I debated posting this story. It’s not flattering, it's admitting I'm a wimp, it could be construed as a humble brag, posting about good deeds often reeks of disingenuity, etc... But in the end, I decided to share my experience, because I think it might make a difference.
I know there are others out there who want to give blood, but are nervous about it. I know it's an embarrassing thing to admit- to be an adult that's freaked out by a humdrum procedure when so much else is at stake. I also know it's hard to silence that voice in your head that takes every statistical oddity, every horror story, every urban legend, every horrible feeling, and makes it seem real. I know because I'm one of 2.4 million Canadians living with Anxiety Disorder. And even if I weren't, I know because I'm a human being who has fears both rational and irrational. It's normal. So all you folks who are scared of house spiders better back off from those scared of needles. Unless you're from Australia, in which case burn the spiders. Burn them all.
You want to give blood but you're scared. It's okay. I hope my story will encourage you to take the plunge.
Look, objectively I know giving blood isn’t a huge deal. It’s forty-five minutes and a pinprick out of your life. But I’ve always been scared to do it. The idea makes me uneasy- a tube sucks the inside part of your body to the outside your body? Into a plastic bag? While you listen to Muzak? WHAT THE HELL!?
Moreso I was terrified that contaminated instruments would give me some kind of lifelong illness. Look, anxiety’s a complicated thing, okay? It takes small possibilities and makes them seem like high probabilities.
I knew I should give. I think every able adult should give. But I found excuses to put off donating blood; I’d see donation drives coming up, click on the page to book an appointment, and inevitably chicken out. I knew it was the right thing to do, I wanted to help people, but also I’m a weenie, and that tends to wins over everything else.
Well, fast-forward and I take one of those ancestry DNA tests. Among other important facts (like my ability to smell asparagus in pee), the test informed me of my blood type.
O negative.
O freakin’ negative.
This weenie is a universal donor.
I faced a moral dilemma: On the one hand my blood could save literally anyone in need, regardless of their own blood type, and I wouldn’t even notice it was gone. On the other hand, still a weenie.
So I put it off again, telling myself I’d do it later. And later. And later. I'd hear the radio ads and think "Yeah! I'll sign up when I get home." Then I wouldn't.
But yesterday as I was walking home with a friend, I passed a blood drive.
“Do you want to give blood?” A chipper young woman asked with all the enthusiasm of a stock photo model eating salad.
I stopped.
Heck yeah. Heck yeah I want to give blood. I’m aware my own fear is caused by a chemical imbalance, and that ultimately my own angst is nothing compared to that of a person who actually needs to receive blood due to an accident/cancer/illness. Heck yeah I want to lend my neighbour a cup of blood! If only my brain would shut up for a second about germs and the weirdness of my insides being sucked out of my body, I would! ABSOLUTELY!
“Kinda.” I said, looking to my friend for encouragement. “I guess I kind of want to give blood.”
“You should!” He said.
“I should!” said I. "Me give blood now!"
I knew my fear of society was greater than my fear of heart-juice gushing from my arm, and that once I said I'd donate out loud there was no going back. Once others knew (by others I mean my friend, and the lady at the door who I’d never see again), I couldn’t back down. It was happening. I was going to give blood whether I liked it or not! Take that, irrational fear of fatal germs! I've outsmarted you with my greater fear of letting others down!
And thus I found myself eating a bag of pretzels and answering a long iPad questionnaire. Do you do drugs? Have you travelled anywhere outside of Canada? Are you or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party? Once I was done they gave me a sticker that said: “Be nice! I’m New!” I’m guessing the “It’s my first time!” stickers were rejected by admin.
I tried to blend in with the others, with the stream of office workers who looked as if they were in line at the grocery store and not about to let someone stab them in the arm with a pneumonic tube.
“Nice weather today,” I said. “It was raining before, but I think it stopped. Except that it looked like it might start spitting. But that’s spring for you, right? Just spit. Sky spit. Or rain as they call it.”
“Sure,” the lady next to me replied before turning away LIKE I WAS THE WEIRD ONE.
Soon a very kind nurse talked me through the process. I showed her the source of my anxiety: an article that warned of possible needle contamination at a Scarborough health fair. I was worried she’d dismiss me as a Facebook Doctor, the kind who thinks they know better than medical professionals because they read an article which proves gluten causes autism. I apologized, telling her I didn’t mean to question the competency of the nurses, but that fear of contamination was what had stopped me from giving blood in the past. She wasn’t judgmental at all. In fact, she encouraged me to show the article to the nurse who would be doing the extraction. Then she told me the process would take 45 minutes. I nodded as I freaked out inside, imagining myself bleeding into a bag for three quarters of an hour. But, no, she assured me: 45 minutes to go through the approval process, to wait, to sanitize, to give the blood, and to eat some cookies and juice. The actual bloodening™ would only take ten minutes.
