Pobre Trisha

I have so much to say yet so little time. That's how life seems to get this time of year I guess. I'll be updating my blog later about all of our Christmas season fun. For now, I have to take a moment to talk about sad little me.

Yesterday I had to go to the lab to have some blood drawn for a couple tests. This is never a pleasant experience for me. Not only do I have tiny veins, but they roll as well. This results in the phlebotomist digging around in my arm with a needle trying to catch my veins. Of course yesterday was no exception. After 3 tries my arms were hurting and I was feeling very sick. I am very familiar with the phases of passing out and knew I was getting close. First I get sweaty, start to go pale, get sick to my stomach (at which point my color turns from pale to greenish), have trouble breathing, tingle, see spots, and then the lights go out. When they finally did catch a vein the blood was drawing so slowly that at times it would stop, then start up again. I was DYING! I would much rather pass out sooner than go through the agonizing phases that lead up to passing out. However, I didn't quite make it to seeing spots when it was all over. After my recovery I was free to go with a few bruises on my arms.

Lucky for me, I had a similar experience around noon today. I was in the kitchen wearing slippers when I decided to run over to prevent Macie from spilling her yogurt. When I rounded the corner my feet shot out from under me and down I went on the tile, hard. Oddly enough I landed mostly on the knuckle of my right hand. I had a surge of pain and then nothing. I totally panicked and refused to look at my hand because it felt like my knuckles had smashed into my hand. I instantly had flashbacks to freshman year of college when I had a nasty thumb dislocation. The pain felt the same and I knew what an unpleasant experience that was. I picked myself up called for my brother-in-law who was upstairs, telling him the my hand was broken. He and my sister both came down at which point I started to enter the stages of passing out. This time it was prolonged by a bout of hyperventilation. It was miserable and I wished I had been knocked out because for me it is far worse going through the pain and misery. The whole not being able to breathe thing didn't help either.

So, hours later I am ok (obviously if I'm typing!) with a bruised right hand, knee and hip. Am I getting old or what? I wonder what will happen tomorrow...