On this day 7 years ago I donated blood for the first time. This is my story.
I should tell you I'm not afraid of needles, I don't faint at the sight of blood or the site of blood. I am unperturbed by blood unless it is gushing out of my forehead from either side of an axehead. So when I trekked into my local blood donor clinic, veins held high, ready to give blood and find out my blood type, I was not worried. My plan was to confirm the results that I got from testing my own blood type at home with an Eldoncard. I would then go home immediately to devour 14 blocks of cheese. People with type B blood you see are the only ones who can eat 14 blocks of cheese without experiencing any gut trouble, according to the book Eat Right For Your Type. I thought I was a B- but I wanted it confirmed so I could continue to eat lots of cheese.
I also wanted to give blood, because I can't think of a faster or easier way to save a life than by sitting in a chair for 7 minutes and then eating cookies.
As soon as I got to the blood donor clinic I was informed that it would take 8-12 weeks before I was told what my blood type was. Right there and then, when things started going off script, I should have been spooked. But I wasn't. I ploughed forward, shoving my veins at anyone who I thought might want to poke them.
And poke they did. A nurse asked me if I was O.K. as she positioned a needle over my finger, I said, yup, I'm fine and away we went. The first poke was to see if I had enough hemoglobin in my blood. I did. After answering several questionnaires and declaring I'd never had intimate relations with anyone who had spent time in a Turkish prison, I was ushered into a blood donation chair.
They asked me if I was O.K., I said yup, and they slid a needle into my arm. Then I just sat there as the bag beside me filled up with my hopefully Type B blood and sloshed around. I smirked a little with pride as the woman taking my blood told me I was a good bleeder and I should be done in no time. I've always been a bit of an overachiever. I don't even have to try. I'm quite amazing.
About 7 minutes later my buzzer went off and I was done. My Phlebotomist removed the needle and asked me how I was. Fine. I was FINE. Stop asking me that. I'm super tough. I've pulled maggots out of a chickens ass. Seriously, just point me in the direction of the cooki ....... Uh oh. I'm super thirsty. I wonder if I should tell anyone I'm suddenly so thirsty I feel like my tongue is made of velcro. Nah.
Huh. Things seemed weird. Not fainting weird, just weird. I decided I'd better let someone know that I think they might have accidentally taken all of my blood. I wasn't mad, I just, ya know, wanted a bit back. Enough to give me the strength to make it to the snack table. I got the words "I don't fehleighvmkdmv ..." out of my mouth and in a split second a flurry of nurses were running towards me, tilting my chair back, ramming cold compresses on every inch of my exposed skin and throwing around a lot of medical terms like, "Wow. She's really sweating. Are her eyeballs sweating? I think her eyeballs are sweating."
And they were.
I was now in what felt like an almost upside down position, covered in sweat, wondering if I could telepathically tell anyone I might barf. Because I didn't have the energy to form actual words out of my mouth. Although, being a through and through Canadian I managed to eek out a thank you when one of them put a huge block of ice under my neck.
The nurses circled around me like I was Charlie Brown's Christmas Tree and told me this was perfectly normal and I'd feel better soon. No. No, this is not perfectly normal because if it was, no one would ever donate blood ever, on account of the fact that it leads to death.
Were my bowels loosening? I think my bowels were thinking of loosening. For the love of all that is holy, please don't let me be sick to my pants right here next to the snack table. This is bad. This is really bad. I rolled my eyes in a way I thought let everyone around me know I still didn't feel tip top.
Nobody seemed nearly as worried as I thought they should be. No one even tried to ask me who my next of kin were. Indeed after 7 minutes or so of sheer hell I was well enough to ask if someone could please find my iPhone, this was a definite Instagram moment.
Did I mention one of my sisters came with me and was sitting right across from me giving blood as this all went down? No? I might not have mentioned her because as they ushered me to a stretcher (once I stopped drooling), I glanced over expecting her to be crying into a lace handkerchief and forming a prayer circle. Instead she greeted me with a big smile and a wave. Like no biggee. We all die and shit our pants in public every so often.
I didn't by the way. Poop in my pants. I didn't even faint. I didn't throw up. I just decided I needed to sweat and try to nap profusely. They wouldn't let me nap though because every time I closed my eyes some nurse yelled at me to STAY WITH US. I had saliva running down my chin so I'm not sure where they thought I was going.
I still wasn't allowed to sit up, and there was great discussion about whether I should actually try to stand as I shifted over to the stretcher.
"Can your legs hold you? Do you think your legs will hold you?"
Lady, my bowels just proved to be as loyal and strong as a German Shepherd, my legs are gonna be fine.
