I don’t like having blood taken. At all. It makes me queasy; it makes me nauseous.

I sat in the chair. I turned my head, so as not to see what see was doing. “One, two, three…” then a sharp poke. She really needn’t count.

I felt my head get lighter and lighter as the blood flowed into the many vials she had waiting.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I nodded my head. She finished and bandaged my arm.

“Thank you,” I offered. “That really didn’t hurt much at all. You’re quite good.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“How long have you been doing this?” I inquired.

“This is my first day,” she deadpanned. I laughed. “Oh, good,” she squealed. “I wanted to see you laugh.”