Fasting and physicals both start with the notorious “f” sound. The very same “f” that starts off fabulous words such as failure and faint.
Sounds so promising, doesn’t it?
I don’t like doctors.
I don’t like physicals.
I especially don’t like blood.
Or perhaps more specifically, I don’t like the blood work that’s part of a rather unfortunate package deal with the aforementioned physical.
And the requisite fasting before the blood work? That right there is my worst nightmare.
Well, that, along with passing out from loss of blood.
It’s not the needles that freak me out. It’s the fact that my body
protests riots whenever it’s forced to part with five vials worth of blood.
And for the record, passing out sucks.
But back to the whole fasting nonsense.
No food or drink for eight hours prior to having blood drawn? What’s up with that?
Right around the three hour mark, I typically start exhibiting signs of feral beastly hunger so intense that this vegetarian becomes pathologically unpleasant while getting dangerously close to resorting to cannibalism.
But seeing as how cannibalism is frowned upon in most parts of the world, that’s probably not the way to go.
So anyway, no food or drink prior to the sadistic practice of drawing blood is truly a hardship for me.
But according to the doctor, in addition to water, I can also enjoy a nice cup of black coffee.
Yeah, no thanks. I’d rather be a zombie.
Given my track record of passing out every time I have blood drawn, going solo is simply not an option for me.
As I’m getting ready to head out to my impending doom, my husband is forced to monitor me closely.
“Hey! What are you doing? Are you actually eating that toothpaste!?!”
“Maybe I am!”
“Come on. Spit it out. NOW!”
As we drive toward the blood work lab, a similar conversation ensues.
“What are you doing with that Do Not Eat packet?”
This time, he doesn’t bother waiting for a response before snatching it out of my hand.
Maybe I can enjoy that as a treat after the blood work.
By this point, I’m seriously contemplating eating the wrapper off my water bottle; just yanking that sucker right off and chomping away like an uncouth mule grazing in a pasture.
We arrive 15 minutes before the lab opens, so I have more than enough time for a quick trip to the restroom.
But I’m clearly not moving fast enough for my husband’s liking.
“What’s taking you so long? You’d better not be eating the toilet paper!”
Ha! Like I’d really do that.
I desperately scan the contents of the trash.
But it’s early in the morning. The trashcan is practically empty, with the exception of a used tissue and an empty bottle of Victoria’s Secret lotion.
We eventually enter the dreaded lab and get down to business.
It’s over fairly quickly, actually.
Holy crap! I didn’t pass out this time, even after all three huge vials are filled.
Of course, this is solely due to the fact that I’m laying flat across the table like roadkill instead of sitting in the chair like a normal human being.
But whatever. It worked.
After a few minutes, the room is no longer spinning. I peel myself off the table with as much dignity as I can muster as my husband guides me out the door like a stumbling drunk.
We stop at the first store we come across, which happens to be 7-11. We go in and grab a few munchies.
Oh Thank Heaven for 7-11.
I devour a Family Size bag of popcorn in ten minutes, tops.
It’s a huge victory, overall. I didn’t pass out, and I didn’t starve to death.
Perhaps more importantly, I didn’t resort to inhaling yet another Do Not Eat packet.