So onto the stretcher I went, wondering how exactly I ended up here, eyes toward the ceiling, my pint of blood probably lonely and scared in some cooler somewhere. Who DOES this? I mean people do this all the time but who ARE they? From my vantage point on the stretcher I could pretty much stare at everyone without fear of seeming suspicious and gawky because I was obviously in distress and possibly even suffering from some sort of brain damage.
Across the way I saw a girl of about 19 who I recognized as a cashier from my local garden centre. She was fine. Beside her was a man around 70 sounding a bit crotchety and letting the Phlebotomist know they should use his other arm; they always use his other arm. He was fine. Eating their recuperation snacks and juice were a wealthy looking woman and a friend of the 19 year old. They were fine. There were white people and brown people, women and men, young and old. All of them spending the end of their holiday Monday in a church community room giving blood for someone they've never met, would never meet and who would never get the chance to thank them. Why is giving blood so easy for them? Why not me?
When I was finally able to sit myself up, an organizer brought me some juice and thanked me for coming out. She kneeled down close to me, touched my knee and in a concerned voice, gently whispered into my ear "Did we get a full pint out of you?"
I laughed so hard I thought blood was going to start gushing out of the pinprick in my arm again. I don't blame her. I wasn't insulted. Getting and giving blood is important stuff. YUP. You got the full pint and judging by the way I feel, you got one of those big pints. You super-sized it.
The nurses who flurried towards me earlier all asked if I was feeling O.K. and of course I said Yes.
I'm fine.
I'm super tough.
I've picked maggots out of a chicken's ass.
Or as I'll say from here on in;
I'm fine.
I'm super tough.
I've given blood ... without losing control of my bowels.
That was a pretty funny post, right? Wanna read something even funnier? I gave blood again.
One helluva vasovagal response
Your writing is delightful.
Good for you! I *have to* donate blood (I have a condition where my liver loves my iron so much it won't let go of it). Each trip is different (I go to the Burlington location -- love the ladies there). Keep up the donations, it gets easier every time.... but they still ask you if you're okay. ;)
Oh gosh, how funny and scary, but funny! I wondered if they told you not to bother coming again?
No, no. They wanted to make sure they got their fill and looked forward to seeing me again, lol. ~ karen!
Thanks, that was a really funny and delightful recap of your experience at the Blood Donor Clinic. And you did round 2! Congratulations, keep up the the good work.
Donating blood is so important Karen. Good for you. I donate regularly ,my mom and dad donated regularly,of course my incredible Mom did it in between birthing 9 children. Boggles my mind. Thank you 🙏 xo marilyn
I hadn't given blood since college but, since there was a blood emergency during the pandemic, I went to donate. I opted to give double red blood cells (where they remove your blood, spin it to get the red blood cells out & put the plasma back in your arm.) I, too, had to be flipped upside down so I didn't pass out. I also got the ice packs on the neck. I've donated a bunch of times since then and mostly have been okay. And I get cookies and juice!
Olá Karen😁
Você sempre me arranca uma gargalhada com esse sentido de humor sarcástico que reconheço em mim também.sou enfermeira de Bloco Operatório há 38 anos e sim reconheço essas reacções vagais após uma doação sanguínea. Garanto que são todos normais.
O sangue é precioso, também sou dadora e sim também já tive essa sensação de quase cagar nas calças. Tudo absolutamente normal. Tem tudo a ver com os esforços físicos feitos anteriormente e com o estado de espírito actual. Força nisso e continue a doar. Os doentes agradecem. Grande abraço aqui de Portugal
Bom dia! Adorei Portugal quando fui, é lindo. Nunca estive perto de desmaiar quando lá estive. ~ Karen!
I hope it went better the second time. The first time I gave blood, I ate my cookie and drank my juice and felt so great that on the way home I decided I could stop at Ikea and pick up something. At the biggest Ikea in Canada (at the time anyway). I made it almost to the checkout before I had to sit down. No chairs there, so I just slid down the bag bin to the floor to sit. The lady behind me alerted the cashier and a first aid guy came out of somewhere with a wheelchair and took me to a little room with a cot in it. I had to call my daughter to come and take me and the car home. I still give blood quarterly but now I go straight home and rest for the rest of the day.
My first donation was when when I was eighteen and my service fraternity, Alpha Phi Omega, sponsored the campus blood drives. Enough time has passed that last week I was able to donate #168, 21 gallons. I hope you have inspired more people to donate. and to do it regularly. I go every eight weeks and try to hit the ones sponsored by churches. They have better cookies.
Some of us, simply have slightly lower blood volumes. Or are very sensitive to sudden volume changes. I have a co-worker, who like you, went to give blood with a full heart and without fear. Everything went totally fine thru the entire donation with her laughing and joking next to me on another donation couch.
