If you’re anything like me, that is. The kind of person who at the sight or mention of Blood gets weak from head to toe. Like those pens you stand on end and the color drains, revealing a naked woman underneath. Except, instead of busty nude, you get floppy, boneless mass. Which is what I am right now, sitting in the waiting room of Urgent Care.
I lean my forehead against the cool of my palm, elbow on the arm of my chair. I try not to look at the sick people around me, try not to deduce what it is that brings them to this small, germy room. As long as they keep their distance I can hold my limp self together. I can pretend to be patient, care-giving wife while inside the bowels of Urgent Care, Jim is probably passed out himself.
This is our running joke. We’re both fainters. We come from long lines of fainters. We tell fainting stories at family gatherings. I have to lie down to hear most of them, even the ones I’ve heard before. I am working hard not to add to our repertoire.
What brings us here is Jim’s finger. And the deep slice he inflicted on it, by accident, yesterday. I knew it was bad by the way he staggered through the front door and announced, in a low, serious tone, “I got cut.”
It wasn’t a nonchalant “I got cut,” tossed out as he grabbed a Blue Sky soda from the fridge. Nor was it an “I got cut” spouted irately as he marched into the bathroom to fetch a Band-Aid. No, this version implied so much more.
It was a come-help-me-I-am-bleeding-profusely-and-am-about-to-faint-oh-my-God-I-can’t-even-look-at-it-it’s-so-deep “I-got-cut.” It was the kind of “I got cut” that caused me to drop my cheese grater and say, “No, don’t tell me,” to put my hand on my forehead then drop it to my side, to rub hard the thighs of my jeans, something I do to remind myself that I’m still here. The kind of “I got cut” that finally sent me hobbling, as if crippled, to the bed where I crumpled and yelled, weakly, “What do you need?”
Deep breath.
Even writing this makes my heart race. I pull my legs up under my body, form myself into a fetal position (as much a fetal position as one can get while sitting in the waiting room of Urgent Care). An extremely overweight man gets up and stands by the door. It’s as if he senses my internal debate over whether or not to maintain full consciousness.
I hate it that I do this. I want to be strong. I want to be the kind of person others would never vote off the island. I’m strong in so many other ways.
I did manage to cut a strip of cloth out of a clean flannel pillowcase for Jim.
I didn’t clean or bandage the cut, which was hard for him to do on his own.
I did call three Urgent Care centers to see if any was not crowded.
I did clean up the blood that had dripped all over the bathroom.
I did drive him here, and I am sitting, waiting. Weak, but waiting.
Flash back to another time we were in a medical clinic together — 1991, the weeks before our wedding day. You used to have to take a blood test to get a marriage license. Jim and I went together. We entered our respective examination rooms at the same time, emerged at the same time, smiled that the other was still pink in the cheeks. We walked together — soon to be Husband And Wife — to the check-out counter to pay. Then this:
Jim: “I think I’ll go wait outside.”
Me: “What’s wrong?” (alarmed) “You’re not going to faint, are you??”
Jim: “Eh, I feel kind of woozy. I’ll be OK.” (off he scuttles)
Me: (standing there, thinking about him, sure he’s going to faint. soles of my feet start to hurt. shuffle from one foot to the other. what’s taking the guy so long to run my card through the card reader??)
Me: “You almost done?”
Guy: “I keep getting a busy signal.” (has his back to me) “Let me try again.”
Me: (feeling light-headed, picturing Jim sprawled out on the grass by the parking lot…the tunnel, here it comes…)
I ended up running back to my examination room, flinging open the door and flinging myself onto the table right before losing consciousness. I woke to Jim and the Guy standing over me, the Guy laughing about how one minute I was there, the next minute gone.
Kind of like today.
Oh, here’s Jim now. He seems jolly. An old man in a wheelchair asks what they did back there. “Well,” Jim begins, “the doctor squeezed it together so hard I almost screamed…”
“No, Jim, don’t,” I call from where I am. Heads turn my way. The old man’s mouth opens then closes, like he’s just seen something scary.
Jim and I walk out the door. “Don’t tell me anything until we get home,” I whisper. “OK,” he says.
Our pact. In sickness and health. And sight-of-blood-induced fainting. ‘Til death do us part.
This was a fantastic story, and yet another indication that you and I should definitely get together the next time I’m in ABQ. C is extremely squeamish; I always worry that I’ll injure myself when we’re out hiking and he won’t be able to do a damn thing to help me. I’m a bit squeamish myself, but not as bad as the three of you. I did get a bit light-headed when I had to clean the bathroom after my dog was bitten in the ear by another dog and dripped blood everywhere.
And I hate E.R. waiting rooms.
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Maybe C and Jim and I could go through therapy together to break our syndrome, or whatever it is. Although, could you imagine? We’d probably have to do behavioral therapy. No way, Jose.
