There will be blood…
Because of my thyroid disorder I have to get blood work done about every three to four months. I’ve gotten used to it and can manage pretty well. It helps that the techs at the lab I frequent are great and I barely feel the pin prick. It helps even more that the sight of blood, especially my own, doesn’t bother me.
I can’t say the same of other people in my family.
On my way to the hospital in anticipation of the arrival of my beloved son WK, I barely managed to make it to the facility in enough time for a blessed epidural. (JM showed up after only two hours of labor which precluded me from having any body numbing drugs ~ a story for another time.)
As I sat on the edge of the labor room cot, legs dangling off the edge, back rolled, the anesthetist worked his magic and inserted that lovely drug pipeline into my spine. if I had not already been married, I would have kissed him full on the mouth. I never felt anything until he applied the medical tape to my back to hold the tubing in place.
Slowly sitting back up, I rose to face Hubs. He had been standing in front of me, holding my hands cooing little snippets of encouragement. All the while having a perfect view of whatever the tech was doing with his long needle.
I can quite honestly say I have never seen all the color complete drain out of someone’s face the way Hubs’ did that early June morning. His lips were totally white. He excused himself from the room for about 10 minutes, returning after the blush returned to his cheeks.
Hell, the man can’t even clean up kid puke, or road rash knees without going all wonky.
Apparently he passed this disdain for human body fluids onto his daughter.
As a child, JM could get dizzy from a paper cut. If there was blood, she was nearly inconsolable. As she got older her anxiety over the sight of blood improved, but never completely left her.
Then she went to college. College… where student groups often sponsor blood drives. Groups like the Student Honors Organization. The organization of which she is the ranking officer. A ranking officer who is expected to participate in said community service.
Last year she worked up enough courage to finally take the plunge and face the needle. She was at the drive, had filled out all the paperwork, was moments away from the vein drain and got this question. ‘Have you had a tattoo within the past year?’
Not six months prior, in celebration of her 18th birthday, she had gotten inked. She was told she couldn’t give blood. Probably not as disappointed as she let on.
She tells me she’s ready to be a big girl, to help out someone else, maybe save a life.
SHO is sponsoring another drive, at the Honors Dorm, and she’s expected to not only attend, but donate.
She tells them that she’s been to China recently… not a problem. No tats in the last 12 months… passed. Not eaten today…. here’s a snack.
Trying to be grown up, there she sat eating her Goldfish crackers and sipping on her apple juice box. She’s finally ready, but not.
“You know how I am about blood, especially my own blood!”
I’m happy to announced that she survived her blood letting. She did have to avert her eyes from the IV bag attached to her arm, she did go all fuzzy and have to be given ice packs and Gatorade, did have to contend with a friend throwing up all over the place, and have other friends continually tell her how pale she looked. But she NEVER lost consciousness.
“I’m never going to be one of those who does this every eight weeks. I think I can do it maybe once a year. I have to get better at this sort of thing.”
Her goal was to give blood without fainting. One pint down.