WARNING: This post gets a bit graphic towards the end. Not terrible, but if you aren't a huge fan of grossness, back out now.
My story begins at 10:45 am this morning. I drive 400 feet to the hospital for my yearly checkup and park the car. I've been nervous about this appointment for several weeks because I know they'll be taking blood.
I hate needles.
I hate veins.
I hate blood.
I hate needles that poke into veins that take blood.
(Brief pause while I take a sip of orange juice since the previous sentence just made me a tad nauseous.)
And I'm back. I wait in the doctor's office for eons (actual time: 23 minutes) and am eventually brought back for the exam. It goes well and I love my new doctor. We switch numbers and promise to meet up for drinks (joke). And then I am sent off to the blood cave. I tell the nice lady that I am deathly afraid of the aforementioned items above and she asks if I need someone to hold my hand. I laugh and she looks back at me with a raised eyebrow. Hells no I don't need someone to hold my hand, I'm a woman! I smile and tell her I don't think that's necessary but to please go easy on my arms. I sit down in the chair and she gives my arms a full examination before she picks the best one. This makes me happy. Most of the time they just grab my arm and start poking. She decides on the left and I turn to the right. Before I know it, she is DONE. She tells me to put some pressure on the cotton swab and I start flailing my right arm to find it (I'm still looking to the right). She calmly grabs my hand and places it on the cotton swab. At that moment I felt like I was 7-years-old. But I look up and tell her that this was the absolute best blood giving experience I've had in my life. I thank her profusely and ask her to be the godmother of our first child. She tells me I can stay as long as I want but I jump out of my seat and run out the door. I'm feeling GREAT. And then I'm feeling NOT GREAT. I leave the office and make my way outside so I can sit on a bench. I see a couple argue about parking. I see a mom drop off her teenager. And then I see spots. I breathe deeply, regain control and decide I'm ready to find my car.
My car is approx 100 feet away when I start feeling really sick. I think, "Wow, this is how I feel right before I throw up." And then I throw up. In a parking garage. And then I throw up again. In a parking garage. And then I make it to my car, shut the door, open the door, and throw up again. I threw up three times. Did I mention I was in a parking garage? I am absolutely mortified, embarrassed, disgusted, bad adjective, bad adjective, bad adjective.
Giving blood has made me cry. It has made me nauseous. It has made me scream. It has never, until today, made me throw up.
My thoughts go out to anyone who parks on the second floor, row B of the Medical City parking garage. And my thoughts go out to my husband, who married the biggest pansy this world has ever known.