A Wuss By Any Other Name...

I remember during high school, Canadian Blood Services would set up a clinic periodically.  It was a good deal to donate -- every donor got a free pass from attending a morning or afternoon of classes and yummy snacks.

Now, it's true that I wanted to skip class and eat donuts as much as the next student.  And, of course, the fact that your participation was helping someone in need by your donation was only icing on the cake. However, the truth is that I never, ever did line up to donate blood.  At the time, I truly hated needles.  And so, the idea of voluntarily lining up to have a large bore needle hang out in my arm for ten minutes or so never really appealed.  And when I say it never really appealed, I pretty much mean that I'd rather be eaten by wild animals.

Life went on, and somewhere between many exposures to needles of differing kinds, messy/bloody childbirth experience and various surgeries and procedures  (you apply drops to the STITCHES in your daughter's EYEBALL and see what that does for your quease-factor!) I somehow became much better about needles. 

Truthfully, though... while I thought of donating blood from time to time, life just provided many more oppotunities to put it off or forget about making an appointment than to remember and act on it.  Because, really... it's still hanging out with a large-bore needle and, well, easy to want to forget about.

This month my derby league accepted a Blood Donor challenge for the month of September; and two days ago I finally was able to donate blood for the first time in my life.

My day was a disaster in the making.  Filled with appointments and errands, I barely managed to eat lunch.  I didn't get to eat supper.  Which, apparently isn't a really awesome thing to forget to do on the day you plan to donate blood. I pulled up a bit late for my evening appt. and the nurses on shift were just able to fit me in to the last donor spot for the night.  I filled out forms.  I answered questions.  Really, really personal questions.  (which thankfully I had really good answers for, because, really... a person would have good reason to evaluate their life choices to date if they didn't have good answers for some of them.)  I was given what looked to be a GIANT plastic bag in which my blood was to be collected.  I do realize that only a pint is collected, but seriously... that was one huge-looking container.  Way to freak out the donors, CBS.

I was escorted to this comfy recliner.  My nurse was excellent and the needle didn't bother me a bit -- I even wasn't bothered by seeing the blood-filled line.  Kinda pretty.  I just hung out there for a bit, visiting with a couple league-mates who stayed to see the last of us through, and thinking that this was super easy-peasy and why did I never do this before. 

My blood was quite happy to leave my body, too.  While most of my friends had 8, 9 and 10 minute times; my blood ran screaming from my body and I came close to a record-donor-time.  Just under 5 minutes.

I was actually kinda proud.  Which I totally realize is a ridiculous thing to be proud of... but I seriously was thinking as the nurse unhooked me that I should try some relaxation/visualization techniques next time and try to beat the record.  Oh gosh.  I am a dork.

And then, in the middle of my prideful inner monologue, the recliner was raised... and the fact that I didn't eat supper, that my blood was just hoovered out of me without allowing my body a slower time to adjust, well... it became very apparent. 

I don't know how this works for everyone else, this almost-losing-consciousness thing.  But I get super hot and my vision narrows and my ears start humming/whooshing.  It's incredibly lame and unpleasant... and super embarrassing.  Seriously.  What the heck.  I just powered through my first donation and should be off eating Fudge-o's and slurping slurpees like a champ and instead I have a nurse telling me to lay back down and placing cold compresses on my neck and face (I can't lie, the cold compress thing was like heaven, itself.)  All I could think was, "Killswitch, don't be the only derby girl who faints".

I at least accomplished that much.  Consciousness preserved.  Way to go, me!

But now I have severe reservations about my piercing appointment next week. lol  It will be interesting to see how it all goes down.  Or how I do.  Whatevs.