O

I have O blood, which basically means I am a borderline superhero…when I share. It had been awhile since I’d donated, though, but today was the day I was going to help save not one life or even two, but three entire lives. (I have no idea how this math works but it sounds good on paper.)

I scheduled myself a 3:45 appointment and spent the day keeping well hydrated and nourished and even scarfed down a bag of M&Ms on the way there just to be safe. I had my temperature checked, answered all the appropriate questions—“No I did not get a blood transfusion while visiting the Falkland Islands between 1980-and last week,”— and passed my iron test with a respectable number I can't remember. Another temperature check and we were ready to go.

“Left arm.” I answered when the nurse asked which one.  I might not be the new faux Captain America, but I was still feeling pretty heroic.

Now, for those who have not donated, the next few minutes, in my opinion, are actually the worst part of the experience. The sterilization, the tying of the arm, the finding of the vein; it’s all so drawn out and a bit nauseating. Once the needle is placed and the blood starts flowing, the experience can be relaxing, in a weird, “I’m losing oxygen” kind of way.

Today was different, though.

Today, the waiting was not the worst part. The worst part, by far, was when the nurse poked the needle into my arm and nothing came out.  Like, not a drop. I watched the plastic tubing, waiting for it to turn crimson, but instead it just stayed…plastic.

I don’t know if she missed the vein or I’m partially dead on the left side of my body, but there was no blood coming out of my left arm.

“Oh, shoot…I am so sorry.”

She called for another phlebotomist, who asked me if I wanted her to try to find a vein that might work on my right arm.

“No…I’m a…I’m going to leave.”

And I did.

Eventually.

But that needle was just kind of sticking out of my arm for another two or three minutes while they canceled everything out.

“Thanks for coming in…feel free to grab some…food and a… a t-shirt on your way out.”

I didn’t, though. I hadn’t earned that t-shirt, or those snacks.

I’ll get another chance though…and five emails a week reminding me to donate until I do.