Little Red Umbrella
Today I slapped on my Supergirl shirt and got holes poked in me for the benefit of people I will never meet. I did it for love; for the love other people have for that person I'll never meet, and for the love I have for people I know who've been saved by transfusions. I did it because I can't pay back the people who gave blood to save members of my family. I can only help out someone else's mom or aunt or nephew or cousin or kid. One pint of whole blood can save three lives. And that, to me, seems a thing worth doing.
The process was even more painless than usual, and the Red Cross was full of cheerful, wonderful people. As impossible as I would have found this to believe at one point, I find giving blood intensely enjoyable. I used to think it was something awful you did just because it's the morally right thing to do, but now at least I understand that while it still is something I do because it's right, it's at least not horrible. The fear of needles (and I do still feel it) is nothing compared to the feeling of having helped.
Today everyone, even the brave first-time fainter, was smiling. We talked with each other, shared stories about dogs and thunderstorms and backyard ponds, we laughed. And when I left, it was pouring down rain like you would not believe, the upkick in the parking lot coming knee-high on me, lightning and thunder carving up the sky.
A woman I had never met was waiting in the little airlock between storm and shelter, staring out at the rain, obviously a little sour on the idea of making the sprint to her car with only a tiny little umbrella for protection. When I approached the outer door with nothing at all to ward me but a grim smile, she stopped me, unfolded her red umbrella and, grinning, walked me to my car. She got wetter than she would've, but I wound up drier. That's human kindness at its best.
Every time I call the Red Cross to make an appointment they seem surprised. Usually, they call you, you see. People need reminders. We get busy, we forget. Which is why I make my own appointments ahead of time, and I keep them. This isn't something I want to forget, or put off. It hurts me more to be deferred for low iron than it does to have a story rejected. When I go in, the nurse taking my history almost always asks if someone called to solicit me, and every time I say that I just do this because it's important to me, they seem shocked to hear it.
There's a terrible blood shortage right now, all blood types. Three people mentioned it to me today. It's apparently pretty bad this time. My blood won't be on a shelf for long. I truly hope that someday a synthetic blood substitute will come along that will make shortages and donorship all but obsolete, a thing of the barbaric scientific past when we had to harvest live tissue from squeamish living beings just to make medical ends meet. Science is working on solving this riddle, but until it does, I will extend my own little red umbrella to the world, three people at a time.
I regret that I have but one pint to give.
The process was even more painless than usual, and the Red Cross was full of cheerful, wonderful people. As impossible as I would have found this to believe at one point, I find giving blood intensely enjoyable. I used to think it was something awful you did just because it's the morally right thing to do, but now at least I understand that while it still is something I do because it's right, it's at least not horrible. The fear of needles (and I do still feel it) is nothing compared to the feeling of having helped.
Today everyone, even the brave first-time fainter, was smiling. We talked with each other, shared stories about dogs and thunderstorms and backyard ponds, we laughed. And when I left, it was pouring down rain like you would not believe, the upkick in the parking lot coming knee-high on me, lightning and thunder carving up the sky.
A woman I had never met was waiting in the little airlock between storm and shelter, staring out at the rain, obviously a little sour on the idea of making the sprint to her car with only a tiny little umbrella for protection. When I approached the outer door with nothing at all to ward me but a grim smile, she stopped me, unfolded her red umbrella and, grinning, walked me to my car. She got wetter than she would've, but I wound up drier. That's human kindness at its best.
Every time I call the Red Cross to make an appointment they seem surprised. Usually, they call you, you see. People need reminders. We get busy, we forget. Which is why I make my own appointments ahead of time, and I keep them. This isn't something I want to forget, or put off. It hurts me more to be deferred for low iron than it does to have a story rejected. When I go in, the nurse taking my history almost always asks if someone called to solicit me, and every time I say that I just do this because it's important to me, they seem shocked to hear it.
There's a terrible blood shortage right now, all blood types. Three people mentioned it to me today. It's apparently pretty bad this time. My blood won't be on a shelf for long. I truly hope that someday a synthetic blood substitute will come along that will make shortages and donorship all but obsolete, a thing of the barbaric scientific past when we had to harvest live tissue from squeamish living beings just to make medical ends meet. Science is working on solving this riddle, but until it does, I will extend my own little red umbrella to the world, three people at a time.
I regret that I have but one pint to give.