I munched on my pretzels as I waited to be screened, reading the brochure they’d given me. “One blood donation saves three lives.” “Ontario has an urgent need for blood.” “If you feel anxious at any time tell us and you can stop.” Baby, my whole life is anxiety. If I followed that instruction I would be halfway down the block and under a decorative shrubbery by now.
I waited. And waited. I was nervous. I felt heavy. Knees weak. Arms were heavy. I was called in by Nurse Spaghetti. I mean, the screening nurse.
She asked where I’d travelled in the last year, and took a huge binder down from a shelf to see if my answer was acceptable. Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip... Congratulations, Croatia, you pass!
“Looks heavy,” I said, watching the tiny nurse pick up the gigantic binder and try to slide it back on the shelf.
“I just don’t understand why this isn’t in the computer,” she said. “Life makes no sense.”
“Don’t I know it,” I said, sure that I was getting those weird sweat spots under my boobs from nervousness.
I showed her the article about the health fair contamination and let her know that, while I knew it was a rare occurrence, the idea of getting a lifelong disease from a contaminated instrument terrified me. I wish it didn’t, but it did. She was understanding and explained that all the needles were single use, and had mechanisms to prevent them from “firing” again. She said the health fair warning itself may have been a misunderstanding, as sometimes an instrument will “spit out” a used needle to make way for another one. Sometimes people mistake that for using the same needle twice. I let out a sigh of relief. My boobs became a little less sweaty. Which was nice.
“Thanks, Tita," I slipped.
“OH ARE YOU A FILIPINA!?”
After reciting which province and which city my mom came from, why I don’t speak Tagalog, and whether or not I like Nicole Scherzinger (I do), I was off.
I went to the bed where the bloodening™ would happen, and let the nurse know I was nervous. She was nice about it, and told me (gasp) that many people get nervous, and that that’s normal. She also informed me that Ontario was on its last three days of O neg blood, so I picked a good time to start.
A woman in another bed asked if it was my first time (ha!) and I told her it was.
"I'm a healthy and able universal donor, so I guess I have to give or I'm for sure a bad person."
“I hope you know they’ll never stop calling you now,” she laughed, telling me her mom is also a universal donor.
Then she told me she works at a trauma centre. She sees people at the worst point in their lives, when everything is out of control, when they're in pain, when they need all the help they can get. My blood, and the blood others were giving, was everything.
“Also you get free snacks!” She added.
I thought about what she said, thought about how insignificant my own nerves were. I barely felt the needle. Despite the ease of the procedure I was shaking.
"Just roll that ball and squeeze it," the nurse said, referring to the squished napkins she'd put in my hand. "Concentrate on that."
Gradually the shaking stopped. And contrary to what I’d feared, I didn’t even feel the blood leaving my body.
I did see it, though.
**Side note, I always thought blood was the colour of Kool-Aid, because once I saw what I thought was a trail of fruit punch, only to realize the drips led not to a Kool-Aid stand, but to a recent stab victim and a bunch of EMTs. That’s a tale for another day though. The moral of the story is that blood is actually the colour of Pepsi, and I can drink Kool-Aid again.**
I watched the bag of my blood rock back and forth like stoners at a U2 concert. It was grimly fascinating. The inside part of my body was on the outside! But that was okay. Because it would be carried away to someone in need- someone whose inside parts were probably MORE on the outside. Someone who needed that little bag of rock!
The actual bloodening ™ took no time at all, and when the nurse removed the needle I felt nothing. I thought it was still in there. She asked what colour bandage I wanted, then wrapped my arm up tighter than a sports bra at a downhill marathon. Five minutes of reclining in the bed, and I was done.
I sat at the snack table eating Goldfish like I’d been cool the whole time. I read the little placemat that let me know how my blood would be used- how many people it would save, and why blood donation was so important. I patted myself on the back and took an extra packet of cookies because godammit I love chocolate chip oatmeal with the fire of a thousand suns.
"Oh, just like AA!" I said. "I'm not in AA! I just saw photos of the pins on Reddit! Not that there's anything wrong with being in AA! I'm glad people are getting help! They give you pins every time you go, just like here, and some people post photos of them online HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAH oh god why am I still talking this man doesn't care."
Overall, the idea of giving blood was much scarier than the actual process, and despite my initial worries, everyone there was very nice and understanding.
The fact is, 50% of Canadians will need blood in their lifetime. These drives save lives.
So I know it can be scary. But don't let fear stop you from being there for your neighbour. If you are able to give blood, do it. Blood saves lives. You'll feel good. And even if you don't at least you'll get cookies and a sweet enamel pin.
Visit http://www.blood.ca/en to book an appointment or find a drive near you.