God, surely I would be forced to be strong if someone’s life were truly in danger. Wouldn’t I? Wouldn’t C?? Please someone tell me yes.
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I hope you’re right that you (and C) would be able to find the strength to do what needed to be done in an emergency situation. I guess we won’t know until we’re in that situation. So if it happens to you first, do let me know!
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ybonesy,
I am glad Jim is okay and did slice his finger off.
One evening Tania stabbed herself in the arm. She was using a big knife to punch a hole in the bottle of liquid laundry detergent to get the last bit. The knife slipped and jabbed her in the left forearm. I looked at the shock in her face, I looked at the wound (fat sticking out) and I went ballistic! Elevate arm, apply pressure…lets go! I got her to the local clinic in less than 5 minutes. The doctors looked at it, shrugged, squeezed it together and put a bandage on it. That’s all??? No stitches? I guess I over reacted…Anyway, it was okay after a week or so.
MM
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“did” should be didn’t. OOOOOPS!
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“fat sticking out” ???
wow, I almost hit the floor on that visual!!
I hope you’re around next time Jim or I has a puncture wound, appendage slice, or compound fracture!!
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ybonesy, I’m glad you’re all OK, now. You are all OK, now, right?
Bear with me for a moment. I’m a tad weak-stomached, but when I was a kid, my mom and I were both card-carrying members of the Frequent Nosebleed Club. It was nothing for me to wake up to a blood-soaked pillow. I’ve helped take care of bleeding mast cell tumors on my neighbor’s dog, and held my own dog’s head while the vet pulled infected fatty tissue from the incision in his back.
My weakness isn’t blood. It’s spiders. They give me chills, make me sick to my stomach, and I generally let them run the show, if they happen to be in the house, because rebellion would require proximity. But the day that I caught Jerry chewing on one, I manged to stick my hand in his mouth, get the damned thing out, and then pick it up off the floor before he could grab it again. The chills, nauseau, and paralyzing fear didn’t kick in ’til later. So, yeah, you could get through it, if you had to. Adrenaline can be a good, good thing!
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I’d swap with you anyday.
I can scoop up with my hands some types spiders (Daddy long-legs — well, I guess the rest are crickets ; – ) and throw them outside. I catch the others with a cup and piece of cardboard. I love looking at the big weaving orb spiders. And the funny thing is, my girls don’t seem to be too bothered by spiders, yet they’re showing signs of weakness at the sight of blood.
Do we pass these things on to our kids? Is that how it works? Does anyone know?
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I can’t believe two “blood” fainters fell in love and married. Just imagining the two of you, I’m sorry, made me laugh. The very precision of the type of “I got cut” specified was too much for anyone reading it to keep a straight face.
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Don’t be sorry. It’s goofy. It’s like my giggling syndrome, or my puke phobia. It’s all laughable from a distance; I laugh, too. It just sucks when it’s happening.
But, hey, I changed his bandage this evening. Ugh, it’s gross looking. I can look at it now, though. By tomorrow I’ll be asking him, Let me see it again, please, please!!
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Oh, How I love a man’s hands.
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I do, too. Jim has nice hands. Weathered but nice. I tell him he has beef jerkey skin on his arms from farming and working outside.
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ybonesy — this is GOOD writing! There are so many fine clear descriptions: The “I-got-cut” sequence; followed by your description of pulling yourself into a fetal position in the waiting room chair; the wedding day flashback and then bolting from the check-out to faint! This writing was ALIVE, even as you feared losing consciousness. It seems like your awareness of everything around you at Urgent Care was heightened… anything to avoid facing or describing the wound or the blood itself!
Yes, I think you’ll be fine if you have to face something really serious…and you may write a great book about it.
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Your writing is amazing. I also think you’re strong in the way you need to be, doing what has to be done and falling apart later. It’s ok to fall apart later.
Remind me never to tell you about the time I wrestled with a toothbrush and the toothbrush won. It’s much too gory (and left a big scar).
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Ok… I’m going to presume that at least one of you were in the room when your daughter’s were born or were blindfolds involved?
yb…Mines not blood…it’s warm mayonnaise…eeeuuuwww!
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ybonesy, scary story. I’m glad Jim’s okay. I remember his hands. They are nice. A working man’s hands but kind of delicate at the same time. I always notice hands.
When I was Down South last June, I was remembering with my mom and step-dad the time she cut her hand trying to open a coconut. She had to go get stitches. Then my brother fell off his tricycle and sliced his wrist. There was so much blood. He had to go to the emergency room, too. Those memories stuck with all of us. You just don’t forget them.
The blood doesn’t bother me so much. But the idea of the injury itself makes me queasy. It’s hard for me to see others in pain or uncomfortable. I wouldn’t be a good EMT!
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Thanks for the comments on the writing. It was based on a practice I did while sitting in the waiting room.
breathepeace, something you said about it seeming like I was aware of everything in Urgent Care. I find when I’m in a crowd or group of other people — waiting to board a plane, on an elevator, in a waiting room — I seem to be present. I’ve even written before about how those places are automatic “practices” for me in that I don’t slip into my thoughts.
