Pins and Needles

I vaguely remember answering the nurse’s questions as I waited to be cleared to donate blood last Tuesday. All I could think about was the giant needle in my immediate future.

I had never donated blood before, and hadn’t even planned on doing so. On my way home from work I saw a blood donation sign at a church that still had one hour left. I made the impulsive decision to give blood, knowing full well my fear of both needles and blood.

My preoccupation with the needle was interrupted by the loud stapler-esque click and pinch from the finger prick used to take a small sample of my blood.

Having met all the requirements I followed the nurse to a station where she began to examine and prod my arm. After a few minutes I asked if something was wrong, when she explained that she was having trouble finding a vein. At that point I was ready to hop out of my seat before I was tethered to a blood bag. But it was too late she was already spreading the sticky yellow iodine solution all over my arm and tying a rubber band tight around my arm to help find a viable vein.

Apparently that was not enough for my inconveniently small veins. Grateful for the stress ball in my hand I took out my nerves on it while the nurse added a blood pressure monitor to its fullest strength on my upper arm.

I couldn’t force myself to look as she stuck the needle in for the first time. After the “slight pinch” of pain lasted over a minute I look over to find her still struggling to hit a vein with the needle in my arm. I began to quietly panic loosing feeling in my arm from the pressure of the band, blood pressure monitor, and the overly cheery blue stress ball clenched in my left hand.

Once she found a vein most of the pain went away, but the extreme pressure on my arm was making it numb, like the “pins and needles” feeling when your foot falls asleep.

Soon the bright airy room seemed to get quieter and softer. I could barely make out what people around me were saying. I became unreasonably cold like walking into an air-conditioned room after a hot shower except I was also sweating.

The slight panic in the nurse’s voice as she asked me when the last time I ate was startling.

I recalled my sandwich and banana I had for lunch at noon, wishing I hadn’t made the spontaneous decision to donate blood.

A doctor came over and placed a cold compresses on my forehead and neck which helped. Knowing that I still had a few minutes left until my blood bag was filled they brought me over a coke for a quick boost of sugar. The overly sweet carbonated soda fizzed as I sipped it through a straw, but its effect was instant. I removed the cold compresses feeling better and foolish. I apologized to the nurse for not planning for this better.

My lack of planning resulted in what is now one of the more embarrassing moments in my life that has been documented via photos taken by my younger sister.

I guess my body wasn’t prepared to drop a pint of blood all at once.