I Hate To Brag…Liar

I hate to brag. Well, that’s not entirely true. Who hates bragging? I don’t know anyone who doesn’t enjoy a braggadocios moment. We might feel self—conscious about it, but secretly we’re kinda giddy. There’s a bubble of excitement sitting in the sternum. It would rupture if not for that modicum of decorum holding it in.

Honestly, if we really didn’t like it, we would avoid it like I avoid small spaces, large crowds, and olives. Yuck, olives, blah. Be gone tiny demon poops! I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. Pardon me, I need to gargle a pint of ice cream. 

Mm, better. 

I was about to brag, but I had to start with something— Oh, how do I say it?—socially acceptable. We aren’t supposed to like doing it. Correction, we’re not supposed to admit we like it. But come on! We all enjoy it, and you know what? Sometimes we deserve to brag about our accomplishments.

Big or small. Mundane or marvellous. Slightly perverse or gloriously saintly. Go on, you’ve earned it. Clear the throat, take a deep breath, shoulders back, and give’er. Brag away. Be it humble or boastful, let it out.

My brag is of the slightly perverse yet humble variety. I don’t know why I’m so proud of this. However, tucked into a corner in the back of my brain, there’s an amused jolt. It feels like a small bolt of lightning striking my inner child. Not in a painful way. Nah, it tickles. I tickle myself.

Hmm, that doesn’t sound right.

The bolt of energy hits its mark, and I walk a little taller. My limp acquires a strut, and a small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. It’s wrong. It’s weird. It might classify as a guilty pleasure if there was pleasure to be had. I shouldn’t laugh, not at this and not in this place, but I feel a little proud in a contradictory sort of way.

Then again, aren’t we supposed to look on the bright side of everything? Think more positive thoughts? Turn a blah into a yay. A boohoo into a hee hee. A moment of vulnerability into a reclamation of power? Okay, that last one is a bit too far. Bounce it back to reality, and avoid toxic positivity.

When I tell you what it is, you’re going to think I’ve lost what’s left of my sanity. You might judge me, and that’s okay. I can take it if you’re kind about it. I get it. I really do. I’m about to type these words, and I don’t know why I feel proud. 

It’s not that big of a deal. It’s a small needle followed by a poke, then another one and another one, and… I shouldn’t feel a sense of pride. Really, it’s wrong.

I’ve been having a lot of blood work lately. If you want a longer explanation, please go back, and read some of my recent posts. I’ll give you the short version here, though. My immune system tried to kill me, and we had to shut it down, slowly restart it, and hope no damage was done. Did it work? Yes. Mostly. It’s been a few months, and it’s a slow, dragging slog, but I’m not dead yet.

Yay? The jury is still out.

I’ve been at the lab so often that they greet me by name as I walk through the door. They check me in without swiping my card. I know which one just celebrated a birthday and where others will vacation. You know you’ve been there too often when you know the names of their kids, and which sports they play.

Or, I’m lucky to have some really nice people taking care of me. More importantly, they’re very kind. (Yes, there is a difference.) 

There’s also a masked look of apprehension when I walk in. Believe me, I don’t want to be here either, but here we are. A group of unlikely strangers about to embark on a quest to tap into the fountain of life. It will be a struggle, and sacrifices will be made, but if we work together, we will be victorious. Maybe.

I have the worst veins you’ve ever seen. One phlebotomist claimed that I had the veins of a seasoned IV drug user. I was strangely flattered, but I’m not sure why. Thank you for the…Uh… Compliment?

My veins are small, they move like they’re a sentient life form, and even when it’s caught, it refuses to give up its treasure without a fight. It’s like riding a bull at a rodeo. It’s all over the place. Dodge and weave. You’ll never catch me! Send in the clowns if you dare. Bwahaha.

Here comes the brag. The one thing that gives me an ounce of joy. You’re going to think I’m weird, and you’ll be right. It’s not something to be proud of, but here were are, and there we shall go.

It usually takes multiple technicians many tries to get the job done. It’s not my record, but it has taken four techs eight tries to get enough blood to run the tests. They were very apologetic. I was perversely proud. I might’ve had a giggle in the car. 

I’m a challenge! Hee hee hee hee.

To be clear, I don’t enjoy it, and I don’t get off on the pain. No judgment if that’s your thing, but it’s not mine. I’d rather never see another needle for the rest of my life. If I never saw these lovely people again? I think we’d both be incredibly relieved. 

I don’t know why it gives me the swagger, but it does. A slight sense of power over a situation that’s stripped me of my self-governance? Perhaps. Or, I could be on the verge of a complete mental breakdown. We might never know.

I usually walk out, sit in my car, and count the bruises with a tired sigh. At least I can brag about the body count. That’s something, right?

Weirdo.

With a sense of impending doom, I got up early on Monday and went to the lab. This wasn’t how I wanted to start my week, but it had to be done. Grumble. Mumble. Grr, fine get it done. Sigh.

I checked in, chatted with the clerk, before heading back to wait for the barrage of needles. A couple of the lab techs said hello as they went about their business. Were they relieved they hadn’t drawn the short needle? Maybe, but they’re good people. Let them brag about it if they want to.

My tech came in, and we took bets on how many tries it would be today. I said four, but she went with an optimistic three. Someone drank their happy juice this morning. Good ya, I like the energy you’re putting out, but come on. Three? Sweetie, no.

She found a vein, and in the needle went. To our surprise, the vein decided to cooperate. Blood came out, and a squeak slipped past my lips before I could stop it. She gave me a look, and my eyes went wide. Damn, did I just jinx it? Immediately the blood stopped, and I sighed.

“Sorry, that’s on me.”

Her jaw set, and she shook her head, “It’s not over yet.” She repositioned the needle, and the blood started to flow again. She almost let out a yelp of satisfaction, but it was my turn to give her a look.

I’m not saying I’m superstitious. On the contrary, I’m hyper-rational with a deep connection to logic and reason. Walking under a ladder won’t bring seven years of bad luck. I’ve stepped on plenty of cracks, and my mother has never broken her back.

When it comes to blood work? Veins have ears. They have a mind of their own. They’re devilish little tricksters that should be approached with stealth. Don’t jinx it by saying, “Oo, that went in easily.”

Are you trying to make this difficult?

Silence engulfed us as we watched the vein give up its liquid gold. One vile, two, three…We just need a couple more. Done! One poke. One Lab tech. Looks like we both need to work on our optimism. Whew. Yay. A little disappointed that my count is so low because, you know, weirdo.

Actually, this time I sighed in relief as the bandaid was applied. My smirk was a genuine smile. I was dreading this, but here we are, done. Easy. That made my whole morning. Her skill and determination got the job done. She earned a good long brag.

Seriously, she should brag, and so should you. Does it matter if it’s small or weird? Nah, when that little lightning bolt strikes your happy place, giggle and enjoy it. How often do we let ourselves celebrate ourselves? 

Just remember: Life is the weird one, not you or me. Okay, maybe we’re all a little weird. Humble brag?