Even Into Adulthood I Still Have Anxiety About Getting My Blood Drawn

I remember liking my pediatrician, hating tetanus shots, but not even going to the doctor very often as a kid. As a preacher's kid, I was constantly dragged to nursing homes and hospitals to visit with the sick and cheer them up, and my mom was a bereavement counselor for Hospice that specialized in kids losing their parents to cancer. I always associated doctors with the "sick" or not well. I never had a positive outlook on things medical, I guess. 

After a year with my mom and no doctors appointments ever attended, my dad took me to the doctor a bunch when I moved back in with him when I was 17. I always hated getting my blood drawn because it always hurt. And often I remember sharing my anxiety about it and getting met with annoyed nurses. No one was nice about it. My veins were and always will be hard to find and it always was so uncomfortable.

My dad used to have to bribe me with breakfast at my favorite restaurant to get me to wake up early and go in without complaint. I would have rather been in class and he knew it. It was always a game.

Now, I can handle pain. I can get tattoos like a champ and I pushed a baby out of me without even a Tylenol, completely natural. My mom said I'd never be able to have a natural birth; the joke was on her! But something about the instant bruising and draining feeling and how uncomfortable the whole process makes me, just causes me immense stress and discomfort. You'll never see me on the Big Red bus, just saying.

When I was pregnant they draw your blood a lot. I remember when they had to do a large draw and I just sat there crying in pain. At least the women were nice about it for once. I made my husband buy me a treat after and then he put me down for a nap. 

This far into my adulthood, and we finally have mostly-decent insurance. We're also at that age where we have to make sure we are mostly healthy. Last year I had to have my blood drawn for a normal panel. They made me fast and by the time I got to the diagnostics place I was hungry and thirsty and tired. I told the phlebotomist, "My veins are hard to fine, sorry." She did the normal routine and said, "Oh honey, don't watch me. Don't. Okay?" I bruised instantly and was sore but mostly hungry.

The next blood test they could only draw from my hand and they instantly blew out my vein. It looked like my hand aged to 94 and it was insanely sore. It stayed bruised for 3 weeks.Not my best experience to day. 

This morning, the third time's the charm, but I just had high anxiety. At first the woman seemed okay and then she got a tone with me because, in my nervousness and anxiety, I'd had only coffee but no food or water because I didn't "have to fast," but was too nervous to eat. Coffee was like a pre-game treat for impending trauma.

Two rubber bands on my arm and the lady was slightly irritated even though I disclosed the hard-to-find-veins issue. I told her my dad used to bribe me. She softened, "I can give you a sticker if you want." I looked away when she poked and prodded, winced and it was completely over, no blown out vein. I said, "You're very good at your job, thank you." She told me to be careful with that arm and sent me off to work.

I don't know why I'm such a wuss about this stuff but I just am. Redheads have a higher pain tolerance and I can get shots no problem, but something about the blood drawing just makes me want to run away forever. You'd think with age it would lessen but it seemingly just stays the same. Even an IV at the hospital makes me squeamish.

When we got in the car accident and my head was bleeding I needed 5 staples. It was only the last two I said, "Ouch, okay OW!" Every other pain I could handle. They even had to practically rip an earring out of my cartilage so I could get all the tests to make sure I was okay internally. I wouldn't even have Tylenol after the accident or take my prescribed pain meds, because I wanted to be alert and could push through the discomfort. And in the mediation for the car accident claim, they said my injuries weren't extensive enough to claim excess medical benefits and basically I didn't get hurt "enough." So I got two new tattoos in some strange retaliation move. One of them really hurt!

It's not the pain. I think it's psychological. It has always been harrowing and uncomfortable and stressful. So I psych myself out and make it a big thing. I'm sure there are people on couches in therapy with the same issues, but for me, I just do what I can to avoid the whole thing at all costs. Hopefully this will be my only poke this year, but I maintain that adulting is hard, growing up sucks, and I hate getting my blood drawn. Oh well, at least I got a blog out of it!