Makes my blood run cold!

The blood was a dark red. 

I was a young kid and can’t remember much else from the day, but two things stand out: my dad’s bloody hand, where he had cut himself on his radial arm band saw, and the huge grin he had spread across his face.

My dad was cutting a piece of wood in his basement workshop, when the saw bounced back and cut him. My dad used to warn us to stay away from the saw, but he didn’t have to tell me twice, I gave it a wide berth, even when it was turned off. I was scared to death of the blades, I always thought they looked like wolf fangs and wanted to take a bite out of anyone who passed by them. This time they got my dad.

When he came upstairs, his hand was a bloody mess, but he didn’t seem the worse for wear, because he was laughing like a little kid. He kept asking me if I wanted to look at the cut and I screamed back “no.” My mom didn’t care for his joke either. She told him to shush, wrapped his hand in a towel, and drove him to the hospital. I guess my brothers watched me until my mom and dad got back from the hospital. My dad tried to show me his stitches, but I wanted no part of it, I had seen enough. 

My experience with blood over the years hasn’t gotten much better. In the years since, I’ve never really been able to look at blood or needles. I automatically think back to my father’s bloody hand. (I think back too on the bloody prom scene from the original Carrie movie, but that’s a story for another day.)

By Roger Brown via Pexels.

I don’t know that I qualify as having a hemophobia, an intense fear of blood, or trypanophobia, the intense fear of needles, but I’m right there. Here’s what I mean:

I’m not spinning, you’re spinning

When my wife and I first got married, we figured the adult-thing to do was to get insurance policies on each other. When you bought a large enough policy, the insurance carrier required you to take a blood test, screening for various health conditions. The insurance representative actually came to our house to give us the test.

The guy talked a mile a minute. In any event, when he pricked my finger, I started looking at the blood forming on my finger and then back up at my wife, blood and then my wife, blood and then my wife. The guy barely noticed, but I started getting dizzy. I wasn’t feeling all that great to begin with and hadn’t had anything to eat, so of course, sweat started to bead on my head and I started swaying in my seat.

My wife noticed right away. She asked if I was okay. “Oh, yea, yea, I’m fine,” but I clearly wasn’t.

For the next ten minutes, the representative kept talking about different policies and investments. He could’ve signed me up for anything at that point. I clearly was off somewhere in La La Land. Fortunately, my wife saw what was happening and got rid of the guy as soon as she could.

All from a simple finger prick. Ugh.

Um, hello, anyone here to help me, the pregnant lady?

If that wasn’t bad enough, the story gets worse. When my wife was pregnant with our second baby, our son, one of the test scores raised some questions and her doctor wanted to run an an amniocentesis, a prenatal procedure that takes fluid from the womb and checks for birth defects such as Down syndrome, cystic fibrosis, and spina bifida.

When the doctor was ready, I watched as he inserted a needle into my wife’s belly. I held tight to her hand, looking at her face, the image of our baby up on a screen, and then back down at the needle and tubes running from my wife’s belly to the machine. I wiped the sweat off my brow and gripped her hand tighter. I could feel the lightheadedness coming, but I told myself that I had to be strong for her.

The doctor looked up and asked, “Brian, are you doing okay? 

“Oh yes, yes, I’m fine,” I lied. 

He didn’t believe me and asked a nurse to get me a chair. When I still didn’t perk up, another nurse went to get me an ice pack for my neck. Meanwhile, my wife sat unattended. Yea, I’ve been trying to live that one down for the past twenty-some years. 

By Roger Brown via Pexels.

I vant to suck your blood

I’m a mess, but here’s the strange thing. I still regularly give blood, especially when there is a large need in my area. I can’t look at it. I can’t watch it, but I give when I can. The nurses and the assistants at the blood donation center all look at me strange, when I tell them that I can’t watch. I guess they hear that a lot in their jobs, but I’m fine as long as I lie down and close my eyes.

I’m not sure why that is, I guess the thought of helping someone else in need takes precedence.

Or deep down, I really am a vampire!