By Josie Barker
“Donate blood!” they say. “Your contributions will save lives,” they say.
They were right. All statements above are completely factual. Donating blood not only saves a life, but it also improves your own cardiovascular health! Blood is an irreplaceable resource, and donating yours can be crucial in assisting another’s life. It also comes with many perks such as iron regulation, and maybe even a thrown-in gift card.
My English teacher prompted our class to go to the cafeteria and lose some excess hemoglobin. With the added incentive of extra credit and my best friend’s presence, along with some words of encouragement, I decided skipping sixth period would be worth it to save someone else’s life (also, heck yeah, free health screening!).
This was my first time as a donor, and I walked into the canteen with a belly full of various liquids and beef, hesitant, yet excited to let loose some red human syrup. The organizers made us chug some Gatorade and down a bag of pretzels. Forced food consumption? Done. I arrived at 12:30 (my appointment at 12:45), and had to wait til around 2:15 to get my name called.
I questioned the lady in charge of my body about the level of pain I was about to experience. “Won’t hurt more than the finger prick,” she remarks with a smile. However, her claims, along with advice from every prior patient, were in fact false (at least in my case). The second the needle pierced my flesh and pushed up my puffy veins, I literally started bawling. For one, it hurt more than the finger prick (honestly, both skin punctures did not cause much discomfort at all). The distressing part in my case was the stream of tears slipping down my face while I sang “My Way” by Fetty Wap. Perhaps similar to what mothers feel with post-partum depression (definitely not anywhere close to that feeling), I felt maternal over the blood leaving my body. I was so hysterical, but I’m not sure why because the blood-draining part wasn’t even remotely hard on me physically, but mentally, woohoo. My phlebotomist stood over my quickly-turning grayish blue anatomy for a good 15 minutes, because apparently I was a slow pumper (as if my EsDeeKid karaoke performance wasn’t embarrassing enough).
I think it took a little over thirty minutes to pump my blood out, which is a bit over the average time. According to the flashy red screen, I have “low flow.” The whole pumping ordeal wasn’t too bad, but the aftermath was what really hit me. For two hours straight, I physically could not stop crying. I still don’t understand why I had the tears, and why my hand was so purple and cold. Additionally, my Reynard’s syndrome was pointing out my figure’s terrible circulation, which was not a good look for my already saggy, sac-like appearance. Consequently, Naomi had to rub my hand against hers due to my loss of coloration, and Gio helped gain some hue back in my face by making me laugh. I left around 3:20, mascara streaming down my face, and went home woozy. I sincerely recommend donating blood to save another’s life. It was worth it, and I’d do it again, next time perhaps with some additional background zen music.
Side note: the camera does not do my achromatic appearance justice.
