The way I’ve been feeling the past few days brings back memories of my freshman year of college. Except I haven’t had any alcohol, and I’m still staggering around watching the walls undulate.

After two days (and finally acknowledging some strange little chest pains I’ve been having on and off for weeks), I decided to call Dr. Ann. Whenever anything out of the ordinary starts happening to my body, I immediately think about my thyroid. Maybe my medication is out of whack, and I’m turning hyperthyroid. She didn’t think so, but it had been more than six months since my last blood test. So, off to the lab I went.

I told the technicians that I was a challenging draw. (This is something I’ve learned to do after many missed veins.) After having my right arm poked, they tried my left hand. Then my left forearm. After that, back to my right arm. Then my left arm. Good thing I’m over my fear of needles, eh?

Finally, a technician and a student-in-training walked me over to the adjoining hospital to visit the people who draw blood from preemies. I offered up my heel, but no dice. The technician there found a vein in my right arm, but nothing happened, even when he moved the needle around. He asked me to show him the inside of my left wrist. (!)

After the needle was in, I realized my whole arm was shaking. I apologized, and the technician said, “It’s not you, it’s me. Keeping this going is like holding on to a butterfly wing.”

My thyroid is fine, by the way. I have a viral thing going on that’s causing the dizziness, and my chest pain is a classic case of costochondritis.

But the bruises? They get the sympathy from my kids.