...when I gave blood.

Yes, it has been only one week and two days since my last post.  I told you I meant business.

Also, I should stop telling you what I'm going to blog about next, because I always end up changing my mind.

Last week, I got an email from Lifeshare.  "Your blood type is in short supply!" it said.  "No one is taking the time to come in and give blood during the summer!  Please come and give us your blood.  You could save someone's life.  Or be incredibly selfish.  It's totally up to you, though, but people are dying.  No pressure.  Hurry up, though, please."  Roughly paraphrased.

It immediately threw me into a tailspin of indecision.  Consider the following:


1) People need blood.

2) I have blood.

3) Like many, I tend to vomit and/or pass out when I give blood.

4) If I deny people my blood simply because I don't want to experience five or so minutes of intense discomfort (and public regurgitation), then I must be horrendously selfish.

5) If I go to give blood even though I know ahead of time that I will probably vomit on someone, then I must be horrendously selfish.  Or a drama queen.

6) If I avoid giving blood because I don't want to look like a drama queen, then not only am I horrendously selfish, I am also way too concerned about what a handful of strangers think about me.

7) There is no way to win this situation.


I hope you enjoyed considering those conclusions.  I didn't.  And I certainly wasn't any closer to making a decision.  I had no choice but to visualize the situation.

That was more helpful.  I made my date with destiny (i.e. an appointment at the donation center).

Previously I had only ever given blood at mobile stations set up for blood drives.  It had never gone well.

Clearly not a positive experience.  Neither was the next one.

History repeated itself until I was convinced.  Giving blood=trauma and/or death.

So it was with trepidation that I approached the donation center last Saturday.

(That sign says "Welcome Donor Heroes!")

My terror changed everything.  The sunshine was cruel, the exclamation points on all the signage mocking.  I was walking into a death trap.

My donation experience began pretty typically.

To Paul the Phlebotomist's credit, he was laughing by that point.  Maybe it was my charming inability to make a routine, insignificant decision that won him over.  Maybe it was the fact that I knew what color the biohazard bag was.  Or maybe it was that my skin is so absurdly pale that my veins glow through it like it's midnight on the Vegas Strip.  Whatever it was, Paul the Phlebotomist and I seemed to be friends.

That turned out to be an awesome thing.  He had me basking in the refreshing current generated by a giant fan, chilling on ice, and cuddling beneath the biggest biohazard bag I had ever seen before he'd even come near me with a syringe.  As I bled out, we discussed my flute playing and his sleep study.  I'd never met an insomniac before.  I almost forgot that blood was gushing from my body.

Seriously.  I wouldn't have been surprised if they'd started dropping grapes into my open mouth.  The set-up made all the difference.  It was the first time I gave blood without once fearing that my life was rapidly drawing to a close.

In conclusion, I would encourage all of you to make an appointment at your nearest blood donation center.  They will treat you like a bleeding princess, and you probably won't die or vomit or anything.  You will leave feeling like a champion, and it's a great excuse to eat packaged sugary things with an alarmingly high calorie count.  In fact, you could probably go ahead and eat sugary things all day long.  You know, for your health.

Note:  Lifeshare did not pay me to write this blog post.  Do you think they would, though?

Note the Second: In the public vomiting scenario, please forgive the abrupt disappearance of my arms and the chair.

Note the Third: I'm pretty sure Paul the Phlebotomist had glasses, but in case you have somehow stumbled upon this blog, Paul, I'm really sorry if you don't have glasses.  I'm pretty sure you do, though.

Final Note: I am having an affair with adverbs.  Please don't tell any writing teacher I've ever had.

Post Final Note: Also please forgive the number of times I wrote "and/or."  I'm feeling oddly specific lately.  Yes, not just specific.  ODDLY specific.  So there.