February 17, 2016 marked an important day in my life. I even made a life event for it on my Facebook. Since I rarely post on Facebook, this is a big deal. What did I do, you ask? I donated blood.
I have been telling myself I should do this since I was in high school. I had friends involved in Red Cross. I would wait for them at lunch while they asked their teachers if they had permission to miss class that day to help out at blood drives. They would miss class to sign people in, give them snacks, and hand out t-shirts. I had friends who donated as well, leaving class early or coming in with the sign they had donated: red tape keeping the gauze on your arm from being drained of some of your blood. Though I wanted to, I never did it myself.
I wasn’t sure if I could. I didn’t want to miss class. I am nervous about needles; I can’t look when I’m getting shots or having blood drawn at the doctors. I didn’t want to deal with getting a signature from my parents to permit me to do it. In my sophomore year, I felt too guilty about having to miss practice to consider doing it, despite some of my team members participating and sitting out. I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to go through it.
But I finally did it. I made my appointment on Monday in Peirce. I left my last class on Wednesday afternoon to go to Gund Commons. Honestly, as I approached the building, I almost turned around and didn’t go. I was so nervous that it was going to be horrible or I was going to get turned away, I felt nearly nauseated just thinking about walking in the door, let alone being jabbed with needles. I had heard my fair share of horror stories about blood drives from my friends. People fainting or getting sick. The nurses struggling to find veins and the pain from them missing and having to stab again. One of my friends from high school is the reason someone has to accompany you inside the bathroom rather than merely accompanying you there and back after you give blood because she fainted in the bathroom and nearly hit her head. My fear wasn’t without grounds, but it was not quite rational either.
I pushed away any unease and kept walking. I think it helped that I had a friend come with me. Our appointments were back to back, so there was someone with me to support me, especially since he had donated blood before. It was a very important comfort to me. Basically, you go in and sign in with whoever is sitting at the table. They give you a packet of precautions and notes about whether or not you’re allowed to donate blood that you have to read before you can go any further. Then you get a number and get to wait until a nurse brings you into a private booth. They get some of your information, prick your finger to check your iron counts, take your temperature, pulse, and blood pressure. Basically, making sure you’re healthy enough to give blood.
I was a little worried my iron levels would be too low or that my pulse might be a bit high, as it usually is, but I was in the clear and go to the fun part of the booth: the questionnaire. You get asked lots of personal questions about your health and sex life and then if there are any answers you say yes to, they may ask you for some more information to make sure there isn’t anything problematic that could jeopardize the blood donation and make it unsafe to use. It’s important, albeit somewhat annoying, but it was interesting to me to hear what they asked about.
Then comes the fun part, so long as you think being drained of a portion of your blood is fun. Otherwise, it might be the scary part. It’s true. I was scared. I was nervous. Apprehensive. Anxious. I thought I might be sick or faint as so many have before me. Maybe it’s that everyone around me was so calm and kind, or maybe it’s that I knew I was doing something I thought was good and would benefit even more people than it would me. But I pushed aside any negative emotions and went through.
I learned I am not allergic to iodine, since they use it as a disinfectant for where the blood will be drawn. I learned that as long as I didn’t think about the needle in my arm, it didn’t feel like anything at all. I was lounging in a nice chair, texting my best friend about what life would be life if I was a tree and listening to Mumford and Sons. It was almost relaxing. I would get nervous or feel queasy if I thought about the loss of blood or looked at the bags of it, but that was avoidable. The nurses were so nice, and they check on you constantly to be sure you’re okay. They encourage you to tell them if you feel any change in your health as you give blood. I think they check on people more if they’re first-time donors and as nervous as I was, but it was comforting. They even commented on how I was obviously doing fine because I kept laughing.
It’s odd to come out of this experience feeling so okay with it all, but it really was positive. Nothing went wrong. They took my blood, I ate some cookies, and walked with my friend to get dinner together. The day went on as normal, though I was nervous about the gauze falling off prematurely and leaving the puncture site open to the air. But everything turned out okay, as I believe it always will.
At the end of the day, I accomplished something I had been meaning to do since I was able to donate. I stood up to my own fears and anxieties for a greater good. It sounds heroic, and it is true that very few people donate blood compared to the population who are able to. I can’t wait to donate again, and I encourage everyone who is eligible to do so as well. It’s an important enterprise. If anything, at the end of the day, you get free snacks.
Image Credit: Jenna Wendler