Phoenix: Live Love Laugh

Pre-Op Chronicles: The Journey of a Warrior

Today was pre-op before my upcoming surgery. One of the biggest frustrations of living with a blood disorder is the endless cycle of blood draws—especially when you have tiny, disappearing veins like mine.

They brought in everything today: the vein finder, the sonogram machine, heating packs, butterfly needles—you name it. Yet, none of it made a difference. My veins are experts at playing hide and seek.

I used to live by what I called the “Three Times a Lady” rule: three needle sticks, and that’s it—leave me alone. But after the coma, all that changed. Now, my philosophy is simple: just get it over with.

There are still boundaries, though.
No neck IVs—period. You can use my feet if absolutely necessary, but my neck is off-limits unless I’m sedated or fully drugged up.

Today was no different. Two lab techs tried. Then they had to call an RN from the ER. After nearly 45 minutes, we barely got two out of the five tubes needed. And lucky me—I still have to go back in two weeks for blood typing and matching at the blood bank, in case I need a transfusion during surgery.

This is the life and journey of a sickle cell warrior:
ER visits. Surgeries. Hospitals. Repeat.

Lately, I find myself growing a new pet peeve. It’s the way some people treat me differently—or even funny—because of the visible pain I sometimes show. Let me be clear:

I am NOT my disease.

I am jovial.
I am social.
I am entertaining.
I am care-free and free-spirited.

Pain may be a chapter in my story, but it will never define the whole book.d and life is my drug.

“My scars are not my shame—they are my strength.”

“Born to fight. Built to inspire. Blessed to live.”

“Sickle Cell is a part of my journey—not my destination.”