Three days after completing the full ten-day Provera cycle, I started my first period in two and a half months. Two days after that, I went to a lab and had thirteen vials of blood drawn. I nearly passed out in the blue pleather medical chair.
Why thirteen vials? Because in my infinite wisdom, I decided to knock out two complicated blood tests in one blood lab experience, as I have notoriously difficult veins and am really not a fan of having phlebotomists play minesweeper with needles under my skin. The two tests:
1) a hormone panel, to make sure I am a real-life, fertile human woman.
2) a genetic panel, to make sure I am not a carrier of things such as cystic fibrosis (as my husband’s brother has the disease).
I have never passed out. Not from running, not from drinking, not from sickness. If my equilibrium is threatened, my body usually rights itself through vigorous good old-fashioned vomiting and then all is well. So, imagine my surprise when, after the woman taking my blood managed to hit pay dirt the third time she pierced my skin and started discussing how many, many vials there were to fill, I started to get sweaty and dizzy. I vaguely remember trying to describe to her the hereditary mechanism of cystic fibrosis before she screamed for smelling salts and a Capri-Sun.
I ended the visit sprawled out on a cot, sipping high fructose corn syrup out of a foil pouch and trying to act like a normal person, despite the fact that she had just had to help me up from the chair while I grinned like a moron.
It was such a good time.
I should know the results of both tests in two to three weeks. Until then, I’ll probably just panic.