Avoid the Fainting Goat Zone

It's no secret I live on the edge... on the edge of the fine line between being squeamish or a fainting goat. In the right circumstances, I can be both.

I'm not saying it's hereditary, but there was a time in the not-too-distant past when I figured Carter and I could form a band and call ourselves The Fainting Goats. But I've been mostly upright of late. We both have.

Today I had a health screening at work. Knowing I had to fast at least 8 hours, I scheduled it early. And knowing I had to fast, you'd think I'd automatically know they'd be taking blood today to test cholesterol. Probably smart I blocked that out until I got there.

Then, when it was time, I told her I don't do well with seeing or giving blood. She said, "Do you want to lay down?" I said, "Well how much are you taking??" She said two vials. And I figured yes, I better lay down.

As soon as I was situated and she realized she needed a smaller needle, I knew it was a good call.

I survived fine. Drank my juice like the big-timers and headed back to my desk.

I texted hubby – the guy with the gallon donor pins – with my news.

Me: I gave blood and didn't faint!
Hubby: Good for you. A whole pint?
Me: Well... no. But it felt like it!

It turned out to be a day of staying horizontal. Had a "core" workout class at lunch. Then reclined in the dental chair for an hour after work. I was getting fitted for my tiara or crown or whatever.

We might have to change our band name to The Royal Fainting Goats. Rock on, my vertical friends.