It would appear that I have finally overcome, or at least tamped down, my urge to pass out and barf when poked with needles that do not contain ink. They removed 5 tubes of blood from me today, and it was.... easy. No big deal. I just ate an apple and made small talk while the apple juice dripped down my arm. Yes, nosy, they did have to use the "baby butterfly" needle, because I have squiggly veins, not because i'm a coward. Really.
I remember the first time I had blood drawn, when I was 15 and they were investigating the odd circumstances that eventually led to my prolactinate pituitary tumor, aka. ZOMG BRAIN TUMOR!!! This jolly little gay guy build like a banty rooster was joking with my (type O positive, monthly blood-donating, zipper-on-her-veins) mom and trying to make me laugh while he felt for my little, squiggly veins. I was freaking out, digging my nails into mom's hand, teeth grinding. He got the vein, hooked up the tube, and stepped out to get another tube, when the tube popped off.
And my blood started spurting all over the place.
No joke-- it was like a bad horror film or something from Monty Python. It was pumping all over me, and the floor, and I went into hysterics as only a 15 year old girl can. The little dude came running back in, having a hissyfit, got the tubes sorted out, and left again.
At which point my mom and I simultaneously howled, "YOU GET BACK IN HERE!!"
Point being that it took 4 years of thyroid disease and 2 pregnancies, but i'm apparently finally okay with having blood drawn, provided they use a tiny needle made for babies, hit the vein immediately, and don't go prospecting for gold in my left arm.
But I still believe phlebotomists are sadists.