Somewhat ironically after yesterday's post, my doctor's office called me this morning to let me know I'm due for a blood test.
I did it, it's done, I'm alive...not in a good head space, but getting past it. Putting some distance between me and this morning.
I get very ashamed of my fear. I know it's ridiculous a woman my age being so afraid of needles. I also know there's very little I can do about it. And I get furious when medical personnel don't take me seriously.
"Oh, no one likes needles," they say, brushing me off.
Bitch, that's not what I said. I didn't say I don't like needles. I said I have a fucking PHOBIA. I said I will FREAK THE FUCK OUT. Now go get a hot pack for me to put on my hand, because these veins WILL collapse if you don't, and I'm not going to let you stick me three times cause you can't open your fucking ears and LISTEN TO ME.
I am clearly not in a good mind-set for posting. So I will leave you with pictures of Andy Whitfield, star of Spartacus, who passed away on Sunday of non-hodgkins lymphoma. He was a husband, father, and all around good guy. He will be missed.