In which I become a pincushion

I may be fixated with needles.

Last week, I did acupuncture, and has AMAZING results. My migraine was resolved (which taking Vicodin did not do), and for the first time in nearly ten years, my hands did not hurt.

It wasn’t something I noticed immediately; Sam was driving me around, and I looked down at my hands, and they didn’t have their normal ache. It was bizarre; they looked like mine, but didn’t feel the way they normally do. It was like having an out-of-body experience. But better.

This week, I had blood drawn for tests, and the same day I did something new.

Check it out.

I gave blood. I finally weigh enough! I was very good about it, I didn’t get woozy or pale, but when I was done I felt lighter. The Blood Drawing Technician said that I had “fast” and “light” blood. I told him it was low calorie. I assume it was a compliment.

My motivations for donating blood are partly altruistic, and partly megalomaniacal. My grandmother has O Negative blood, so I’m hoping that I got that recessive trait. (I don’t know my blood type yet, but they’ll let me know.) Something really appeals to me about being able to help people by sitting in a comfortable chair and then being fed ice cream and juice. While I was watching the bag fill up, I thought, “Wow! I wonder if the person who gets my blood will become a little like me…” I doubt that will happen, but my inner evil villain cackles with glee at the thought of it.

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