the pleasant nausea that is donating blood
I gave blood at school today! Feels good to save lives. Feels bad in all other respects.
I woke up this morning and ate a less-than-substantial breakfast before school, but that was okay, because I grabbed a muffin in between early morning and regular classes. My appointment with the blood drive docs was at 10:00, conveniently scheduled right after I was assigned my math homework. Tough luck.
They took my blood pressure; it was slightly low (nothing wrong). Then came the questionnaire, describe in part on myspace [link to entry]. Then, the finger prick. The nurse had to squeeze my finger three or four freaking times to get the blood out; the squeezing was really intense and hurt more than the prick. "It's because your hands are so cold," said the nurse, apologizing.
Then she said my hemoglobin (something in the blood that comes from iron intake) was too low, and I couldn't give. Gee, NOW I know why I'm so tired all the time. Besides the fact that I'm not sleeping right, I'm also not getting enough iron in my diet. Curses.
The nurse suggested that we could try the other finger. Sometimes, the counts are different. However, she said it might not be any higher, that it would hurt just as much as the first time, and that I didn't have to try again. I said it didn't hurt that much the first time, and told her to stick me again. I tested right above the cutoff.
I was put in a chair near a couple of people from my AP English class. Even out of class, we're a hysterical bunch. At first, I wanted them to poke the left arm, but they really wanted to go after the right, so I had to wait around until one of my classmates vacated her chair so I could be in a right-armed chair. Then came the needle.
You know how they say that after the needle's in, you can't feel a thing? This must be true for everyone but me. I was VERY conscious of having a needle in my arm, and it ached. (Ooh, my arm muscles just spasmed right now. Good thing I decided to let up on working out for the day.) I thought I'd be okay as long as I couldn't see the blood bag. Then, lo and be hold, someone in a white coat came and held up the blood bag in plain sight.
I mean, really, I can handle a little blood, no problem. Seeing it being drained from my body, however, and collected in a plastic sack, is a little bit unnerving. My dad has the same problem; I stay calm, use my logic to tell myself I'm not being hurt in any way, etc., but without knowing it, I'm hyperventilating. Soon, I start feeling sick, and they have to tip my chair back, put an ice bag under my head, and bring me a drink. I try, with a little success, to meditate. Someone has the bright idea of turning on the TV, and it saves my ADD self. I watch "The Price is Right" until they unstick me and wrap a bandage around my arm.
The girl behind me, the other classmate of nine, was really freaking out. She made the weight cutoff (110 lbs) by maybe three pounds, with shoes. She was dizzy, she was naseous, she was.. really genuinely funny in retrospect. I felt bad, though, saying, "Hey, I feel a little sick... wait... no, I feel really sick," while everyone was trying to keep her from passing out.
After donating, all us lightweights sat around in a corner drinking our 7-Ups and talking about how dizzy, woozy, etc., we felt. Meanwhile, the big guys hooked up to big machines looked perfectly fine, and they walked out pretty calmly. I left after resting for a while, stopped at my locker, and went straight to lunch, where I pigged out: curly fries and a Snickers ice cream bar. I felt weak, so I figured the best course of action was to eat a lot. If I had my way, it would've been a lot healthier food, but you know school cafeterias and how narsty the food is there.
They'll be back for another drive this spring. I'll be back, too.