I was a problem child. Okay, not really. Just an unexpected one who came with a few minor medical problems. My first month was without any major issues but then at three months I ended up in the NICU while they tried to figure out what was wrong with me. I was healthy until age seven when I had to spend an entire day at the children's hospital for tests and I had to fast for an entire day before. I like to eat so this was a form of torture for me. Post-hospital we went out to eat and I finished my dinner in five minutes, then proceeded to eat from my mom's plate. And my grandma's plate. And I stole fries from my brother's plate. I was a little hungry.
Flash forward twenty some odd years later and you'll find me fasting again before going in for tests (though not for that childhood illness, that's been gone for some times). I still like to eat so this is still a form of torture for me. As if that weren't enough I had to get up earlier than any human should to go to the hospital. Did I mention I hate early mornings? So, before I even really was conscious, I was already batting .1000. Then I had to wait 30 minutes before going in for my appointment and the nurse tells me she's going to take "just a bit" of blood before the doctor arrives. I don't like blood and it makes me queasy to see it so I turned my head while she started to tie off my arm. My definition of "a bit" is apparently very different from hers. I swear she took all the blood out of my left arm and then put in an IV (really hate those), which she didn't tell me about beforehand. Eventually I got around to the tests and everything went as well as can be expected. Post-hospital I went out to eat but this time I stuck to my own plate since I was still a little nauseous from the blood thing. I didn't even finish my own plate. But ten minutes ago I felt well enough to down a bag of peanut butter M&M's so I guess I'm on the mend.
