Today I went through the traumatising experience of having blood taken from me; painfully sucked from my very veins as I lay helpless, writhing in extreme agony. No, I don’t mean vampires. I mean something worse. Much worse. The doctor. It may sound like an exaggeration but it really was the most awful thing to be subjected to. I have yet to get over the terrible ordeal. The sharp prick of the needle as it was slowly injected into my vein. The hot, stinging sensation in my arm as my lifeblood was poured out of me. The desperation I felt as the seconds stretched on…
My mother, who accompanied me, says that I was acting like a totally wimpy child but I think I was well within my rights to do so and I deny any allegations she may make about me crying. I did not cry. I had something in my eye. Both eyes. You would think that after being such a brave little girl I deserved a sticker to serve as a mark of my courage and a reward for my bravery but apparently there is an age at which the doctor no longer feels you are entitled to one. Instead he thought to tell me that because of my squirming he was not able to take enough of my blood and I may have to come back again. Lovely.