There’s only one bad thing about getting your blood drawn. This is only, of course, if you discount the painful prick of the needle and the occasional inept blood-drawing person who stabs you multiple times in the arm to find a suitable vein in vain.
I, as of late, had to endure this process and this “only one bad thing” did happen to be part of my own experience.
Not every blood draw requires it, but, in this instance, it did. Additionally, it had been so long since any blood draw I was a part of had involved a fast that it caught me of guard.
I want to go to there.
Okay, so abstain from eating food for at least twelve hours before your early morning appointment the following day – that was my Prime Directive. When it was handed to me initially, no sweat on my brow had broken.
This was no day-long fast and, seeing as at least half of the fasting time could be chalked up to sweet, sweet sleep, the actual amount of conscious time spent wrestling with my Hunger Demons didn’t seem particularly significant.
Yeah, well, fuck me – I was wrong.
