I don't believe in curses, and I'm not one of those people who honestly think that inanimate objects hate them, or that the universe is against them. That being said, it does kind of feel like I was never actually meant to give blood, since every time I do it's a whole ordeal.
Friday was going to be the first time I donated since I became a vegetarian. Since my last donation went so smoothly, my main concern was my iron levels and not, for once, my tendency towards unconsciousness. My iron was fine (yea for me!) and I settled down for my donation. The reclined me, as is necessary, then proceeded to mutilate my arm. The tech was old, and therefore I assume experienced, but she damaged the vein putting the needle in and I was bleeding around the needle and inside. The took the needle out. Now, by then I'd already started to fill the test bag for the donation, and they couldn't start the needle in my other arm, because then they'd have been taking too much. So, I didn't get to donate. The lady apologized profusely, she seemed to feel really bad. She warned me I'd get a bruise. Another, much younger tech, told me, "oh, that won't bruise."
He was wrong.
It's like the bruise is spilling over, growing, and it's going to slowly travel through my bloodstream and all over my body and come pouring out my eyes like the black oil. Or, I'll look like Evil Willow.
Seriously, though. I do think it's growing.