Blood type: O positive. Blood drive experience: Oh negative

You never notice a trauma while it’s happening.

I used to be really afraid of needles. Once when I was in college I donated blood. The “for a girl” part should be assumed. I got so nervous that my vein collapsed midway through. After being stuck many hundreds of times in every vein from my back of my hand to the usual spot on the underside of the elbow, I was past that. Still, I have small veins. It’s not something I’m proud to admit. It’s hard to find them.
At least it’s hard for Red Cross volunteers to find them. I went probably half a dozen times in the early 00s and finally gave up. It took too long. They would try one vein, pull out and want to try another. The initial needle stick hurts for such a brief time that by the time your mind registers it, you’re done. When the needle is inside you and the so-called expert is pushing it back and forth, it really hurts.

I saw the e-mail for a company blood drive last week. I thought what the heck.

I made an appointment for 8:30 because 8 and 8:15 were full. When I got to the room, they were still putting it together. I assumed that the procedure was not much different than the last time I tried and I was right. Instead of them asking you weird questions about diseases you’ve never heard of, they let you fill out a survey on a battered laptop. I finished, got up and sat down on one of the portable chairs, which look like the worst beach chairs ever created.

I told the nurse that my right arm was the better arm for veins. She found one initially but moved to the left. Before applying about a quart of iodine to the crook of my elbow, she said “that might work”. There aren’t too many times in life when you hear “that might work” and you are filled with confidence. Does Jack Bauer ever say “that might work”?

The stick wasn’t bad. One the red stuff started to flow, the nurse told me to keep squeezing my left hand. I more or less squeezed continuously for an unmeasurable amount of time.

When you give blood, the following probably shouldn’t happen:

You are given enough bottles of water to equal the amount of water you’re supposed to drink for an entire day.

The needle is adjusted while in your vein. It’s a nice, subtle feeling like electroshock.


Someone checks on whether the blood is still flowing. This happened about every 12 seconds.

The room is so cold that by the end of the process, your entire body is shaking.
You should not be able to compare the process to 30 minutes of the Bataan Death March.

I don’t think referring to “30 minutes of the Bataan Death March” is insulting to anyone who survived or died during that horrible atrocity. Admit it; 30 minutes of the march wouldn’t be bad. It would be unpleasant. And it might seem like a lot longer than 30 minutes.
There are times when you want to do the right thing, the proper thing, the thing that’s for the greater good. It can be uncomfortable. It shouldn’t be intolerable.

In the end, I gave slightly less than a pint of blood. I wondered when you would actually need less than a pint of blood. Would it be the equivalent of going to the dealership and getting your fluids topped off?

I arrived at the blood drive at 8:15. I left after 9:30. It shouldn’t have to be like this, I thought on the way to my car, enduring the worst weather of all, the cold rain. Actually I didn’t think that. I was traumatized and the only thing I wanted to do was not feel cold. When you get so cold that you can’t think of anything else and can’t even imagine being warm, everything else gets shut out.

The Nutter Butter didn’t help. The juice didn’t help. A Diet Dr Pepper didn’t help. Going out for pizza helped a little. It’s a quarter to ten and I’m wiped out.