Success is Measured in Strong Platelettes

My purple stick-to-self tape is evidence of the iron supplement I took this morning.
I didn't anticipate that my iron would be up from its' last (and rejected) 37%, as I have not had any extra dead cows or leafy greens, and mentally prepared myself for failure once again.
Blood spun.
Iron was measured.
And 40% may as well be 100%.
And then I started to panic.
Blood Guy told me to settle down or my pulse would keep going up and he'd send me away.
Blood Guy sent me to Blood Gal. She told me to relax, that I'd be fine, and that my blood would enjoy its free joy ride on a teeter-totter. I told my legs and chin to cease the shaking because if they were going to send me away, they were going to send me away for a legitimate, chemical reason. Fear would not get me here.
Blood tubes on my right kept my gaze at lovely, calming, friendly faces. Marissa even documented my fright in photos- blood bag and all. All was wellish. Until I saw Senorita Cosita on a bed, covered in blankets. I squeezed harder to force blood into the tubes to go crack a Ron Burgandy joke to make all well in the world for SC.
My time: 5 Min. 2 Sec.
I stood.
I walked.
I comforted.
I buckled.
And we laid sipping Sprite from straws, knowing that for something to go smoothly and without black-outs, for us, is simply too much to ask.