Blood For Blood

I found myself doing something a couple days ago that I didn't expect I would be. I don't mean firing a handgun, which I did do a couple days ago. I guess I did two things that day that were unanticipated. The second came late in the day, and I at first swore I wouldn't do it. I didn't say so, but I wasn't sure I felt at all well. I was awfully tired, which may be attributable to the little sleep I've had among other things.

What I'm talking about is having my blood drawn. My sister is studying in school, and she's learning to draw blood. She has to do it so many times, and my mother, my father and I went to help with her numbers (although I think only my father and I submitted). Being rundown, I feared that I might have a poor reaction. Who wants to be the guy who collapses and has to be helped into a bed, especially when numerous older people are doing fine?

As it worked out, I did just fine. I handled the trauma of the needle well enough, and obviously I was able to spare the two small vials of blood taken. The point was mainly about hitting the vein, so only a token amount was necessary. Indeed, I believe the blood was thrown out afterwards, which I wasn't really happy about. I don't know what would have been done with it, but you hate to see your literal lifeblood wasted.

My sister loved my veins. They were extremely prominent at the crooks of my arm, and she likened them to snakes on a sidewalk. She further said that if I were one of the students in the program, everybody would be looking to poke holes in me as a morale booster if they missed the vein on somebody else. I was left strangely proud of my veins. That, along with some passable conversation and chicken wings, made the endeavor a worthwhile one.