe "Land of Rainbows" with a metallic, sparkly rainbow background cerca the pencils I had in fourth grade. All of these options would be better than "BLOOD. DRAW. STATION. (OF DEATH.)".)

Looked the nurse squarely in the face and said, "I pass out every time needles go in my body," to which she said, "... Really?  Like...every time?"  "Yes lady.  Every time."

Followed her to a paper-covered cot where I would lie and probably go vagal.

And guess what happened:

I gave that blood like a pro.

Didn't pass out, didn't go clammy, didn't throw up.

Blood Draw Station: 0
Carolyn: 1


  1. Must be a Foote thing. I'm the same way.

  2. You should hear Ben and Sarah talk about our family passing out. Ben once passed out into a guy's lap. We all applaud your skills, Carolyn.

  3. needles are the worst thing in the world. needles and the Anne of Green Gables movies.

    1. I don't know, Sam. I kinda like Anne. She's so horribly dramatic, in a way that is not at all endearing but so horrifyingly familiar to me (of my own melodramatic personality) that I can't divorce myself from her. (This is my Freudian literary analysis.)