Stop Saying Blood to Strangers

As a youngster I was, much to my fathers chagrin, a pussy. I was afraid of roller coasters, blood, spiders and a slew of less common things. For instance I had a soul-chilling fear that the bathtub would overflow to such and extent that the house would fill up and we would all drown. The phobia was so paralyzing that I would shake with sobs of fear when my the my bath would rise to a depth beyond 2 inches. Why 2 inches? I don't know, but there it is. My parents were worried about me for a very long time. I would never try new things.

I know the exact day that it all changed. It was in the 2nd grade after my first schoolyard fist-fight. See I was, as I previously mentioned, a pussy and so a perfect target for the bullies of the area. I had come home a couple of times, perhaps in tears perhaps not, and told my mother about my problems. She was loving and caring and made me feel better. At some point Papi caught wind of the problem. He was also loving and caring but did not make me feel better. Instead he taught me to fight and told me that the next time they come to harass me to just swing hard and they would leave me alone forever.

He neglected to mention that they would savagely beat me first. Still, I did it, and after that day I was never harassed by bullies again (actually, i was, twice. Both times I won the fight, puberty hit me like a ton of bricks) and more importantly I realized I wasn't made of glass.

Thing is, most of those weird fears still exist somewhere in my psyche but a healthy male ego has deemed them unworthy pursuits. Much love to dear Father for that.

Still whenever I go for my bi-annual (thats 2 per year) blood donation I have to face two of those fears: Blood and Needles. Blood is easy by this point because many of my hobbies involve bleeding because of my incompetence. My mountain biking partners can attest. Nonetheless watching two pints of blood flow from your body is jarring.

"Needle" mightn't be grandiose enough a term. Because rather than take out a needle to draw blood the lab tech unsheaths and wields a noble blade she has lovingly named "Dawn's Sorrow" or some such nonsense. Cheerfully she gores me with her cavernous harpoon and leaves me to bleed until she believes I have bled enough to repay whatever debt she construes I owe her. It's all very Merchant of Venice.

In the end, though, I feel great. I like being light-headed and I love cookies and apple juice. Also, even though by this age they are very small battles with very old phobias I enjoy winning them. Also, who knows, maybe I saved a life by now.

Sidebar: The Puget Sound Blood Bank does not give T-shirts to donors, and their cookies are sub-par. I miss MD Anderson. Great Cookies. And one time I got a peanut butter cracker pack. Which was great even though I didn't get to enjoy it fully.



10 points to whoever can guess the quote in the title.