In church last Sunday a sign-up sheet was passed around for a blood drive. I took a good few minutes to look at the sheet (it was nearly empty). I thought about my last experience giving blood (I threw up on myself while the needle was in my arm) and what I told myself (that I would not donate again until I had given birth). And then, filled with anxiety and knowing it was a bad bad bad idea, I wrote down my name.
And this Sunday I'm going to cross my name right off.
For me, giving blood is NEVER a good experience. But I feel an obligation to do it. I have really amazing blood. If you're A positive and you find yourself needing a transfusion, you will be wanting a pint of my stuff. I've never done drugs, I have a good health history, and I've never been to Africa. And I figure that maybe I don't do much that makes a big difference, but giving my blood could make a difference to someone.
So even though I almost pass out every single time (I did pass out the first time I gave blood, now I know the warnings signs and can usually tell the phlebotomist to adjust my lawn chair before the darkness closes in completely), am extremely squeamish around needles, and am incapacitated for at least a full day after (often two)--I give blood. I tried to donate on my birthday once (my 17th?). They couldn't find a vein (a common problem I have, one time the phlebotomist burst a blood vessel while digging around in my arm and I looked like someone had clubbed me with a baseball bat).
But this time, it's not going to happen. I'm not going to do it. I don't think... Just thinking about donating brings back a powerful memory of the nausea and cold sweats that I experience every time I get the needle in my arm.
My mom told me that she passed out every time she gave blood until she had a baby. So, unless my sense of obligation overwhelms me, I am waiting until after childbirth. Then I will be a blood donating MACHINE.
Just... don't let me talk myself into it, okay?
