Just Call Me Dr. Jenny

Last night I kept waking up because I was dreaming of vampires coming after me. Did anyone else have this problem while they were reading the Twilight series or do I just have an extremely overactive imagination? How do they let teenagers read such disturbing stuff? Anyway, as I was trying to think happy thoughts and lull myself back to sleep, I started thinking about what I wanted to blog about next. (This also keeps me up at night. Clearly, I do not have enough going on during the day.) I finally settled on a subject.

Growing up with my father as a doctor resulted in several things. First, it was very convenient to have him around. We rarely made trips to the ER or the doctor unless something was pretty serious. My mom is kind of a hypochondriac like me, so without my dad, we probably would have been there a lot more often. I remember cutting my hand in our front yard when I was two or three, "helping" my mom pull weeks. I cut my hand on a piece of glass and had a flap of skin hanging off my palm and bleeding profusely. I ran inside to show my dad, and he simply took a pair of scissors and cut off the flap. I little hydrogen peroxide, a band-aid, and I was apparently good to go. I still have a very odd shaped scar on my hand, but it makes for a good story.

Another thing that I adopted growing up with my father as a physician is that I began to believe that I also had the knowledge of an MD. Even now, if I tell someone with enough conviction what their diagnosis is, they believe me. Now, before I get hate mail, I am well aware that I am not a doctor and have not put in the intensive hours and labor that is required of an MD. I am just letting you know what goes on in my mind.

I was pre-med for 2 years in college. That whole organic chemistry thing weeded me out, like the majority of people on our class. Blood never bothered me and I knew somehow (aside from not being able to pass the classes) that I would one day be a doctor. I do have a little problem though that we discovered in high school. Every time I give blood, I pass out and have a minor seizure. Don't worry, all the tests have been done - I am totally fine. But it is really bizarre. Can you imagine fainting and seizing in the gym at your high school?? So embarrassing.

I first believed that this one a one time thing, until I went to the doctor because I had esophagitis. (That is a hole in your esophagus. I am telling you, only me.) After my blood was drawn, I went into the waiting room to meet my mom. The room went blurry and I slumped down the wall as my mom was paying for the visit. So now we know. I have some sort of fear of needles, or anxiety about having my blood drawn. I try to warn people when I have to give blood now. "I am going to faint and I am going to have a slight seizure. Don't freak out and just slap me a few times to wake me up." No one believes me and then I wake up with their faces full of fear and anxiety. I want to say, "I told you this would happen!"

I tried to give blood in college, but made sure to explain to the admissions lady that I did have a problem with needles. She sent me right back out the little bus door, telling me that it was more trouble than it was worth to get my blood if I was going to be seizing all over the place. So now I just try to contribute in other ways that do not involve hospitals or holes in my arm.

Needless to say, I am not a doctor. I use my persuasive powers for other things, hopefully one day in a court room. I still take someone with me every time I know my blood needs to be drawn. A friend of mine told me I am going to be in trouble when I get pregnant because they draw your blood all the time. Even though that is FAR into the future, that will probably be something that I worry about as I try to sleep tonight!