No, this is not the title of my new novel. Rather, it's a way of explaining what it's like for an empath like me to watch someone else have to give blood.
First of all, I'm a real weenie when it comes to giving blood. My medical chart probably says "Difficult!" in big red letters somewhere. My veins roll, they collapse, they run the 40-yard dash in the opposite direction of the coming needle, and it all makes me cry. Yep, big grown-up me is reduced to a puddle of tears after the second poke. That's why I think of phlebotomists as vampires. I'm sure they're wonderful people, but their job makes me sob.
So yesterday I had to accompany my Significant Other as S.O. gave blood. S.O. is really lucky -- those veins are usually up and ready and standing at attention for the nearest needle. Not so yesterday. I think S.O. was dehydrated, so those wonderful veins were shriveled little spaghetti lines. The nurse tried once, and I felt that in my own hand, then the nurse tried twice, and I really felt that in my arm when the vein blew. The tears started to spring to my eyes and I had to bite my lip. Finally, the nurse wisely called the head nurse and that blessed soul found a decent vein and all was well. Still, my arms and hand ached for a couple of hours afterward. Another interesting day in the life of an empath. Blast those vampires!