I know there are others out there who want to give blood, but are nervous about it. I know it's an embarrassing thing to admit- to be an adult that's freaked out by a humdrum procedure when so much else is at stake. I also know it's hard to silence that voice in your head that takes every statistical oddity, every horror story, every urban legend, every horrible feeling, and makes it seem real. I know because I'm one of 2.4 million Canadians living with Anxiety Disorder. And even if I weren't, I know because I'm a human being who has fears both rational and irrational. It's normal. So all you folks who are scared of house spiders better back off from those scared of needles. Unless you're from Australia, in which case burn the spiders. Burn them all.
You want to give blood but you're scared. It's okay. I hope my story will encourage you to take the plunge.
Look, objectively I know giving blood isn’t a huge deal. It’s forty-five minutes and a pinprick out of your life. But I’ve always been scared to do it. The idea makes me uneasy- a tube sucks the inside part of your body to the outside your body? Into a plastic bag? While you listen to Muzak? WHAT THE HELL!?
Moreso I was terrified that contaminated instruments would give me some kind of lifelong illness. Look, anxiety’s a complicated thing, okay? It takes small possibilities and makes them seem like high probabilities.
I knew I should give. I think every able adult should give. But I found excuses to put off donating blood; I’d see donation drives coming up, click on the page to book an appointment, and inevitably chicken out. I knew it was the right thing to do, I wanted to help people, but also I’m a weenie, and that tends to wins over everything else.
Well, fast-forward and I take one of those ancestry DNA tests. Among other important facts (like my ability to smell asparagus in pee), the test informed me of my blood type.
O negative.
O freakin’ negative.
This weenie is a universal donor.
I faced a moral dilemma: On the one hand my blood could save literally anyone in need, regardless of their own blood type, and I wouldn’t even notice it was gone. On the other hand, still a weenie.
So I put it off again, telling myself I’d do it later. And later. And later. I'd hear the radio ads and think "Yeah! I'll sign up when I get home." Then I wouldn't.
But yesterday as I was walking home with a friend, I passed a blood drive.
“Do you want to give blood?” A chipper young woman asked with all the enthusiasm of a stock photo model eating salad.
I stopped.
Heck yeah. Heck yeah I want to give blood. I’m aware my own fear is caused by a chemical imbalance, and that ultimately my own angst is nothing compared to that of a person who actually needs to receive blood due to an accident/cancer/illness. Heck yeah I want to lend my neighbour a cup of blood! If only my brain would shut up for a second about germs and the weirdness of my insides being sucked out of my body, I would! ABSOLUTELY!
“Kinda.” I said, looking to my friend for encouragement. “I guess I kind of want to give blood.”
“You should!” He said.
“I should!” said I. "Me give blood now!"
I knew my fear of society was greater than my fear of heart-juice gushing from my arm, and that once I said I'd donate out loud there was no going back. Once others knew (by others I mean my friend, and the lady at the door who I’d never see again), I couldn’t back down. It was happening. I was going to give blood whether I liked it or not! Take that, irrational fear of fatal germs! I've outsmarted you with my greater fear of letting others down!
And thus I found myself eating a bag of pretzels and answering a long iPad questionnaire. Do you do drugs? Have you travelled anywhere outside of Canada? Are you or have you ever been a member of the Communist Party? Once I was done they gave me a sticker that said: “Be nice! I’m New!” I’m guessing the “It’s my first time!” stickers were rejected by admin.
I tried to blend in with the others, with the stream of office workers who looked as if they were in line at the grocery store and not about to let someone stab them in the arm with a pneumonic tube.
“Nice weather today,” I said. “It was raining before, but I think it stopped. Except that it looked like it might start spitting. But that’s spring for you, right? Just spit. Sky spit. Or rain as they call it.”
“Sure,” the lady next to me replied before turning away LIKE I WAS THE WEIRD ONE.
Soon a very kind nurse talked me through the process. I showed her the source of my anxiety: an article that warned of possible needle contamination at a Scarborough health fair. I was worried she’d dismiss me as a Facebook Doctor, the kind who thinks they know better than medical professionals because they read an article which proves gluten causes autism. I apologized, telling her I didn’t mean to question the competency of the nurses, but that fear of contamination was what had stopped me from giving blood in the past. She wasn’t judgmental at all. In fact, she encouraged me to show the article to the nurse who would be doing the extraction. Then she told me the process would take 45 minutes. I nodded as I freaked out inside, imagining myself bleeding into a bag for three quarters of an hour. But, no, she assured me: 45 minutes to go through the approval process, to wait, to sanitize, to give the blood, and to eat some cookies and juice. The actual bloodening™ would only take ten minutes.
I munched on my pretzels as I waited to be screened, reading the brochure they’d given me. “One blood donation saves three lives.” “Ontario has an urgent need for blood.” “If you feel anxious at any time tell us and you can stop.” Baby, my whole life is anxiety. If I followed that instruction I would be halfway down the block and under a decorative shrubbery by now.
