When I was about 7 or so, I was diagnosed with idiopathic thrombocytopenia. Those are big, fancy shmancy words for “you have dangerously low platelet levels and we have absofreakinglutely no idea why.” All I knew at the time was that I couldn’t run around (because if I got hurt and started to bleed, it’d be bad), I had to stay home from school for several weeks (people, this was pre-cable, pre-internet, pre-video games…you know, the dark ages), and had to get blood drawn two or three times a week. These weren’t the little prick your finger and get a bandaid blood draws, these were the real deal, from the arm, make a fist please blood draws. My memory is a bit fuzzy on this, but I seem to recall this went on for a looong time. I distinctly remember one particular blood draw (my poor mom is reading this and nodding, ’cause this was something you ain’t likely to forget). The poor nurse tried forever to get something, anything, out of my right arm. Dry as a bone. Nada. Like trying to draw blood from a puppet. She tried the left arm and…wheeeeee! I fountained across the room, spraying the nurse, my mom, me, and anything in reach. Who knew I stored all my blood in my left arm?

So why I do bring this up on a beautiful Colorado afternoon? Because I relived this experience this morning. I had to get a blood draw to check my thyroid levels (oops, only 3 weeks late). Right arm…nothing. Bless her, the tech was only doing her job, but damn it lady, if you don’t get a drop, don’t move the effin’ needle around looking for some! Apparently I have squirmy veins. Left arm (this time with a wee bitty needle)…wheeee!!!! Filled that tube in record time.

And people wonder why I don’t donate blood…

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