Had a needle inserted into a vein this morning.
Blood was extracted.
I love it.
Weird, right? As a kid needles absolutely terrified me. I think some of this had to do with a general fear of objects cutting through my skin. But I also happened to be raised by a (otherwise wonderful) mother who didn’t much care for needles. So I felt her fear, fed off it, developed my own.
Now, all has changed.
I love needles into my arm because it combines 1,000 different emotions. The terror flashbacks of youth. The curiosity of whether it will hurt. The rush of doing something generally unusual. The period of waiting … waiting … waiting as the blood leaves my veins. I even dig the aftermath, when a wad of gauze is taped to my epidermis.
Hard to explain.
But true.
