Blood on the streets!!

I donated blood last night for the first time in 3 years. While I didn't get dragged in there kicking and screaming, it was close...there's a good reason why there's been a 3 year gap!! Nevertheless, I fulfilled a moral obligation that comes from being employed by the Australian Red Cross Blood Service, and you know what, it wasn't too bad...or perhaps the milkshake and hamburger afterwards has dulled my memory...

Although I was a semi-regular donor a 3-4 years ago, it was always easy to think of a reason not to go, and only one reason (or maybe two if you count the moral obligation bit) to go - the chocolate milkshake and sausage rolls afterwards. My favourite drink is indeed a milkshake, although the blood bank could improve their blend with a scoop of ice-cream...in my opinion!!

Each time I went to donate I'd fear the initial pin prick to test haemoglobin levels, then the needle to get the blood out. In my mind I likened it to a pipe and a foreign object that is jabbed into my arm where there is not natural entry point except a bulging vein - having bulging veins is one thing I do well at!! I'd be paralysed while the blood flowed out of fear of moving and breaking the needle, leaving part of it left stuck in. Needles and me don't go well together.

Then there was the feeling of lethargy during training the next day due to fewer red blood cells. Although I found this only lasted 24 hours or so, it's not much fun.

So you can see it was a major effort to even front up to the donor centre in South Melbourne last night. The reason(s) I actually did go were already sitting in the waiting room, Ms A and Ms E, knowing full well the angst and torment this impending date had been causing me. They are both regular donors, and always donate together which I think is fantastic, and openly acknowledge them for. Then they suggested I should come. Actually, they suggested a number of times before I relented to their mention of something about the level of respect (or not) they'd have if I went (or didn't) to donate. So in fact it was out of fear for the consequences that I first booked in, then considered all kinds of (very valid!!) reasons why I couldn't follow through. In the end someone won the battle and someone lost...but I'm not sure who either was!!

I'll spare you the gory details of blood, anxiety, blood, cold sweat, blood, needles, dread, blood, fear...and some blood, but suffice to say I survived the needle prick, passed the interview, remained conscious during needle insertion, pumped blood out at rapid rate, came away with a little bandage on my arm and enjoyed the chocolate milkshake, sausage rolls and then counter meal hamburger with foresaid protagonists. I guess I should thank them for co-ercing me into donating and their support during the whole process. If I was truly honest I'd say that the fear is worse than the reality, and it wasn't too bad. But as any journalist knows, don't let the facts stand in the way of a good story!!!

My arm the morning after the donation - you can still see the hole they left!!