I love to donate blood. Say what you will about me; call me a Hemophilic, needle loving, mentally unstable person but I have my reasons. Come to think of it, there are a lot of reasons why I should really hate giving blood.
- I really dislike needles. I’m not afraid of them but I absolutely have to look away when they poke me.
- I have passed out 1 1/2 times after donating. (I have donated successfully since that point.)
- I get queasy when I look at my bag of blood, rocking back and forth. Bleh.
- I end up wearing long sleeves for about 2 weeks because I don’t like the bruise I get on the inside of my elbow.
And yet, I love it. It’s unnatural, I know. There is something so unique about walking out of a blood donation and realizing that even though I was slightly uncomfortable for 10 minutes and a little weak for a few hours afterwards, I had helped save 3 people’s lives.
I was supposed to donate blood today for my stake, but alas, they got extremely behind and they actually turned me away when I showed up for my appointed time. Needless to say, I was very disappointed. I have been loading up on my multivitamins all week, I had drank about 60 oz. of water today, and I had 2 iron rich meals. I walked home feeling all of a sudden very heavy. I had an extra pint of blood in my body that I hadn’t counted on. What purpose is that pint of blood actually serving for me? It feels wasteful.
My sister-in-law offered to stab me to get rid of that extra pint but that seemed like a bad idea. How about this: if anyone knows any hungry vampires, send them ’round my neck of the woods. Mind you, I’ll only let them take one pint of blood, no more, no less. At least then I will know my pint of blood is helping someone.