The fact that I'm "not good with blood" has been a part of my self-descriptive process for a long, long time. It's why I haven't gotten into True Blood yet, why I don't give blood, why I get really wigged out before having blood drawn for medical reasons, etc. I am just not good with blood.
I trace part of this back to reading a specific Mary Higgins Clark novel sometime in middle school. I can't tell you which one—they are mostly identical and I read as many as I could find—but it involved nefarious doing at a hospital. The climactic chase at the end (which, in these books, takes up about 75 pages, at least) was conducted while the heroine was losing large amounts of blood. Though Clark's prose leaves something to be desired, my impressionable imagination was able to empathize with the character to the point it made me nauseous. Since then I've had to leave rooms where conversations about horrible injuries were taking place, or just cut said conversations short and avoided anything where "bleeding out" was something that had to be pictured.
Lately, I've wondered if I wasn't exaggerating the whole blood thing. Going to the doctor's is not the nightmare it used to be. I still give them the speech about how bad I am with needles, but haven't felt the discomfort I used to. Maybe I was learning?
Until tonight, that is. Chopping lettuce to make tacos, I misjudged where my thumb was and sawed right into it. Letting out a scream of profanity, I ran to the bathroom to staunch the blood flow as fast as possible and bandage the thing. Successful, I returned to the kitchen. No sooner had I sat down than the pain, the sight of the spreading red stain under the bandage and the lingering smell of meat made me feel sick to my stomach. Deciding I should return to the bathroom, I made it as far as the hall before I started seeing spots and felt this faint fuzzy tingling over my brain, at which point my knees gave out and I was on the floor.
Now that I have thoroughly alarmed you all, know that I am fine! Really! After a bit I made it to the bathroom where I laid down for a spell. I have since rejoined the land of the upright, had a lot of plain tortillas and flatish Coke to settle my stomach and have mostly shaken off the whole thing.
But it just proves my point....when I say I'm not good with blood? Not kidding.
This is why those chefs always curl their fingers while holding onions/lettuce/carrots etc.
ReplyDeleteOne word of advice - never never never get a cat. They draw blood on a regular basis, at least mine does.