By Brandi Granett.
I’m beginning to reject Western Medicine. I read Louise Hay’s books. I study homeopathic bottles and herbs and tinctures. I take vitamins and supplements. I use a foam roller and try to meditate. Despite all these efforts, my hypothyroid still requires a prescription and mandatory blood testing. But I’ve learned to ignore my fears and tough it out.I kept up my tough girl façade even when the tech told me he needed ten vials of blood. And then spent ten minutes searching my arms for good veins. Finally, he returned to the first arm, tied it, and poked me. Only the blood wouldn’t flow. Fasting for over twelve hours, I grew faint, and he stopped when I couldn’t keep my head up.
They gave me some water and an ice pack. And after a few minutes, I said, “I’ll come back,” and then I bolted. After coffee and cranberry juice at the diner, my blood sugar levels return to normal, but my anxiety about what happened didn’t wane. “You’re just tired,” I told myself, “cut yourself a break.”
When I returned home I sent a pleading email to my doctor about splitting the blood draw into two sessions. Then after stewing for a few more minutes, the thought of returning to the lab filling me with stomach rolling dread, I sent her another email asking to hold off on the blood work for a little bit longer. Neither email quelled my anxiety and racing thoughts.