This last weekend, Davene mentioned her visit to donate blood and how relaxing she found it–and it got me to reminiscing about my own blood donation stories.
Davene said:
“Despite the tourniquet around my arm and the needle sticking in my vein, I thoroughly enjoyed my time and–for once–didn’t regret the fact that I’m a slow bleeder. I had a book to keep me company, of course (The Autobiography of George Muller, that my dear blogging friend, Margie, sent me), and was easily transported from the mall corridor where I reclined as my blood dripped out to Bristol, England, in the days of Muller. “
It reminded me of the time when I wasn’t a slow bleeder–at all.
I generally had a hard time donating because my iron borders on low, so I had taken to dropping by the downtown blood bank location whenever I was on city campus, just so they could check.
And finally, after a half dozen or so visits in which the pin-prick revealed that my iron was too low, I was able to donate.
I settled in and they tapped my arm–and bright red blood quickly gushed into the bag. Rather than getting venous blood, the phlebotomist had managed to tap an arteriole. I donated in less than a minute.
That didn’t bother me at all, since I was always incredibly busy as a college student. I had a packed schedule, between classes and working and volunteering and extracurriculars. I was always on the go and generally somewhat sleep-deprived. So getting my donation done quickly was a major plus.
What I didn’t count on was how concerned the blood bank staff would be about my rapid donation. They worried that my blood pressure would drop too low or that I might go into shock or something–so they insisted that I stay on the chair, sipping soda for 30 minutes.
And they wouldn’t let me close my eyes.
So there I was, exhausted from running, my mind racing through the many things I still had to do that day, bound to a chair with nothing to do but without the option of napping.
It was excruciating–and the Dr. Phil on the television was definitely not making it any better!
I’m glad Davene found her donation relaxing. My donations have not always been.
Now that I can no longer donate blood (thanks to the discovery that I have very low blood volume without removing some!), I think upon donation with mixed feelings.
It’s a relief to not have to worry about scheduling donations into my already busy life–especially since I never knew if I’d actually be able to donate or not. At the same time, it’s a bummer that I can’t donate. I know how valuable blood donors are, and how necessary. My blood type is generally in high demand, and the bank is always looking for more. I just wish I could still donate.
What are your favorite blood donation stories? Don’t donate? Why not? (You should really consider it–It doesn’t take much and it provides an invaluable resource to the ill and wounded.)
I fantasize that I’m dying when I donate blood. And sometimes I almost convince myself! I much prefer poking people than being poked. But I do value the experience for the cause as well as the empathy it gives me for the people that I stick at the hospital!
Last time I donated I actually considered giving double reds for a minute. And I watched the phlebotomist poke me! Who would have know I was scared of needles 3 years ago?
BTW, going to visit our friends at the CBB in Lincoln tomorrow!
In less than a minute?? Good grief, I’ve never heard of such a thing! No wonder the staff was concerned about you!! I’m glad it ended up well… :)
I have a few more blood donation stories that come to mind, but they’ll have to wait. The kiddos are eating lunch, and I need to go check on them. :)