Guilty Blood

Every time I go to give blood (or platelets), they of course test me for anemia. And every time they do, they take out that horrid little needle and jab my small little finger with it.

It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't always make it a point to say "This is the worst part of the whole thing."

Excuse me, I beg to differ. I think the worst part is that big, horse size needle they then attempt to crush into my un-horse-size arm. Seriously, the thing is huge, they might as well just slice me open and let me drip into a bowl.

And I wouldn't be complaining so much if it wasn't for the fact that I have a little vein that apparently is terribly difficult to find. Oh they know where it is...somewhere in my arm, but usually I get a great big stick, then a few searching pokes through my skin while they circle the needle around and around and around my vein - but never in my vein.

I'm a group effort. Today at the apheresis donation I had no less than three woman come and look at my vein. And prod at my vein. And move the needle around and around my vein.

But not in it.

They're determined though. Determined to suck my blood and plasma and platelets right out. And I'm determined to give it. But what I don't understand is why they have to move the needle all around. After a few tries couldn't we just re-stick? I'd rather have a bunch of holes in my arm than a bunch of scratches inside it.

Today we failed to get the vein. Not for lack of trying. I sat on the chair with a great big bag of ice over my newly bruised arm and felt like crying. Not because it hurt that bad, it didn't, but because I felt like I had failed. Me and my veins had failed. We had the best of intentions. My heart, both the pumping one and the metaphorical one, was ready to give whatever I had away. I have plenty of clotting stuff, and bloody stuff, and liquid stuff. I'm ready, I'm willing, if you need it, you should have it.

And I couldn't do it. I kept saying sorry to the nurses. In my head I kept saying sorry to all those people with leukemia. To all those people who are getting ready for surgery and all those people who need their loved ones to get better, to be there for their families.

Stupid thick needle. Stupid thin arm. Stupid vein. Stupid me. Stupid, Stupid, Stupid.

Every time I go to give blood they take out that horrid little needle and jab my small little finger with it.

It wouldn't be so bad if they didn't always make it a point to say "This is the worst part of the whole thing."

No really, the worst part is going through it all, and then failing to give what's needed. Failing all those people who are counting on that blood. That's the worst part.