I went to donate blood two years ago and was told not to. This week I went again and I thought this time would be different. Although my balance has been off lately from the stress of the book and book-related matters, I haven’t had a full Menieres attack since 2007. Tuesday was a lovely evening; not too hot, a nice breeze. My haemoglobin levels were higher this time (12.5).
I made it to the bed. The needle was in:
I was lying there for about four or five minutes when suddenly everything went awry. The room tilted and my arm began to hurt. I called over the nurse, another dashed over, and the needle was out before I knew it.
I am only speculating here, but I think they were a little annoyed. If they were, perhaps it’s only reasonable. I took the place of a person who could donate the full quota. I looked over at my bags. I drink so much water daily (thanks to my kidney issues) I assumed that the blood would flow like honey from a bible metaphor, precious and bountiful.
Alas, no.
“We’ve gotten 160mls. About 1/4 of the usual amount.”
“What?”
The nurse handed me the tissue to wipe away my disappointed tears.
“You cannot donate blood lying down. Frankly, I’m going to recommend that you not attempt to donate for another ten years.”
Ten years? Ten years?
“But…” She looked at me. “I can tell you’ll probably give it one last try. Go to one of the donor centres where you can sit upright in a recliner chair.” She handed over a pamphlet.
I scanned the addresses. “My husband works across the road from this one.”
“Good.”
After that I got up and was ushered over to the snacks table where I was told to have a sit and eat biscuits for ten minutes. I sat for probably two.
“Where are the toilets?” I asked. I was pointed in the right direction, and I left.
I just couldn’t be there any longer.
***
What upset me most was a comment the nurse made, something along the lines of that my blood may not even be used.
“What – it’ll be chucked out?”
“That’s up for the labs to decide.”
I rang the Red Cross the following morning and spoke to a triage RN. She explained the situation. Yes, my red blood cells will be too diluted in the sodium citrate that is already in the bags, thus making them too diluted to be transfused into the body. However my plasma will be salvageable. So that makes me feel a little better.
******
I’m not allowed to attempt giving blood for at least three months. On the night and then the following day I was informed several times that, “This might not be for you; you have young children, your responsibility is to them; not everyone can do it.” This doesn’t sit well with me, not one bit.
When dad died I inherited his wallet. I received it at Christmas. Everything is still in there – not that I open it very often because even the smell of the dusty leather makes me teary. Here is his blood donor card:
The white boxes are covering his address and phone number, as they are still mum’s.
In case you can’t make out the writing it says he donated for the first time on January 28th 1971. Almost 39 years ago. And look how regularly he went, every three or four months.
Maybe I’m not made of the right stuff to be an ideal blood donor, I’m the first to admit it. But I will give it at least one more try.
And if anyone has any tips as to how to maybe get through it better next time, I’m all ears.
