People who regularly donate blood to their local blood bank are heroes, in my opinion, and should be commended for what they do. That being said, there are many people who just can’t do that sort of thing. Either they don’t meet the qualifications, or they’re just too skittish around needles to make it through the process. And then, there are people like me, in that grey area, that are physically capable of enduring the process, yet need to be guilted into it.
I wasn’t always this way. In high school, I was even excited about the prospect of giving blood to save other lives. It was in the spirit of that youthful exuberance that I experienced my first real taste of humility. I do not remember all the details of my first blood donation, possibly due to the fact that I was not conscious for the entire procedure. I had neglected to eat breakfast that morning, and somewhere toward the end of my donation, I felt the strangest tingling sensation crawling its way up my legs. I remember mumbling something about ‘feeling strange’ and hearing a nurse yell, “We’re losing him,” and then I woke up…lying in a completely different place than I was just sitting. Beyond that, there were six people looking down at me and I had an ice pack down my shirt and behind my neck. It was not a pleasant introduction to the world of blood donation.
My second bad experience was due to my own stupidity. But like they say, ‘Bad decisions make good stories.’ I sat down at my station and got hooked up to the bag. Being the highly intelligent senior that I was, I put my burgeoning math skills to work and figured out I could fill the bag quicker if I squeezed on the stress ball at a faster rate. Had I bothered to take an Anatomy course at any point during my high school years, I might not have overlooked a crucial fact that the body can only lose blood so fast before a person will…faint. Yeah, I did it again. At least I knew what was happening this time.
I donated a few more times before I eventually quit. I just never made time for it over the intervening fifteen years. That all changed last Tuesday, when our company sent out an e-mail saying that the blood bank was parked out front and desperately needed more people to come by. They encouraged us to go out and donate…so I did.
My nerves were slightly jangled as I approached the big bus and went inside. After a short wait, they took me into an office, roughly the size of an airplane bathroom and sat me down to answer some questions. The screening process had gotten quite a bit longer since last time I donated, but despite that fact, I qualified anyway. In fact, I’d done so well that I qualified for a new process called Double Red Cell donation. The nurse was very excited about this, but she seemed pretty excited about everything, so I didn’t think too much of it.
She asked if I was willing to do this donation where they took two units of blood, instead of one, and separated the valuable red cells from the plasma and platelets. At the end of each unit, they return the plasma and platelets along with a saline solution. It gave the blood bank more red cells, and left the donor feeling more hydrated. The only drawback being that you can’t donate again for 112 days (if you see that as a drawback).
I read the sheet detailing the procedure as well as possible side effects (coldness, tingling around the lips, cramps, nausea, metallic taste in the mouth, air embolism, etc.), and agreed to do it. How often do those things happen anyway? I left the office and headed out to the chair, feeling my blood pressure slowly rise as it grew closer to time for the needle. I was determined not to faint.
I’ll admit, the stick was a bit uncomfortable, but I quickly adjusted to the needle in my arm. All went fairly well for the first unit. They had to keep telling me to squeeze the stress ball, but you can understand my reluctance to overdo it in that arena.
Then came the reintroduction of the saline solution. It was everything I had hoped it wouldn’t be. They must have kept this stuff in the deep freeze before hooking it to my vein, because as soon as it hit, it numbed me all the way to my fingers. I’ve accused people of having ice water in their veins before, but now I can completely understand why such a person would have an unpleasant disposition.
Next, the metallic taste hit my tongue and I felt my feet begin to tingle. That scared me because I didn’t know if it was normal or I was about to go ‘lights out.’ I was also too full of pride to mention it to the nurses, so I just fidgeted and hoped for the best. The worst part came toward the end of the first return when I got this strange, warm sensation deep in my ears. I did mention that one to the nurses, hoping if it was unnatural, they’d unhook me. Much to my dismay, they didn’t seem too concerned. And then it was over. Well, technically, it was exactly half-way over. We had to do the entire process the second time.
By the end of the second run, I was shivering uncontrollably from the cold saline. So much so, that the other blood donors were getting concerned and I was drawing a small crowd of nurses. But, finally, the machine kicked off and it was over. I was so happy when they unhooked me, and I wasted no time in getting out and lounging in the warm sun.
Was I happy I did it? Yes.
Did I feel more hydrated? Yes. Heavens, Yes. And that’s not necessarily a great thing when you’re driving home from work and there’s not a bathroom in sight.
Was the pain/side effects worth it? Maybe.
Will I do it again? Not sure.
I know this hasn’t exactly been a fabulous promotion of blood donation, but maybe if more of you brave people would get out there and do it they wouldn’t be tapping us weenies to step forward and fill the gap. I, for one, would appreciate that, and so would the person who’s life you might save.
