The Beginning..

It all started with a routine blood test.  It wasn’t until after I ate two big slices of a supreme pizza with pepperoni and sausage that I remembered that I had to start fasting for my annual (or not so annual..) blood test.  I’m not real big on needles, and I like to keep my blood to myself thank you.  So I’ve never been in any rush to give blood.  But it had been a few years, and I just turned 50…so it was time.  I rolled out of bed the next morning and went straight to the lab without showering, convinced that that was far too strenuous an activity before rolling up a sleeve and surrendering my arm to torture on an empty stomach.  I made sure the technician knew that I was not there willingly and that peeling me off the floor at any given moment was a strong possibility.  She silently went about her business of readying vials that I tried not to look at and I wondered how many times a day she had to listen to this sort of whining.  I no sooner closed my mouth in embarrassment that she was telling me to open my fist and was untying whatever that thing is they tie your arm up with.  That’s it?  I’m done already?  I sailed on out of there walking taller than I had coming in.  I hadn’t fainted.  I wasn’t the least bit woozy.  I was free to go home and eat again.  I couldn’t help but think of Glennon Doyle Melton’s battle cry and whispered it to myself:  “Carry On, Warrior.”


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