It all started yesterday in that God awful chair. You know, the stiff ER chair that they stick you in right before they stick you, literally. There I was, nervously laughing and chatting away, waiting for the nurse to stick me with a needle and take 435356 vials of my blood.
Problem? I am a fainter, and have been since my very first blood test (yes, I have had my fair share.) Being the habitual fainter that I am, I have gone through all of the necessary stages to accepting my illness.
Shock came with my first fainting spell, right after the first time I had blood taken. I had never fainted before, and did what any young kid would do after waking up on the floor, having no idea how I got there. I cried. Then, soon after my rendezvous with the floor, I hit stage two: guilt. I felt badly that I had inconvenienced the poke-ologist and fallen to the floor on her watch. How inconsiderate of me.
My teenage years came, as did lots of tests and lots of ‘tude. This is where denial came into play. I decided, being the independent “adult” that I was, that I was not a fainter, but rather that I was a victim to my own mental disposition. Fainting was not a physical reaction, but rather a mental one. I decided that I would not tell physicians that I was a fainter, as if I could convince myself that I wasn’t, I ultimately wouldn’t faint. Wrong. Not explaining that you are a fainter doesn’t mean that you wont faint, it just means that when you do faint, it will be more dramatic and painful. Anger set in immediately after denial wore off, as now there was no escaping it: I was a fainter. Lesson learned.
The embarrassment phase kicked in pre- through post surgery circa 2004, when I needed to tell every poke-ologist, phlebotomist, doctor, specialist, and nurse I encountered that I was a fainter. Yes, I was over the age of ten, and I was required to sit in the “fainting chair.” The embarrassment factor was further heightened when my “regular” clinics would open my e-file, and then look at me with the same old concerned/scared/alarmed/pitying/”Aw, you’re a fainter” look. Apparently the giant, flashing “fainter” alert must be the same from hospital to hospital.
I hit acceptance a few years ago, when a phlebotomist, named Pamela, questioned my fainting abilities. When I told her about my tendencies, instead of embracing me and making me comfortable, she decided to use the tough love approach. Girlfriend made me sit in a normal chair, drew my blood, and then made me look at the vials she had just drawn from me, just to prove it was mental, and nothing more. I came to on the floor, entangled in the highchair she had put me in. I glared at her, stood up, and muttered: “I told you I was a fainter,” and walked away. Don’t worry, being the well spoken, self defending diva I was, I made sure to tell the registration desk that Pamela was an aweful poke-ologist, thank you very much.
I know I am a fainter; I know I can’t fight it. If you are taking blood from me, you will also be dealing with my fainting in some way, shape or form. Prepare yourself now.
Back in the doctor’s office, in my nervous stupor, I somehow forget to tell the [very chatty and distracting] nurse that I am a chronic fainter…for the first time in my life. Woops! Clearly our deep and meaningful conversation on where I lived and what I did for a living must have completely distracted me from the obvious impending doom.
After getting my blood drawn, the sensations came: blurry/pixally vision, sensitivity to light, loss of hearing, cold sweat, dry mouth. I was going to faint. In an attempt to save myself from immediately embarrassing myself at my new doctor’s office, I attempted to fight it off. While my vision was still off, I was still mid-cold sweat, and I had no business walking on my own, I calmly made my way to registration, where I somehow made my next appointment (June 28, remind me when I forget). Here comes the next wave, which I thought I fought off well.
I came to, on the floor, with 6 nurses hovering over me, and an elderly woman awkwardly staring at me open mouthed, I said the only thing that came to mind: “Did I mention I’m a fainter?”
Yet again, I can’t pass up an opportunity to embarrass myself in a group setting.
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