There is life in the blood

Today was my first day to give blood.

It just seemed like the right thing to do, the nurse-y thing to do. In the past, I have always either a) been too freaked and avoided it altogether, b) been sick, or c) made an excuse as to why I couldn't do it. (You will notice that two of the above reasons have to do with chickening out).


Well, I decided that today was where the chickening stopped. I had made an appointment, and I was gearing myself up for the experience. I had just done a nursing module last week that involved sticking needles into each other's arms, including my own, so this wouldn't be so bad, right? I'm a nurse (ahem...almost one), doggone it! It was time to toughen up!

I walked in and signed my name on the line, shaking my head. No, I hadn't given blood before. I took the reading materials and sat downwhere they told me to. "The Lion King" was playing in the corner, and Simba was singing how he couldn't wait to be king, but I was dutifully reading the guidelines for blood giving. HIV? Nope. Illegal drugs? No way. Out of the country in past three months? I was I had, but no...


After being prepped by a nice young man who was obviously trained in making people feel comfortable, I took yet again another seat to wait. The circle of blue chairs stretched out before me, and I noticed that they resembled those pool chairs made of rubber that always stick to your thighs when you stand up. "The Lion King" was still playing, and I hummed "Hakuna Matada" softly to myself as I watched one girl pass out. Quickly adjusting the chair so that her feet were propped up, I watched as several of the technicians buzzed around her, asking how she was doing, bringing  a cold compress, quickly taking the needle out.

Not a very reassuring thing to see right before you're going to give.

Finally, it was my turn. Like a victim on an altar, I lay myself on the blue pool chair, exposing my arm, looking so pale and fragile, big blue veins staring up at me pitifully, to the lady who was going to drain me of my fluids.

"Look over there," she directed. I obeyed, and sucked in my breath quickly at the sharp sting. The pain quickly abated, however, and I turned my head in time to see the wondrous sight of a thick needle sticking out of my arm, looking like a small silver spear. When I was all taped up, and instructed to squeeze the grubby heart-shaped ball in my hand, I was still compelled to stare.

It was over the next few moments that the loveliness of giving blood began to dawn upon me. I watched with rapt fascination as a beautiful dark mauve liquid began to pour from that small needle to the waiting bag below. The warmth of the blood in the tube taped on my arm was somehow comforting, and I wondered at this life-sustaining fluid that flows inside the dark recesses of my body, each cell glimpsing pieces of my innermost parts that I will never see, exchanging microscopic elements without fail, each moment, so that I can move, live, speak, learn, see.

I could not help but wonder into whose body my blood would go into next. Into who's veins and arteries will my blood flow? Will my blood be the bag that is chosen to be someone's last chance at living?

There is something scarily intimate about the gesture, as I fling out a portion of my life source to some unknown face. I do it in good faith, however, and send it henceforth with my blessing, counting down the days to when I can give a part of myself again.

"...the life of every creature is in its blood," I thought, watching that thick, lovely-colored liquid flow steadily from me. "There is life in the blood. There is life."