Everyone has an Achilles’ heel. 

Mine is giving blood. Or rather, allowing a nurse to take mine. Because there is no way I'm willing going through my regular ordeal to give blood when I can barely stomach the "there’s a needle piercing my skinâ€ process. And that’s before I deal with the fact, blood is leaving my arm to go into a vial. 

But yesterday, I had no choice. And before I knew it, the nurse was taping my arm and motioning for me to make a fist.

As soon as I saw the alcohol prep pad nearing my arm, I looked away and started to feel faint. I went between losing feeling in my legs to my legs wanting to fold up to my chest. I kept thinking how the fetal position would be enjoyable right then. 

Eight (seriously… eight, the number after seven) large vials later, the needle was taken out of my arm. But instead of receiving a treat of cookies and juice, the inside of my elbow was left with dark purple discolorations that resemble track marks of a drugged out 80s supermodel.

Gia anyone?

And in the best news ever category of the week, I get thrown back into this situation again in two weeks.