I've thought about donating blood many times over the years. I've heard the pulse go out over the airwaves; the alert of donations needed. I knew I'd feel good doing something for the greater good...and yet it took this project and some prodding by a friend to finally make the date.
Despite images of IV bags and needles still lurked in the corners of my mind, by the time I showed up for my 7:30pm appointment (made for me by said friend), I actually saw this as a pick-me-up on this dreary day in January.
As I sat at intake, my friend coaxed me through the process. "So this is where they prick your finger and quickly test your iron". Gate 1.
Gate 2: fill out questionnaire and definitly don't answer "yes" to question #13.
Gate 3: the interview.
At this point, I've had enough time and gathered enough intel along the way of this fairly elaborate process to know that it is actually quite difficult to give your blood away.
So here I sit, no longer nervous of the needle but, being the over-achiever that I am, nervous of failing the interview. Of being rejected! Of my blood not being good enough! Who (other than those that answer "yes" to #13), FAIL at giving blood!!?!??
I suppose my fervour around the topic foreshadows the outcome. Turns out my favourite Mexican destination has sabotaged my blood's worthiness of extraction. Yep, my sanctuary is situated 10km too far north of some imaginary malaria risk line in the sand.
Heartbroken, I shuffled my way back to my friends, head down in disappointment. Their veteran blood-donating veined arms outstretched to meet me.
Although I very much do appreciate the rigor and care the Canadian Blood Serives takes in assuring a safe situation, I really wanted my donor card!
I did however feel somewhat gratified by the fact that one of the 3 of us made it through the process. Too bad gloating and the occasional "I win" was envolved. Men. Whatever, I still got my cookies. And, will try again in the future!
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