Today, I donated blood for the first time. Like legitimately. Previous attempts have literally been a cheap ploy to get out of class or score free shirts in which to perform community service. Okay, maybe I did want to get out of about 45 minutes of work today… But I also genuinely wanted to do my part given my complete community service withdrawels in the past year.
I knew this time was going to be confusing. I roll up there with a handful of my coworkers, all joking to steal each other’s social security numbers. Now, they ask for your social? I just learned yesterday that if anyone asks you for your social for anything besides credit, that’s illegal? Whatever, as long as I get my free mug somewhere down the line.
Okay, now the confusing part. I roll up in the teeny tiny consultation room and we go over all those crazy questions. Well, actually, first I had to explain that I was on antibiotics 10 days ago for an infection I got whilst running myself completely ragged over the wedding of the year. Then I got to explain the tattoo I got in July. Then I had to explain I’m getting a DIFFERENT tattoo removed, but I haven’t gone back for that since August. I didn’t get a flu shot, but I DID get my last Gardasil vaccination last month. We couldn’t decide what the tattoo removal session fell under, but I got write down the names of the venues while my nurse made a special phone call to San Antonio to verify whether that was acceptable, non acceptable, a tattoo, or body modification.
So, I’m in the little room while about 3 of my coworkers come in and out of their tiny rooms. I’m sure they now think I have been sexually active with someone who has been to Africa since 1977 , taken money or sex for drugs, or something else crazy. Not really, I just am complicated at the moment!
Consultation, check. Blood cell count, check. By the way, I am higher than the womanly average of 38% at an almost manly 44%. Go sit in chair. Check. Well, lucky that I am, I pick the coldest, coldest chair in the entire place. I am almost shivering. I ask if they can turn the fan off, they can’t. I ask if there’s a blanket, they say they don’t have one. Shit. I am shivering now. But they reassure me that it’s better to give when I am colder (wha?). Okay, so they bring out this crazy thick looking needle, and the guy in the chair next to me, someone whom exchanges BS with everyone he comes into contact with, asks me if I’m nervous. Probably because I’ve been saying “Oh, I don’t know what to do, it’s my first time”. So now everyone on the bus is handling me with baby gloves because they think I’m going to freak out.
Okay, seriously.
I’ve gotten three tattoos in the past 7 years.
I’ve jumped out of a plane three times this year.
I’ve gotten all my Gardasil vaccinations this year.
You think I’m afraid of doing good for others by giving up a pint of my own blood?
Please.
Okay, skipping the nasty part where I watch them wriggle this needle around in my arm. Everything’s going well, but I’m pumping “a little slow”. Awesome. Also by this time, the guy across is making me laugh. And I’m shivering. And we’re on a blood bus that moves when people walk on the floor. All of these combined add up to a very shaky needle in my arm. Discomfort and stinging. Ouch. Shivering is probably the worst while giving blood.
Okay, and we’re done. What do I see while I’m sitting there eating my sugar free lemon cookies?
A fucking blanket.
