Yesterday I followed through (sort of) on something that I’ve been meaning to do for about eight years.

When I was pregnant with Becca, I went through the normal tests and such that are associated with being pregnant.  Somewhere along the line, I found out that my blood type was O negative.  After my c-section, one of the nurses had mentioned that I should give blood, because type O blood can be given to anybody (Well, O negative can be given to anybody who is ‘negative.’).  At that point in time I told myself that yes, I would donate blood.  It’s just the right thing to do, and I remember when I was younger that my father donated blood all the time.

So, last week I made an appointment.  I headed to the Central Blood Bank office to give my share.  I realize that it had taken a long time for me to follow through on this.  But, oh well…such is life.  I was getting around to it now.  And it’s not like I have a fear of needles, or blood, or anything medical.  The only thing I can’t do is watch them actually put the needle in my skin.

I did what I was supposed to do…I ate breakfast, drank plenty of water, and had a good attitude.  After I finished up the medical questions, all of which I passed with flying colors, I was ready to go.  The nice girl sat me in a chair and prepped me.  As she was checking out my veins, I told her that I had some previous problems with nurses finding exactly where to take blood.  She assured me that it shouldn’t be a problem, and found a nice vein in my right arm.  She stuck the needle in (and no, I didn’t look), and off we went.  First they have to fill up three vials of blood (not sure why), and then they move onto the donation bag.  The three vials came out just fine.  They hooked up the bag, and it started to fill.

But then, it stopped.

It was like my body decided that it needed whatever was left in there.  She poked the needle around, trying to get it to start again.  Unfortunately, I watched that.  Bad decision on my part.  I got a huge head rush, and mentioned it.  They laid me back and put an ice pack on my chest.  They tried a bit more to get that blood flowing, but no go.  This sweet girl apologized that I would probably have a big, pretty bruise there.  She said that my veins were just small.  Meh, bruises aren’t a big deal.  They fed me some diet Pepsi and cookies, and told me that I could try again in 56 days.

I guess I will try again.  I felt bad that I couldn’t actually follow through on this plan.  If it doesn’t work the next time, then I guess I’m just keeping my blood to myself

Photo courtesy of RebeccaLK’s Flickr photostream