by Kristine Coblitz
When I was a freshman in college, I accompanied my mom and some family friends to a local restaurant where we had dinner and paid $20 for a private session with a fortune teller. I went with an open mind and curiosity about what this woman would tell me. I admit I was also looking for some answers about where my life was heading since I’d just signed up for ten years of college loan payments.
A few of the things this woman touched upon were accurate, and some future predictions actually came true. She was dead wrong about one thing, however, and that was when she told me that I would end up being a nurse.
When I told my mom about her prediction after my session, she laughed and told me I should ask for my $20 back.
I admire anyone who can handle the medical profession. I’m not one of those people, especially because I have a tendency to pass out at the sight of blood. Sounds weird for someone who writes crime fiction and loves scary movies, huh?
The way I figure it, I can deal with blood on the page or on the television screen, but when it’s gushing out of my own or anyone else’s body, it’s a different story. I’m on the floor in a matter of seconds.
When I was younger, I fainted all the time. Sharp pain and sickness did it. So did using tweezers to get out a splinter. One morning while singing in the choir in church during grade school, I passed out and my best friend, who was standing next to me, thought I had died. When I opened my eyes to a nun standing over me and organ music in the background, I thought I had died, too. Another episode happened in my twenties while on vacation with my soon-to-be husband at the time. I’d gotten sun poisoning at the beach and passed out the next morning. When I came out of it, he was packing my suitcase and ready to ship me home. (He still married me, though.)
Thankfully, I’m not nearly as sensitive now as an adult, but don’t get me near a needle or anywhere near a hospital. Just last week I had blood taken at my doctor’s office and passed out in the waiting room.
I guess there are some things you never outgrow.
So for the benefit of not just myself but also for everyone else, I didn’t enroll in nursing school. Instead, I became a crime fiction writer where I inflict the pain and blood on fictional characters.
Oh, and in case you’re wondering, I do have extra padding on my chair for when the murder scenes get a bit too bloody.