You would think that if there was anyone in the world who would truly have my best interests in mind, it would be me. I’ve lived with me for 26 years. I’ve put up with my whining, my crying, my cheering, my boasting and my self-loathing. I’ve seen what I am capable of firsthand.

I know what I like.

I like to move — to run, to jump, to throw a disc, to climb, to swim, to bike, to hike.

I like to cook — to feed myself and others, to provide, to create, to savor, to indulge.

I like to read and think and write.

I like routine, knowing when I am going and where I am going.

But I also like an immense amount of flexibility; I’ll get where I am going when I am going to get there.

What is interesting, though, is that, despite all of my time spent with myself, I so frequently do things that are not in my best interest.

I scheduled a physical for Tuesday. I took a personal day off from work. At the doctor’s office, which was slightly too cold and made my hands clammy, I ran through the normal gamut of questions and breathing/coughing exercises. I moved into the blood-sample room.

I remember getting shots as a child. The doctor always said “Look away. I’ll tell you when I am done.” For 26 years I have devoutly followed those instructions. On Tuesday, I decided that “Dangit all, I am a grown man! 26 years old! It’s time!” So I watched. And I passed out.

Not only did I pass out, I passed out in spectacular, “I have never seen anyone sweat so much” fashion.

I made it through the needle process. I made it through vial one, vial two and vial three. The technician took off the rubber band on my arm. He took out the needle. He walked across the room to label my samples.

Then my vision returned and I was looking at my knees from a distance of 4 inches. The technician was saying some sort of soothing words I cannot recall. He was holding my shoulders. He lifted me up. I faded to black again.

Then my vision returned on his face. “You are burning up,” he said. Somehow he made that soothing too. He transferred me to a rolling chair. He wheeled me across the hall to a normal appointment room and put me up on the table. I started breathing in a slow forced manner as he put ice bags on my chest and head.

My fingers began to tense up. They began to tingle. I began to lose the ability to move them. The tense tingle sensation spread. To my arms. My legs. My entire lower-half. My abdomen. My tongue.

A doctor came in. She told me “You are going to have to calm down.” That was soothing too. I started breathing normally, and explained through slurred words that “my body is all tight.”

Twenty minutes passed. My body was back to normal, except for dizziness and a general clammy feeling. The doctor said my blood-sugar level was 20. Apparently that is low. She made me drink a super-sugar orange juice thing. She gave me some crackers. They had peanut butter and honey on them.

Eventually my buddy Adam picked me up. We ate a burrito at Freebirds and then saw X-Men: Origins. I felt fine.

Because I felt fine, I wanted to go climb. My roommate looked at me like I was crazy. My friend looked at me like I was crazy. My girlfriend got angry. I didn’t climb.

The point might be that I am an idiot, and I don’t actually know what is best for me. The point might be that soothing words can be pretty helpful. The point might be that I should never watch blood being drawn again.

Or, the point might be that I am lucky that I have friends who can and will tell me when I am being unreasonable. Even more than that, they will give me time and put up with me while I am being unreasonable, sticking with me until I realize it.

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