What a bloody day.

Today, I am 93% sure that I will never (attempt) to donate blood again. I am a menace to the Red Cross community.

I still remember the first time I tried to give blood, three years ago. I was sent home right after the finger prick that time. I scored too low on the iron whatchamacallit test.

A year later, I tried again. I made sure to take my multi-vitamin for a month before the exciting blood wagon came to town. This time was a success! But it really wasn't what I would call "a good time". I don't like seeing my blood, or anyone else's, and I considered the whole experience caused me more anxiety than I saved lives. They also didn't really want my blood, they took it quite grudgingly because I had had aspirin the day before.

Today, (two years later), I decided to brave the bloody fields once more- aspirin free, and fully loaded with iron. I figured that I would support my roommate, CJ, who works for the Red Cross as a phlebotomist and let her stick me. Also, I wanted an excuse to eat cookies- I went on a whim really. The gentleman who started the whole screening process was quite kind, I've never been so tempted to slip someone my number before. I passed the whole finger stick part, he asked me my name and my gender about 50 times, and he took my pulse. Apparently it was a little high, 86 whatever that means. He asked if I was nervous today, to which I responded, "Well duh! You just pricked my finger." Doesn't having one's finger stabbed usually make one's heart beat a little faster?

Moving on. I past the questionnaire about my previous "experiences". The only question I answered "yes" to was for being outside of the United States in the past 12 months. The kind girl who did the follow up questions asked me the funniest questions. I told her I had been in England, Ireland, and Paris. She asked if I flew into these countries. I said, "I flew into London, and Ireland." She said, "Oh, London is in France, right?" LOI (Laugh On the Inside).

Fast forward to the blood part. CJ did a good job in getting my vain. Everything started off well, I was going pretty fast. But then the machine started to beep, and my blood slowed way down. Three different people came and looked at my arm to see if they could make my blood come out faster. Eventually they just had to call it quits. My blood was a waste. My sore arm is a waste. Apparently my blood clotted. I probably didn't drink enough water today. You might ask why I consider this a problem for the Red Cross, and not a personal offense. Well, because I didn't drink enough today, and because my blood didn't want to come out, CJ gets a mark on her record. And not a good mark, a bad one. Clearly, it will be better for me to withdraw from the attempt to save lives with my own blood. Perhaps I shall stick to helping the elderly cross the street, and writing nice notes to people who are frowning. I'm sorry CJ! ps. I wouldn't be mad if you gave that nice finger sticking boy my number.

Disclaimer: I was slightly light-heade and out of it when I wrote this. Hence the length, and the rambling on and on.