Upon seeing this title, you might think that I'm going to talk about that fateful day where my wife gives birth. But I'm talking about taking the official blood filled vile test today. Even with sweaty palms, signs of possible projectile vomitting, and nervouseness, we got through it. And we've been there before and it didn't go as well.
A couple years ago we lived in Florida, Shannon was ill, and needed bloodwork done. Three different times we tried. She was listening to her mp3 to distract her, squeezing any feeling out of my hand, nigh unto hyperventalating, and praying like someone on the sinking Titanic. But none of that mattered. After three times she left there with just as much blood as she came with. She was in tears so I took her to grab a coffee, which she spilled on herself on the way to work and burnt her stomach. I walked her in and told her boss it was going to be a little later than expected until she would be able to get it together. One advantage, when she got it together, she was so visibly upset, that one of her preschool students told her that she was going to behave today.
Shannon vowed that she would never again get her blood drawn unless she was pregnant, and that the only reason she would do it is because of the baby. And that's where we were this morning. She had it drawn and very little problems since the Florida mess. I guess it's mind over matter after all.
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