I was driving home from dropping Stephen off at school. I was thinking of everything I have to do and when (as usual), when I looked down at my arms. And I wasn't actually looking at my arms, but more at the tiny veins inside.
They've been such a bother whenever I get blood drawn or I.Vs. The stick sites get sore and bruise up. And I say siteS because there is always more than one. They never get it the first time, even when I say to use butterfly needles.
Anyway, I was looking at these annoying things when I realized how nice it would be if I could donate plasma. Certainly it wouldn't absolve my financial worries, but it would certainly help. And then it happened.
I cried.
Everything just flooded my mind. How unhealthy I am and how it will just get worse and there's nothing I can do about it. How my outlook is being forced into these odd directions. I just don't care much about my body anymore one minute, and the next, I'm trying to prevent unnecessary symptoms. I'd have a tattoo right now if I didn't care what Stephen thought. I wouldn't mind getting plastic surgery a few places, if it would make me feel better. Yet, at the same time, I have to live in the moment or I know I'll regret it. I have to take advantage of how healthy I am now. This makes me vain. This makes me judgmental of those smokers on TV who die in their 50's. I get mad at them for doing this to themselves. I eat as many fries and drink as much caffeine as I want!
But there I was. Realizing how weird of a club I've joined. Thinking your whole life that you're relatively healthy (the blood clotting disorder never crossed my mind), and then you find out that you're not only unhealthy, but that you're just going to slowly waste away. It's unnerving. And I really wish I could donate plasma.
