Sitting there, glasses off and clutching the clammy hand of my husband, I knew things weren't going well. The phlebotomist was wonderful, I felt no sting of a needle, I felt no pain and yet - I felt the familiar sensations. A cold sweat popped up on my forehead and pinpricks of light obscurred my already blurred vision.
"I'm going to pass out," I said.
"No you aren't," said the nurse making me want to gather my waning strength to pick up my purse and beat her with it, all the while saying "That doesn't hurt!" WHAP! "That doesn't hurt!" WHAP WHAP! But really, she was trying to get me un-psyched out.
So I threw up on her.
And then I was fine.
I hate having blood taken. I may be obsessed with reading about vampires but if I ever met one, he'd have to kill me to get my blood - no matter how hot he was...