Twilight Doesnt Even Know.

Friends, there are many things that I hate about myself.  As a human, I think some level of self loathing is completely healthy.  Included in this list is my inability to drive a stick shift, my tator tot toes, and my vanity.  A few weeks ago, another item was that I had never given blood.  As a health care professional, I am more than aware of the life saving benefits of blood donation.  Hell, I am registered with the National Bone Marrow registry and am ready for whenever I get that call.  Blood donation was just always somehow, a bigger deal than all of that.

Confession:  I haaaaaate getting poked.

Shut up, I know.  Yes, working in the Peds ICU requires me to poke kids every single day.  I, along with parents and others on my team, wrap kids' appendages in blankets, hold them down, and poke them with needles while they scream and cry.  It's a part of my job, and I actually admit to getting some kind of sick satisfaction out of getting a good IV in, or hitting a vein in the perfect spot to draw blood.  It's a red, sticky victory when I get a vein so well, the IV spurts blood back out as I connect the tubing and affix the tape.

You know how those who cant do, teach?  Those who cant be poked, poke others.  You should see me whenever I have to get blood drawn at the doctors.  I sweat, cry, and carry on like you wouldn't believe.  What's worse, I play the childish 'on my cue' game with the poor lab techs.  You know, this number:

"ok I'm ready.  ...no wait not yet.  o-ok now.  uhhh ahhh wait hang on just a second.  I wanna look.  no nevermind just go.  ahh no hang on.  ok now.  now NOW!  sharp inhale.  GAH!'

I know.  It's just retarded.  So, you all know how I like to force myself to chase my fears.  This was just another on the list.  Besides, I have been really curious to know my blood type lately, and this would be two birds with one very sharp and large-bore stone.  yeeesh.

I made an appt with the blood donation center at the hospital where I work.  My hematocrit was a surprisingly high 44 (I don't eat red meat or diary.  wtf?!) and so off I went to the chair.  I bravely bit my lip and let the nurse poke me in the arm with a 16 gauge metal straw.  SHIEST THAT HURT.  But I was okay.  I remained okay until I was almost done, and she informed me that I was to go home and lay down for the rest of the day.  What?!  Who has time for that?  I was planning on going straight to hot yoga from here, but Mama Vampire was having none of it.

"You are barely big enough to donate, you go home and SIT.  Keep that dressing on for at least six hours, you could bleed internally from that poke, we probably used too big a needle on you."

Well great.  One perk so far?  I'm an O blood type, which is a universal donor.  Lots of people are able to receive my blood.  The conclusion, my friends?  Quit being such a baby about your fears and allow adjustments.  I'm sure I'm over it now, you know, until 8 weeks is up and I get called back to donate.  Phew.

Love Love Love.