But when she went to sit up she almost immediately went wet noodle and just had every bone in her body turn to jelly and down she went. It took them an hour to get her hydrated enough for her to even sit back up. They told her it might not be in her best interest to ever donate again...
Basically the exact same happened to me when I gave blood in my spare period between teaching classes at high school. I couldn’t get vertical to teach the next class coz I kept threatening to faint! I believe it’s due to low blood pressure?
Are you type B?
Each time you recycle this story, I read it. It’s one of your best. I skip some of the reposts but not the blood donation 🩸 post. Maybe because I have a strange fascination with how we are put together.
Biology is a revered science. I excelled in anything science related and looked forward to going to each and every semester of chemistry, geology, astronomy and biology.
As an artist, I knew someone at a medical school who would let me into the anatomy lab where bodies were in varying stages of dissection and I’d draw elaborate drawings of the hand or eye. The muscular features of how we are attached to our skeletons is awe inspiring. Blood doesn’t make me squeamish unless it’s pooling and it’s mine. I know this from experience but I’m alive and that’s all that matters.
I have stupid veins. They are not the kind of veins that phlebotomists love. Each one considers me to be the daily challenge. My veins are small and they roll. Also I tend to be dehydrated no matter how much liquid I drink. I am pretty sure that instead of blood coming out of me some kind of dust will puff out like a sad campfire being extinguished.
Then there’s this: I’m a medical mystery as I’ve had meningitis at least 6 times and I never have fevers. The highest my body temperature rises is maybe 99 or if I’m about to become one of those bizarre cases of spontaneous human combustion it skyrockets to 100. My normal temperature is 97. I know when I’m getting meningitis because I have every single horrifying symptom except my temperature is a non-event. I know the ER is going to ignore me and refuse to listen to my nonsense when I tell the staff that I have a form of reoccurring meningitis that lies dormant and any virus I get can trigger another event. They universally scoff at me. Then, like a weirdo, I demand they perform a spinal tap to look at my murky clouded spinal fluid. After I throw up in their waste basket and start screaming about how my brain is going to explode, they perform the dreaded spinal to prove that I’m a big fat liar. Then they start running in circles and getting me heated blankets and cold drinks and almost apologize. A full apology must never be uttered since that may reflect poorly on their inhumane treatment of a no-fever person.
I never ask for pain meds but I can tell you (if you want) that indeed, a morphine drip and lots of fluids are a giant relief. My personal physician actually believes me when I call and ask for antibiotics and an antiviral plus a few pain meds to get me through the bad days. It’s viral so not deadly and it does go away relatively fast once the meds start working. Last event was when I got Covid the second time. I had meningitis and Covid simultaneously but my beloved personal physician called in the prescriptions and I lived to bleed another day. Yes, I’ve had every Covid vaccine. I still got it but have not had the respiratory symptoms that commonly accompany it.
So I look forward to reading your close call of poopy pants and picture your legs going rubbery and eyes rolling back and how you terrified those skilled Canadian health care professionals. Tally-ho!
Keep on writing. It’s your gift. Well, besides the 328 other amazing things you can do.
Love this! I was in my 20’s when I first donated. I was at a company donation event. I went with an experienced donor and prided himself on how fast he could donate. I followed his every move only to find myself in your situation-except I did not give enough for them to keep…so sad. But I really wanted to be a blood donor. So after that I went right after a nice lunch, and went to the actual blood donation center (supposedly better chairs, haha). I am 63 now and have been a regular donor ever since.
Proper prep is KEY! ~ karen
I, too, am tough and can handle blood and mayhem with no problem. But I must have been a bit dehydrated, as I was a quite dizzy afterwards. And I was incredibly limp and pathetic for the next 24 hours. I remembered the tale of Robin Hood's death, where he was bled (the medieval way to "cure" an illness). Unfortunately, he was bled too much and died. I knew how he felt, and I wanted to shoot an arrow so I could be buried where it fell, just as he did. I felt quite dramatic!
Ha ha thank you for your post. I donated today and your experience was almost exactly like mine except the trailer they were doing the blood donation did not have a toilet. I had to tell the nurse I was about to poop my pants she put together a plastic bag lined bucket for me to poop in. Right there in the trailer as the nurse stood there waiting with her back to me.. Nurses dont get paid enough! Your post made me laugh and know that there is nothing wrong with me.
Hi Staci! Better luck next time.😂 Oh boy. I know the terror and I'm glad I could confirm you are perfectly normal! ~ karen
I realize this is from years ago but I laughed deeply several times and I thought I should at least let you know that. I won't share the search text I used to find this, but I will say my pants survived the frenzied drive home after my platelet donation. Barely.
Thanks for your story. I absolutely love the way you wrote it.
Thanks John! Yeah, I've been where you were. It's not a pleasant slope to be sliding down, lol. ~ karen!