Blood of Any Kind

I hate blood.

I know it's essential in order for me to live and all that.

But I can't stand it.

I can't stand it gushing out of a paper cut. I can't stand the taste of it when it's dribbling out from between my teeth after I floss. I can't even stand looking at my veins, because I know there's blood running through them.

I also don't like to see it on a Band-aid, or, most certainly, seeping through a Band-aid. I don't like to see it on a washcloth, which is what I once had to use to sop up a cut after I broke a plate on my finger.

I don't even like to think about it. Seriously. Even writing this right now makes my limbs feel like jelly. I feel like all of the life has gone out of my knees and arms, and they're just floating there, allowing me to type.

But I'll take one for the team. This has to be said.

I'm glad I have blood. Don't get me wrong. I just think the major thing is, I don't like to lose it. And who does?

See, if blood stayed inside my body at all times, I wouldn't have to see it, and I wouldn't have to cringe at or be afraid of it. I could just never look at my veins and be perfectly happy. But, unfortunately, that doesn't always happen.

And I'm glad that people donate blood, because it's important. But it always freaks me out when I see the Bloodmobile driving by, because I think about what a messy, horrific scene it would be if that van ever crashed.

I've actually given blood myself, once. Oh, yes, I did. And I cried the whole way through it, and had to have my friend hold my hand. Because I am obviously a little baby.

And in this one experience of giving blood, the nurse took the whole pint, took the needle out of my arm, and then said, "Uh oh."

"Uh oh?" Really?

That is not the thing you want to hear after you've been sitting in a chair under torture, thinking about your blood being pumped through a little straw.

The "uh oh" was nothing major, really. Only my blood didn't clot (a word that I refuse to ever use in speaking, because it hurts my arms), and she had to poke the other arm to get my blood sample. So I walked around all day with two neon orange bandages wrapped around the inside of my elbows.

But that's just human blood. Do I have a problem with other types of blood?

Yes. Yes, I do.

I worked at a cafeteria once, and we had to cook burgers. And sometimes, when I put a burger on the grill, I would get blood on my gloves. Which is really bad enough. But at least it's just little specks, and you can change them.

But once, I took the pan out that held the burgers, because all of them were gone. I was going to bring the pan back to the dish washing room, when all of a sudden, I tipped the pan a little and blood went all over the floor. I'm not kidding. Everywhere. It looked like some kind of horrible crime scene.

Oh, and did I mention it went on my shoe? Yes. Blood. On my shoe.

And speaking of blood and cafeterias, we had a cafeteria at my college that once served prime rib for Christmas dinner. And guess what that prime rib did? Bled all over my plate and melded into my other food. Because (silly me), I didn't realize that "prime rib" was really code for "half-alive cow."

So, there you have it. I hate blood.

I love it when it's inside my body.

I hate it when it's gushing out of anything, on the floor, on any kind of fabric, or on my plate.

And I don't care what any "rare meat" activists try to tell me. Blood streaming out onto my plate is not for me.

It's certainly not my type.