>Anxiety

>For as long as I can remember, I’ve had a needle phobia.

And I’m trying not to freak out about tomorrow.

I cannot watch people getting shots on television, and you can imagine that ER was never my favorite show.  I refused the standard IV when I was in labor.  I’m fine with blood and scrapes and most other sorts of injuries, but no needles and no scalpels, thank you.

Adding to this, I have fainted twice while giving blood.  The first time was in high school, and it was the first and last time I ever participated in a blood drive.  I hadn’t eaten much for breakfast (big mistake), so even though I knew not to watch while they put in the needle, I still had to be rushed over to some corner of the gymnasium where they made me lie down and then drink juice.  Apparently my sheet-white face freaked out some of the guys there to give blood that day and they had to be assured that this is very uncommon before they were willing to sit down for their turns.

Since then, I’ve begged off the blood drives, figuring that was a sign from above that I should steer clear.  Then I got pregnant.  And let me tell you, they LOVE taking your blood and testing it when you are pregnant.

Which leads me to the second time I fainted while giving blood.  I informed the lab tech that I don’t do well with needles and to please feel free not to tell me what he was doing but just to do it while I looked the other way.  He proceeded to explain that he was going to use a smaller (butterfly?) needle, etc., all while I tried not to freak out.  I looked away, he got the ball rolling, and I told him I was feeling a bit odd.  The next thing I knew, I was sitting there with my head more or less between my knees and the guy was apologizing profusely.  The reason?  When I had fainted, the needle had popped out and blood had spilled all over my pants.  Awesome.

So now I have a protocol.  I go in, I inform them that I faint when I give blood and must lie down.  I INSIST that I do not want to hear anything about the freaking needle and I say, as kindly as possible, “I would really rather not hear any more, thanks,” when they inevitably forget.

Last week I had to go get tested for gestational diabetes, which I didn’t have the first time around.  It had been a rough night before that and I hadn’t eaten much for lunch.  So it should come as no surprise that my blood sugar level came back slightly elevated.  They referred me to the hideous three-hour test, which I am taking in the morning.

I was advised to eat a meal at 10 p.m. that has protein, which I did (a turkey quiche I got from PCC – yum).  Then I have to fast until 8 a.m.  They take my blood four times, once before I drink the disgustingly sugary concoction, and once every hour thereafter for three hours.  FOUR TIMES.

I am trying to remain calm and attempting to look at it as a three-hour break in which I am forced to do nothing but read and relax.  But relaxing is going to be difficult.  I may spend a significant time repeating the mantra I’ve had for almost two years now, “If you can survive natural childbirth to an 8-lb. baby after 21 hours of labor, you can survive anything.”  I don’t know how long that will sustain me, though, because pain is obviously something I can handle.  Needles?  I’m not so sure.

So… yeah.  I’ll find out whether I have gestational diabetes on Friday, but by noon tomorrow I will have some results on the level of my own inner strength.

Wish me luck.