How My First Blood Donation Went With an Unexpected Funny Insight – 375 ml of Life

We had a blood donation drive at the office. They announced it a week in advance so that everyone who wished to donate would be prepared.

For me, it was about mental preparedness more than anything. Those thick needles are big enthusiasm dampeners.

It begins.

The blood bank technicians and the medics came well-equipped. Four beds were laid out in the cafeteria. One lady checked everyone’s haemoglobin in an adjoining meeting room, and another handed over the collection bags.

The whole process was very methodical and sombre. Still, I found my little moments of hilarity even then, mostly as a result of my own actions.

I completed the donation form and sat in front of the technician for the customary haemoglobin test prick. Ouch! A drop of red blossomed on the tip of my finger. She swiftly sucked it in a dropper and let a drop of blood fall into a beaker full of blue liquid. As it descended with astonishing rapidity, the drop broke up in the middle, and the hole spread outwards to form a ring of red.

She nodded in approval at that sight and asked if I had any medical history. I had trouble remembering the year I had jaundice or the year I had my hepatitis shots.

My sketchy answers shocked her mildly, but I guess that tiny drop she’d extracted earlier silenced her doubts. My recent history was clear of any medical misdemeanours. No hypertension, diabetes, or other persistent conditions too. Hooray, I was in!

Armed with her validation, I entered the cafeteria and got my blood collection bag. Without any chance to prep myself, I was lying on a bed, staring at the ceiling.

A BP monitor took the count and simultaneously increased the pressure on my right hand. I was given a soft ball to squeeze. That would pump up the pressure in the blood, and all possible veins would pop up on the skin’s surface. I have never been laid horizontal in the cafeteria (oh, alright, I have slept through some town halls but with my head on a table), but this was pleasant. Circles of dim light shone down from the false ceiling at specific intervals, plenty but not harsh, and the blinds shut out any other light. The atmosphere was perfect for a siesta.

And then I saw the needle.

It was time.

I was sure it was meant for a thick-skinned buffalo, and they got it here by mistake. No such chance as the needle advanced. I felt the need to gulp in a large amount of air.

Time to be truthful, I thought, and told the doctor of my reaction to all such pointy, prickly things. I usually get a feeling of faintness (without actually fainting, which makes it complicated as I am neither here nor there ). This feeling disappears if I remain calm and do nothing for a few minutes. After it passes, I am as fit as a fiddle. But for those few moments, I am a spent bullet.

She was ok with that and told me to lie down as long as I wanted to. There is one more disclaimer, I said to her. I grimace quite a bit when the needle pierces and may utter some expletives in that process. I told her not to take it personally. This elicited laughter from my colleagues, who were in a similar prone position but entirely unaffected by the needle. She was amused as well but ok with my swearing.

My hand was sufficiently pumped up, and she tried to find a suitable vein. They were all tiny, and she slapped my hand a few times and located one. I was going to be punctured now. (oh god! Gulp! Gulp! Ouch! Ouch!) She was skillful, yet I felt the needle enter and slide up my arm. Some &^@+*”>:&%# followed but no blood. I pumped the ball till I felt ants crawling all over my right hand, yet no luck. She removed the needle.

I felt the dawn of hope shine. So if my veins are tiny, I won’t be able to donate, right? RIGHT? I asked, eager to escape the ordeal I had put myself in. We’ll try the other hand, she said matter-of-factly. Mentally, I heard my hope crash into a thousand pieces.

As I pondered my fate, a tiny angel popped on my shoulder, much like it does for Tom and Jerry. “Shame on you!” he chided me, “where has all that bravado gone? Who was so happy about being the only one in your batch to clear the haemoglobin test? Now pay your dues, be brave.” I could see him adjust his halo as he waited for me to raise my downcast eyes and decide. There! The decision was made.

I shifted to another bed, so my left hand would be nearer to the BP monitor. After all the pumping, squeezing and slapping, she finally found a big enough vein. Puncture time again, the angel was very much in attendance and watchful. I gave him a dark look but felt really warm inside. Some more *&^@+*”>:&%#.

The blood flowed instantly this time, and the bag started filling up. I lay watching the lights shining down on me. A few naughty sunrays had managed to avoid the blinds and had made their way in. I am sure they were there on purpose to keep watch.

People passing the cafeteria door could see me inside, and many gestured with a thumbs-up sign. It felt good to be on this side of the glass partition. The donation coordinator even took a picture of us, needles and all.

I lived.

Finally, I was free of the needle. I looked at the collection bag, all deep red. I had just transferred 375 ml of life, which was now safely stored in that bag, ready to save someone.

They immediately gave me a pack of glucose biscuits and tea. I was feeling faint, but that was expected. I sat down on the carpeted floor and began eating. The medic gave special instructions to the technician to always watch me.

I went quiet for a few minutes, and the uneasy feeling would not disappear. The medic did not like the look of it and immediately asked me to lie down where I was. The watchful fellow poured a glass of pure glucose into my throat. The effect was electrifying. I could feel the energy surge through my veins. I closed my eyes in bliss.

I felt a sudden shake on my shoulder. “Open your eyes, open them”, said the medic. They thought I had switched off like a light.

Keeping my eyes open was a way of reassuring them that I was very much present and awake. So I kept them open and thought of all the times I had spent in the cafeteria, bored and listening to spiels. And how different this situation was.

They finally let me go after I had another glucose drink and polished off an extra pack of biscuits. I protested but only mildly. Who says no to biscuits?

There was more advice to come, though, as I walked away. The technician instructed, “Don’t stand too much, don’t sit on a chair if you feel faint at any time, just lie down, and get some juice in a while”, and so on. She gave me a certificate and a medal to show their appreciation.

It’s finally done.

As I made my way back to my desk, I could see the pride in my eyes reflected in those of my friends. The experience had been insightful and highly morale-boosting.

There is no doubt that I will do it again, fat needles notwithstanding.

And then it hit me.

I’d sworn loudly in full public view. Legit opportunities for *&^@+*”>:&%# in public and especially in an office are hard to come by. And I’d taken full advantage.