Heather, we had both our girls at home, and the reason we did was because we both have fainted at hospitals. I kid you not — we made our decision based largely on NOT wanting to be in a hospital. And we did great! That blood didn’t seem to matter one iota.
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Sounds like you did great, yb, with Jim’s wound. One other little detail might help, if you think of it.
After you wrap his hand, try and have him hold the injury up over his head. Slows the bleeding.
Might even mean more blood for his head, and prevent another faint. *smile*
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*laughs* Fellow fainters!
me too. Got through reading this but not with out my hands/arms feeling all hollow (donno how else to describe the senation) and my tummy kinda pulling in.
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Finally, a fellow fainter who knows all about the hollow arm syndrome and the pulling in of the tummy. And what about that tickly feeling that someone is running a feather on the inside front of your thighs?
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It has been determined that C will not be present when (if) I give birth to any future children. I think it just might kill him.
I’d love to give birth at home, though. My mother had all four of us at home. However, I have been informed by my OB/GYN that my cervix is at a funny angle, which may make childbirth difficult. And C has a rather large head (OK, it’s frikkin’ huge) and I’m afraid any babies we have will inherit it. So I think I will have to be in a hospital. *sigh*
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There are some lovely birthing rooms in hospitals, these days, and I think it’s worth not taking chances when you know there could be difficulties. I would only say that if Jim could handle childbirth, and I honestly don’t think for once he felt faint, C *might* just be able to handle it, too.
There’s no way C can be worse than Jim. I have several fainting stories I can tell you; case in point, Walgreens after he got his molars out. They sent three cop cars in addition to the paramedics because when I said “I think it might be a Novocain overdose,” the pharmacist thought I said “I think it might be a cocaine overdose.”
Are you sure you want to get married? (just kidding)
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OMG…warn me when you’re going to say something like that 3 cop car bit. My mouth was full of “Hidden” Halloween candy!
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LOL. Let’s see, if my memory serves me right, we’re not talking little candy corns. No, you just spit giant Kit Kats and other supersized bars, didn’t you??
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It was Hot Tamales 🙂
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I kid you not, I LOVE Hot Tamales. My first year in college I ate for lunch a slice of Mario’s Pizza every day (some days two slices) and a box of Hot Tamales. Those things can add some pounds over the months.
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Mabel, Coffee, Laughing inappropriately and Hot Tamales…if you tell me you shoot rubber-bands at your co-workers, you’re my Hero
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Ybonesy, I am so glad Jim’s finger is okay. I HATE hospitals -more than I hate blood, which is maybe not practical in an emergency. But if you’re a fainter, you have to figure it’s kind of like the directions they give about the oxygen masks on the airplane — make sure you’re breathing first so you can help the other person to get the care they need. I really felt for you, that internal conversation about wanting to be strong and be there for Jim even though it’s woozy and frightening. For both of you. Dang. I have to admit, though, I did laugh at the “I got cut” line too.
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bosquechica, doesn’t your work ever take you into hospitals? I guess not, but sheesh, you were taking a chance even getting into the health field, no?
I carry panic attack pills when I fly, not because I’ve ever had a panic attack (I haven’t, which is amazing given how many things have the potential to bring about a fainting spell), and so I can only hope I’d be able to pop one in my mouth in time.
Heather, I DON’T shoot rubber bands at co-workers; at least, not while at work. It’s hard to do when you’re in cubicles. You’d have to shoot the rubber band up and then hope it drops on the person, and as you can imagine, the effect of a slowly fizzling rubber band is not anything to write home about. Now, if we’re out for dinner or at a bar, I have been known to interview all my co-workers using a spoon for a microphone. I ask them the same question: If you didn’t have to work at our company for a living, what would you be doing instead? It’s not as heroic as shooting rubber bands, but perhaps it will get me to super friends status??
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yeah — I almost took a job at a newborn ICU a few months ago and then realized there was no WAY I could handle all that wee baby suffering. I’ve found a way to do medical ST without blood, gaping wounds or hospitals, though, by working with homebound adults. Home therapies work well for me, in part because I am a bit prone to rubber band shooting when contained in small places.
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I’m so glad that Jim is OK, and also so very very glad I’m not the only person with this kind of problem. Waiting rooms make me so agitated that I can barely sit still. But bodily functions and blood do me in completely.
I still remember the day I fainted at the vet’s office after he showed me my cat’s abscessed tooth. It took an hour before I was OK to drive.
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[…] am going to warn off the Squeamishat this point. If you don’t like to hear about body functions, hospitals, blood, chaos, anger, […]
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[…] looked up from the book. Jim’s mouth was open. Being the types to faint at the sight of blood and smell of hospitals, we had already decided to birth our baby at home, attended by a midwife. […]
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