We had a blood donation organization come to our church on Saturday, and I volunteered.
First, they rummaged around with a big fat needle inside my arm, trying to find a vein. The girl apologized and told me I would have a huge bruise. I told her no big deal, I bruise easily anyways, and it was for a good cause. She told me my attitude was refreshing, that most people complained. (yay me! but really? People complain?)
Finally found a vein. My blood got up to 234 cc's and then it stopped flowing. They had to get 600 cc's. So then a guy comes over and starts moving the needle around AGAIN while its still in my arm. OUCH. He moves my wrist around and my arm, trying to get the blood a-flowin again. They ask me if I drank a lot of water. "Yes", I say, "because I worked out before I came." They look at each other with knowing glances. "Oh," they say. "Don't do that next time. Your totally dehydrated, PLUS, you have teeny tiny veins."
The blood starts flowin again. My hand starts to go numb. I have to squeeze a little tube every 3-5 seconds to prevent blood clots. Meanwhile, the blood people (nurses?) entertain me with their close comrade-re, teasing each other and such. And we have a good laugh at the only male nurse because he forgot his lab coat and had to cut the legs off of a pair of disposable scrubs and tape them on his shirt for sleeves.
After one HOUR, I'm afraid I'll never feel my hand again. They've been packing up to go home for the past 25 minutes. Oh well, they say, that's all we're going to get. They managed to squeeze only 375 cc's out of me. I asked if they could still use it to help someone that is sick. "No, we need 600 cc's for that. We can send it to forensics for lab testing, though. And it's clotted."
I apologized over and over. They were so nice, told me not to apologize and they were grateful that I was such a good sport.
They have me sit down for 15 minutes and eat some sugary snacks so I won't pass out later. They send me home with an ice pack for my poor little arm. As I'm recounting my story to Tom, he tells me to stop, he can't handle it, he is getting queasy. psh.
Later that night, a raised, purple bruise begins to form just where the needle was. Tom shudders and says, "Man, they mauled you!"
Little did I know, that bruise would spread from that small spot to two inches. And MAN is it sore.
"I bet you won't do that again, huh?" says Tom.
"Oh, I have an appointment to do it again October. I'll get it right next time!"
Tom looks at me like I'm crazy.
Hey, its for a good cause.