You may take my blood..... but you can never take MY FREEDOM!

This week I had to fight through one of my biggest fears…… needles. The doctor told me that I needed to get some blood work done that morning at my visit, and since I hadn’t eaten anything, this was the best time to go. I didn’t get any time to prepare myself, just as soon as I learned of my sentence from the doctor I was arriving at the clinic. While we were in the clinic waiting room to get my blood taken there was a mother with her daughter awaiting the same awful fate. When the nurse called the girl’s name the mother had to physically drag the little girl to the back. Seeing that little girl dragged to the back room only made me more fearful of my eventual vain intrusion. I’m sitting on the chair trying to “act” normal. I have a magazine in my hand, I’m turning the pages, but I’m not reading it. I’m listening for the little girl in the “needle room”. As if I wasn’t already scared enough….. I hear the little girl scream at the top of her lungs asking her mom to make it stop. At this point I asked Madelyn (who had to come with me to hold my sweaty, nervous, hand) if this was really necessary.

“Do I really have to do this? I don’t trust this doctor, let’s get a second opinion”

Madelyn, like the mother of the little girl, reminded me that I had no choice and that I would be getting my blood taken if she had to drag me back there herself. Seeing that even my closest ally had joined forced with the medical community I accepted my eventual fate.

The little girl came back into the room, she looked horrified, she was holding her arm, and she was still sobbing. Right behind her was the nurse, waiting to call her next victim. I knew time had run out, all options had been exhausted, it was time to face my fear.

The back room was just as I had pictured it, maybe worse. It was small, cold, and it echoed the cries of its previous victims. The chairs provided for taking blood looked medieval and inhumane. The small room had two torture chairs. The lady across from me looked calm and cool, she seemed completely un-phased. I think I remember her humming. It was almost like she was grinning, but that could have been directed at me. I bet it would be funny to see a 6 ft tall man acting like a little girl. I sat down, placed my arm on the chopping block, and squeezed Madelyn’s hand. My feet squirmed across the floor, I was shaking. It was awful.

Later that day I was walking around with my tape and cotton ball MacGyver type bandage. This seems to be the staple for blood work. All day people asked me, “Hey, did you donate blood?”

I sternly replied,

“No, I didn’t donate….. it was taken from me.”