Today I gave blood. This is the first time I have ever given blood; I showed up at the blood bank in Southern California a couple of years ago (before we relocated) only to be rejected because my iron was too low. I tend to run a little on the anemic side, and being a vegetarian makes it even more difficult, so I've been taking lots of iron this past week to prepare. It was like a test, and I was determined not to fail.
I arrived right on time today, the first appointment of the morning, and was asked to fill out that questionnaire that grills me on my sexual habits and needle usage. I was pleased and surprised how nice everyone was. I mean, really nice. I'm not sure what I was expecting - the DMV, maybe? But my suggestion to you is if you want someone to be nice to you, go give blood.
The nice lady took my pulse and blood pressure. My pulse was quick (I had been walking and climbing stairs), but my blood pressure was way low. Almost borderline too low. Which was interesting considering last night I was really angry about something and ranting, raving and dropping F bombs left and right. I was asked if I ate a good, hearty breakfast like I was supposed to.
"Um... huh?"
I was directed into the kitchen where I choked down a granola bar and sucked down some OJ (I don't like eating that early in the morning). I got in the chair, and then they took my blood. It really wasn't bad at all. In fact, I'm a very quick blood-giver. Even with my low blood pressure, that stuff was just shooting out of me. I was done in about 5 minutes.
I was told to sit in the chair for a few minutes, then head to the kitchen for more snacks. I felt fine. I ate some peanuts (bypassing the donuts and muffins), sat around for a few minutes, and, feeling pretty good, I left.
As soon as I started walking it hit me. My head buzzed and my heart pounded. I made my way to BART and immediately got on the wrong train - the first time I've ever done so. I got off and hopped on the correct train, and then walked the half mile home from the station.
That. Was a bad. Idea.
I wasn't sure if I was going to make it home. By the time I opened the front door, I was a wreck, and I've been next to worthless the rest of the day. That Guy Who Lives With Me made me a wonderful lunch, which helped a lot, but I had to lay down several times in between working.
I'm recovering now, and really, I feel pretty good about finally giving blood. Somewhere, someday, someone will have my blood flowing through their veins, and inexplicably start singing Disney tunes.
Cool.
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