Today, for the first time in my life, I had my blood drawn. I was the kid who, growing up (and even now), knew that I would never be a doctor, would faint at the sight of blood, and always had to look the other way when the nurse gave me a shot.
I sat in the chair with my arm on the armrest while the nurse prepared her equipment. When she stuck the needle in, I imagined that I was sitting at the bottom of a clear lake, meditating. It took barely thirty seconds before she collected a tube full of blood and started wrapping the gauze wrap tightly around my arm.
I must have had a weird look on my face, because the nurse repeatedly asked if I were OK. I told her that it was my first time and I was probably just a little confused. When we left the room, I dared to smile. And then it all began.
My mouth wouldn’t go back into its original position, and I started laughing. I laughed as we walked into the elevator with an old couple, I laughed as we exited the hospital (and earned a few curious looks from by-passers, I laughed as my dad tried to ignore me as he was starting the car.
I laughed, the kind of laugh where your abs hurt, your eyes water, and your hands can’t help but to slap either your knees or your stomach. I laughed, the kind where you don’t know why, and you want to apologize, but it just gets even funnier. I was a laughing-maniac, and I physically couldn’t stop.
A close inspection yielded that my band-aid was very tightly wrapped around my funny bone, and any movement activated the laugh-until-you-cry nerve. I never truly believed in the power of the funny bone before, but I now see that I was wrong.
Therefore, I have come to the conclusion that the funny bone is rightfully called the funny bone. Or, I’m just weird.
(On a sort-of related note, yesterday, my eye doctor told me I had a hole in my eye, so she sent me to a specialist. I went there today, and turns out there is nothing…)