Donating blood

My family prides itself on being tough. We always joke about the wimps who can't stand seeing blood on TV. Our byline in the house was, "Suck it up!" If we weren't feeling well my mother would tell my sisters and I to either gargle with salt water, have a hot chocolate, or take a tylenol (those were her miracle cures; I could have had a broken leg and she'd tell me to gargle with salt water).

Well, I let the family down this week. You see, in our house it was a rule when you were 17 that you had to start donating blood. (Okay, so it wasn't strictly enforced - but we were strongly encouraged to donate when we could.) I've donated at least 7 times in the past. Unfortunately for me donating was a bit more of a pain because apparently I have tiny veins. The nurses always have trouble finding one, and then it takes me about twice as long to donate as other people just because it takes so long for the blood to flow. And to encourage faster blood flow, they give me something to squeeze and release, squeeze and release, etc. so by the end of my donation, my arm is aching where the needle is poking out.

Twice while I was in university I even had a bit of a fainting spell after donating. (I never actually fainted, but the room would start to brighten and/or darken and I'd have to lay back down for another 15 minutes. Usually these were caused by my own stupid fault for not eating properly or because it was really hot outside.

Well, I'll admit that I've been a slacker over the past year and a half. While in Ottawa and Owen Sound I just didn't think of donating, and then when I was in Toronto I was always too hungry after work to even contemplating donating (and from my fainting spells I learned not to try to donate without eating first). So when Héma-Quebec (the Quebec equivalent to the Canadian Blood Services) started an ad campaign promoting blood donation, I felt obligated to go.

So on Wednesday I trooped over to the local blood drive being held at the Université de Québec à Montréal and managed to wrangle my way through the registration process. (I like the Quebec system a bit better - maybe it was because the nurses had to slow down to speak in English, but it felt less rushed and more personable than in Ontario.) I was a bit nervous - it had been a long time since I last donated of course - I wasn't looking forward to the extended unpleasant ache that I mentioned before.

But the moment I sat down in the cot, my nervousness level jumped up. I tried to focus on the posters and other university decorations, but I also watched the nurse. She couldn't find my vein. She tried both arms and finally settled on the left because she could very faintly feel it. So she finally stuck the needle in... But there was no blood. Now, the moment the needle entered me, my uncomfortableness started ratcheting up again just from the memories of my other bad donation episodes. She didn't dig the needle around, she didn't twist or do anything, she just gently moved it in place, etc. I couldn't even feel it moving... But knowing that it was there was freaking me out.

Throughout it all she kept asking if I was okay, did I want to stop, etc. I kept reassuring her that I'd be okay once we got started. Well, five minutes later she still couldn't find the vein. She asked if I wanted to give up, or if I was willing to try the other arm (and she promised that she'd get another nurse to try instead of her). I told her that sure, she could try the other arm. However, in the few seconds that it took her to get the needle out, I could tell that the room was alternately becoming brighter and darker - oops, I recognize this feeling! I'm going to pass out! I hastily tell her that no, I can't donate today afterall. I guess I was whiter than I realized, because she didn't seem surprised when I backed out. (I suspect that I had turned white the moment I sat down - I was just too stubborn to admit how nervous I was!)

I ended up having to sit in a "recovery" cot for 5 minutes even though I didn't donate (it was their requirement). And after that, I was forced to go to the refreshment table, and sadly I'll admit that having juice and a granola bar did wonders to restore me to my senses. (The whole ordeal reminds me of when I got my nose pierced - you're so nervous that you have to go get a bite to eat to raise your blood sugar levels to fight the shock you kind of go into.)

So I feel like an utter wimp and failure because I started to pass out before I even donated blood! Granted, I did sit there for 5 minutes with the needle stuck in my arm, but still! Even just sitting here and typing this memory is making my left arm ache. I honestly don't know if I'll be able to donate blood again. I'd like to think that I'll make the effort, but I'm so nervous that I'll have an episode like this again. So we'll see what happens. I think I'll try donating again... But I might have to bring along some moral support next time - if only to distract me from what's going on. At least I can take comfort in knowing that I have donated in the past. That I have made more of a difference than someone who has never given blood.