My high school hosted an annual blood drive for the community, and as part of the student council, I volunteered at it for a couple of periods during the day. Usually, I helped with the canteen, offering up cookies and juice to the donors at the far end of the gymnasium, and it was an easy obligation each spring. During my junior year, I was old enough to donate, so I signed up for a slot right away, only to find out that I did not meet the minimum weight requirement to be a donor. I was disappointed not to be able to donate, but I was secretly pleased that I was that thin. My friends, on the other hand, groaned at my story, despite my protestation that I really did want to give blood, for real!
Recently, I received an e-mail saying that the hospital where I work would have a blood drive soon, and they needed me to reach the goal of 100 employee donors. JG had always encouraged me to give blood if I could, and I could not longer blame my teenage slenderness, just a case of old-fashioned fear. I have developed a weak stomach, and the thought of a pint of blood draining out of my veins was none too appetizing. Sigh. I replied to the e-mail to schedule myself in. Perhaps I’d grow some courage in time, like the Cowardly Lion.
Today, I walked through the hospital to the blood drive, and I passed all the checkpoints. My blood pressure, pulse, and hemoglobin levels were fine (the nurse exclaimed, “You must eat very healthy food!”), and I managed not to cringe too much during the dreaded finger-prick. Eventually, I took my place on what seemed like a vinyl lounge chair at the height of an examination table with my hands loaded with paperwork, information on diabetes screening, and a tangle of rubber tubing and pouches. Ick.
The girl asked me to take off my jacket, and I immediately felt like a hussy in my skinny-strap camisole amid all of the scrubs and lab coats. She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around my left arm, told me to squeeze a ball, and tapped. And tapped. “Let’s try the other side,” she said. Cuff, squeeze, tap, tap.
“Are my veins too small?” I asked. It was news to me. Every other time I’ve needed to have blood drawn, the nurse comments on how big my veins are for my height. I usually blame it on climbing.
“Well, they might not run the whole time,” she explained. “I’ll ask Lynn to check you out.”
By the time Lynn came around, my stomach was tied in knots, and my hands were sweating. I imagined my arms full of pinpricks with blood trickling its way down the rubber tubing. Maybe it wasn’t my destiny to be a blood donor. Or maybe this was just a bad time for me. See you next year, when my veins are a bit bigger, maybe?
Lynn checked my veins critically. “I can get it in there, and then we’ll see how it goes,” she said doubtfully.
Oh, that was reassuring.
Again, the cuff went around my arm, and I was supposed to squeeze the squishy globe toy encased in a plastic bag, which I did so effectively as to burst the bag with a loud pop. I just about flew out of the chair from nerves.
“You okay?”
“Uh, yes.”
I looked away when Lynn laid gauze over my iodine-stained arm, and I gasped sharply when I felt the sharp prick of a needle.
“You sure you’re okay?”
I nodded stiffly. The pain was over, but I had to avert my eyes from that rubber tubing, now dark crimson with … oh, I couldn’t even think about it. I propped up my knees and opened up the latest New Yorker I had brought along for the wait. Before I even finished the first section of “Talk of the Town,” Lynn started fiddling with the tubing. “You’re all done!”
Already? My weak little veins had finished donating before the lady next to me, who had been hooked up before I did! Ha! What do you say about that, First Nurse Girl?
I wobbled over to the canteen for fifteen required minutes of cookies and orange juice before shakily heading back to my office. I figured that if I collapsed in the hallway, a hospital was as good a place as any to do so. The five-minute walk and two flights of stairs did not do me in, but I fell into my chair rather heavily and then immediately dove into my lunch for some sustenance.
Even though I feel tired and kind of off-kilter, I’m glad I managed to give blood. Much to my chagrin, the blood bank seems to have phased out those stickers with slogans like, “Take me out to dinner — I gave blood today!” I was so looking forward to wearing one, but I’ll settle for the “Pint for a Pint” coupon that entitles me to free ice cream. There will definitely be a side trip to Baskin Robbins on the way home tonight.
14 comments
Good for you for facing your fear! That’s awesome.
(And also SO FUNNY about finishing the blood-draining before the other woman!)
good for you! i used to love donating blood but can no longer do so because of my arthritis. i wish i could. it’s such a great way to help people. we sponsor a drive here every year, and last year one of our morning show hosts almost passed out. i think he forgot to eat breakfast.
Good on you! I’ve tried to give blood a couple of times, but my low blood pressure won’t fill the bag in less than 15 minutes. I suppose I should give it another go, but I think the blood drive would have to come to me.
It’s too bad you weren’t reading a book about teenage vamps in love while you were donating blood. That would have been awesome and ironic, and it just doesn’t get better than awesome AND ironic.
I got woozy reading this post. Does that tell you that despite my efforts that first time, I will probably never give blood again?
I love donating blood. To me, it one of the most valuable services I can do for society, and it hardly takes any time at all (for me). I used to race my brother and my dad when we donated together, and I usually won. Once after such a race I passed out in the blood donation clinic. That was pretty lame. But, I did win, and that’s all that really matters.
I still don’t weigh enough to donate blood and I’m secretly glad as I am freaking terrified of needles and blood. Be really complimented that I’m commenting, because I’m getting dizzy just thinking of your blood pouring out of your arm into the tube. Ugh.
“What do you say about that, First Nurse Girl?” Ha! That line cracked me up!
Glad you didn’t faint. You did a good thing by donating blood.
Good job! Donating blood and facing a fear all in one swoop–nicely done.
I was the chair of our blood drive senior year of high school. I was to be the first to donate–they did all the tests and then the finger prick. I was anemic! So anti-climatic, but the blood drive did reach it’s goal so that was a plus.
Every time I have had to get blood taken (and I do mean EVERY TIME) I pass out. I am always right around the weight requirement, so I usually don’t “have” to give - meaning I don’t feel horribly guilty about not giving. Umm, I’d be lying if I didn’t say that I sort of aim for keeping things right around 110lbs specifically for this purpose.
Am horrible. But I hate passing out in front of all those people! It’s the fault of a very overactive Vagus nerve - that’s why even SEEING the tubing turning crimson, or thinking about it can do me in. I bet you’ve got an overactive Vagus nerve too! Yay for us
Oh my goodness, I am terrified of giving blood. My veins jump at the thought of needles (literally) and the last two times the nurse has pricked the tendon on the inside of my elbow…on both arms. It was not pretty. I think I have consigned myself to donating money to the red cross and leave the blood-donor bit to those of you with monster-veins.
xox
Good for you! I have had a lifelong fear of needles and the thought of them taking my blood while I still need it freaks me out to the nth degree. But if you did it, maybe I can too!
Wait, the “pint for a pint” was for ice cream? Not Guiness? Hmmm…I don’t know about that.
Also: “They may not run all the time”? What does that even mean, in regards to your veins?
The first couple times I gave blood, it went great! The most recent attempt (in college), however, ended in me fainting in front of my crush at the time. I haven’t been back to do my blood-giving duty since then!
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