Getting my vein tapped

Last night at around 7:00 PM I received a call from the local blood bank reminding me that I was able to donate again, and that a “bloodmobile” would be in the city park walking distance from my apartment the next day.

This would be my third time giving blood. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, because I’ve always known how helpful it can be. But for whatever reason, cowardice kept me from doing it until my first time a few months ago. Needles are needles, and needles are scary. But finally one day I knew it was something that had to be done, so I did some research on what to expect, and then finally just did it.

And they’ve been asking me back every eight weeks since. It turns out my blood type is O Negative, which makes me a “universal donor;” my blood can be accepted by anyone. However, the other types of blood are incompatible with each other in varying ways. So they like to get as much as my kind of blood as possible.

After my first donation, I was sent a donor card with a barcode. By scanning the card, they don’t have to ask me a bunch of personal information that they already have on file. Some information, however, is always re-asked; have I ever taken any drugs on this particular list, am I currently taking antibiotics, have I been engaging in any risky sexual behavior, have I been overseas in the last three years - that one, for a few months more at least, I still answer yes to and explain my stay in Japan. Previously, this questionnaire is done with checkboxes on a sheet of paper, but on this newer high-tech van - “M1, but we call it M-wonderful,” said one of the nurses; the other two are smaller and apparently older - it was done with a tablet PC. This wasn’t much of an improvement, though, as questions appeared one-at-a-time on the tablet and there was about a two-second lag time between questions, so it took more time than simply quickly checking boxes on a form.

A nurse then took me in a closed room and verified my answers. Once all that is cleared, she pricks my finger and takes a small blood sample, putting it in a thin glass tube which then goes into a centrifuge for a moment. The centrifuge separates all the various gunk in my blood which allows her to check to make sure it’s all in correct proportions. She also checks my pulse and blood pressure.

Once I clear all that, it’s back into the main body of the van to choose an arm and a chair. My left arm seems to be the good one, with a nice thick vein close to the skin on the inside of my elbow. The nurse sits me in a reclined chair with a rest for my left arm. She asks me my name and date of birth as one final confirmation that I am who I say I am. She gives me a rubber ball to squeeze to really make the vein pop, then marks its location on my skin with a marker. (This is the part where I start to get kind of spooked - the anticipation of the poke.) Another nurse hands her the bag and tubes which will collect my blood, which she drapes over my arm for convenience. She rubs the area thoroughly with a swab of some cootie-killer whose name I can’t recall, and then… I close my eyes and try to calm myself as the needle slides into my skin and vein.

Before the blood flows into the big bag, she collects some in test tubes, presumably for testing for disease before my blood is used. Both these tubes and the bag are given matching barcode stickers. Then, by closing some tubes and opening others, the blood starts to flow into the big bag, which will hold about a pint (half a liter) when full. The bag is placed on a scale which is out of sight from where I’m reclining.

Filling the bag takes about five or six minutes. It’s a bit of a weird experience. You know what’s happening, because you can see the tubes coming out of your arm, full of your dark red life-stuff; but you don’t really feel it going out or anything, just a little pinch of your arm where the needle is. I pass the time chatting with the nurses, and am pleasantly surprised when I ask one if she’ll take a picture of my arm with the tubes coming out of it and she does so, resulting in this great shot.

The scale holding the bag of blood beeps as the bag gets near full, then beeps faster after it’s full. The nurse clamps the tubes shut and removes the needle. She uses special pincers to squeeze all the blood left in the tubes into the bag, then seals the bag shut. She has me place gauze over the hole in my arm and raise my arms for a few moments as she does this. Finally she checks my arm to confirm that I’m not leaking, then puts on some fresh gauze and a bandage. (She offers me to choose the bandage color; when I say I don’t care, she reaches for the rolls of bandages behind her without looking and randomly grabs the red one.) I’m instructed to not skip meals or do strenuous exercise for the next couple of days and sent to the back of the van. I grab half of a vaguely banana-flavored muffin from the counter and a tropical punch juice box from a cooler. After a little chit-chat, I start heading home.

Some people who give blood apparently feel dizzy or even faint afterwards; for me so far, it’s been more like brief moments of feeling stunned, like when I’ve gone too long without sleep. I experience this for a moment while walking home; I slow down my pace and make it home in one piece. At home, my arm is a little sore and it kind of feels like time is passing faster than normal (what? It’s almost 8:00 already?), but I’m doing okay.

I take the pictures off my new camera’s memory card, post them on Flickr, and post this article on my blog.

Folks, every day in the world, there’s a certain number of people who have a Really Bad Day. Donating your blood to them can make their day a little better. It’s safe (if a little scary) and typically takes less than an hour of your time every eight weeks. Don’t be an idiot like me and put it off; start now and do it often. Do some research, then check your local phone book or ask around about donation organizations in your area.

See this Flickr set for more and full-sized photos. This is my first time using Flickr… not bad.