I waited. And waited. I was nervous. I felt heavy. Knees weak. Arms were heavy. I was called in by Nurse Spaghetti. I mean, the screening nurse.
She asked where I’d travelled in the last year, and took a huge binder down from a shelf to see if my answer was acceptable. Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip. Flip... Congratulations, Croatia, you pass!
“Looks heavy,” I said, watching the tiny nurse pick up the gigantic binder and try to slide it back on the shelf.
“I just don’t understand why this isn’t in the computer,” she said. “Life makes no sense.”
“Don’t I know it,” I said, sure that I was getting those weird sweat spots under my boobs from nervousness.
I showed her the article about the health fair contamination and let her know that, while I knew it was a rare occurrence, the idea of getting a lifelong disease from a contaminated instrument terrified me. I wish it didn’t, but it did. She was understanding and explained that all the needles were single use, and had mechanisms to prevent them from “firing” again. She said the health fair warning itself may have been a misunderstanding, as sometimes an instrument will “spit out” a used needle to make way for another one. Sometimes people mistake that for using the same needle twice. I let out a sigh of relief. My boobs became a little less sweaty. Which was nice.
“Thanks, Tita," I slipped.
“OH ARE YOU A FILIPINA!?”
After reciting which province and which city my mom came from, why I don’t speak Tagalog, and whether or not I like Nicole Scherzinger (I do), I was off.
I went to the bed where the bloodening™ would happen, and let the nurse know I was nervous. She was nice about it, and told me (gasp) that many people get nervous, and that that’s normal. She also informed me that Ontario was on its last three days of O neg blood, so I picked a good time to start.
A woman in another bed asked if it was my first time (ha!) and I told her it was.
"I'm a healthy and able universal donor, so I guess I have to give or I'm for sure a bad person."
“I hope you know they’ll never stop calling you now,” she laughed, telling me her mom is also a universal donor.
Then she told me she works at a trauma centre. She sees people at the worst point in their lives, when everything is out of control, when they're in pain, when they need all the help they can get. My blood, and the blood others were giving, was everything.
“Also you get free snacks!” She added.
I thought about what she said, thought about how insignificant my own nerves were. I barely felt the needle. Despite the ease of the procedure I was shaking.
"Just roll that ball and squeeze it," the nurse said, referring to the squished napkins she'd put in my hand. "Concentrate on that."
Gradually the shaking stopped. And contrary to what I’d feared, I didn’t even feel the blood leaving my body.
I did see it, though.
**Side note, I always thought blood was the colour of Kool-Aid, because once I saw what I thought was a trail of fruit punch, only to realize the drips led not to a Kool-Aid stand, but to a recent stab victim and a bunch of EMTs. That’s a tale for another day though. The moral of the story is that blood is actually the colour of Pepsi, and I can drink Kool-Aid again.**
I watched the bag of my blood rock back and forth like stoners at a U2 concert. It was grimly fascinating. The inside part of my body was on the outside! But that was okay. Because it would be carried away to someone in need- someone whose inside parts were probably MORE on the outside. Someone who needed that little bag of rock!
The actual bloodening ™ took no time at all, and when the nurse removed the needle I felt nothing. I thought it was still in there. She asked what colour bandage I wanted, then wrapped my arm up tighter than a sports bra at a downhill marathon. Five minutes of reclining in the bed, and I was done.
I sat at the snack table eating Goldfish like I’d been cool the whole time. I read the little placemat that let me know how my blood would be used- how many people it would save, and why blood donation was so important. I patted myself on the back and took an extra packet of cookies because godammit I love chocolate chip oatmeal with the fire of a thousand suns.
Overall, the idea of giving blood was much scarier than the actual process, and despite my initial worries, everyone there was very nice and understanding.
The fact is, 50% of Canadians will need blood in their lifetime. These drives save lives.
So I know it can be scary. But don't let fear stop you from being there for your neighbour. If you are able to give blood, do it. Blood saves lives. You'll feel good. And even if you don't at least you'll get cookies and a sweet enamel pin.
Visit http://www.blood.ca/en to book an appointment or find a drive near you.
- Just 1 donation can save up to 3 lives.
- The average red blood cell transfusion is 3 pints (or 3 whole-blood donations).
- More than 1 million people every year are diagnosed with cancer for the first time. Many of them will need blood—sometimes daily—during chemotherapy.
- More than 38,000 blood donations are needed every day.
- Type O-negative whole blood can be transfused to people with any blood type, but this type of blood is rare, and supplies of it are low.
- Type AB plasma can be transfused to patients with all other blood types, but it's also in short supply.
- While 38% of the American population is eligible to give blood, only 2% actually donates.
source: https://www.cedars-sinai.org/programs/blood-donor-services/about-donation.html
