Today's the day you said you'd get blood work.
You sit in the waiting room, uninterested in the bad magazines and morning television provided to distract you.
There's babies crying, and old people everywhere.
The dreaded moment comes when they call your name.
Now you wait in that tiny room, in that awful chair, trying to maintain your composure.
Then the technician comes in and you start to lose it.
You try talking yourself down.
But then the technician asks you if you're okay and you're like:
But in your head you're like:
Before you know it, the deed is done and you are free to go.
There are two possible outcomes from this point:
Best case: you walk out of there like a champ.
Or worst case your fears are realized.
And this happens:
Regardless, you will leave alive.
And most likely dread the next time you have to get your blood taken.
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