Doctor’s visit

Oh, joy of joys.Two days ago, I had a scheduled doctor’s appointment. I’d like to think of myself as unpredictable in many ways, but I do have some tendencies, most notably:
I sweat.
I sweat a lot.
I sweat at almost any provocation.

There’s also a bit of family history concerning thyroid problems, so the main purpose was to go to check my thyroid level checked to see if I was destined for a life sentence with another pill. Of course, this meant having my blood drawn.

Gulp.

In order to get perspective on what’s to follow, some background information must be provided:

When I was in high school, I had cystic acne. That’s the kind that clearasil just doesn’t work on. As a result, I was put on accutane, which is a pretty powerful medicine. It takes care of 90% of your acne. It also causes your hair to get thinner, your scalp to produce more dandruff, and most of your facial skin to peel off. But hey, beyond those minor details…

Because it can be toxic at high levels, the doctor at that time had me come back every month to take my blood and check the level of accutane in my system. Now, before you think this is a “scarred for life because of a bad experience” thing, let me be the first to eliminate that notion. The blood taking process was okay except for the fact that I fainted 3 out of 5 times.

I have yet to understand what it is, but there is a certain smell associated with hospitals, phlebotomists (no, not you BlueSun) and the rooms they do their work in, and recovery rooms. It’s like a real clean ammonia smell, not quite lemony, not quite sour. That particular smell pushes me over the edge every time. I fainted once after being with my sister in law while she was in a recovery room for minor corrective surgery. I even nearly fainted once after watching an episode of “Trauma: Life in the ER” on the Discovery channel.

I’ve gone into shock before at the sight of my own blood. I’m mostly over that, and I can handle getting injections or shots, but there’s something about drawing blood…

The worst experience with it occurred while I was in San Diego. I went to the doctor to check on some abdominal pain, and they drew my blood to ensure it wasn’t an appendicitis issue. They had me seated, and they drew the blood. Once they were finished, I felt nauseated. Of course, that led to the first round of throwing up. I actually hit the trash can hurriedly placed in front of me. After that, I fainted. I came to with the help of smelling salts (lovely stuff), and they began to walk me over to the bed/examination table in the room.

There was darkness. Memories of almost every event that had occurred that day flooded my mind.

When I woke up, I was being held upright by two nurses, one on each side. I was staring at the edge of the bed/table. I had apparently fainted first and then thrown up again over the bed/table.

Eventually, I survived. It wasn’t appendicitis. We’re now back to two days ago.

They take my blood. Everything’s going great. I’m talking to the nice lady. Sweat beads up on my forehead. She finishes her job. I feel something in the pit of my stomach. She asks what’s wrong. I reply “stomach upset”.

Darkness.

I found myself being supported by two male doctors, who were trying to set me down on the floor (since this room didn’t have a examination table). Since I was awake, they took me to the nearest bed/table, where I eventually came to.

Fainting is an awful, awful feeling. Once you come back from it, you’re disoriented and wondering just what exactly transpired. You don’t remember anything about the moment of slipping out of consciousness.

I really wish I didn’t faint. Laureen is worried somewhat that I won’t be able to be in a delivery room when the time comes. I’m working as best I can toward that, but for now, it’s smelling salts and cool towels.