**Warning: If the mention of blood makes you queasy, don't read this**
I went to donate blood yesterday after work. It's something I try to do as often as possible (every 8 weeks or so), but hasn't happened in quite a while. Either I've been sick, or my iron count was too low, or some other obstacle got in the way of me shedding a pint or so of blood. (If it's my blood, why can't I give it away whenever I want to? Oh well. Back to the story...)
Last night, I was in perfect physical condition for donating. Great. I was thrilled. It's been about 8 months since I've been able to donate, and I was horrified at the idea of having to wait even longer. But nope, this time I was A.O.K.
Until the woman drawing my blood messed up. She stuck the needle in my arm at a bad angle, so the blood wasn't coming fast enough to suit her. So she wiggled it around a bit, which does not feel pleasant, hoping for a better draw. This didn't work either. All it accomplished was me spraying blood all over the place. But instead of pulling out of that arm and using the other, she decided to wait, until it got to the point where my blood clotted (darn those natural reactions!) and would not flow anymore. The problem is that by that point, she'd already collected 36 grams of my blood, which is over their self-imposed limit for switching arms. So I couldn't give anymore.
I asked when I could donate again, thinking that if I didn't give a full pint, I wouldn't have to wait 8 whole weeks. Nope...I have to wait 8 more weeks. Again. So I went out of my way to donate blood, and wasn't able to, through no fault of my own.
I consoled myself by buying three posters at a nearby store: one Fraggle Rock, one Muppets, and one Van Gogh. I don't think the real frustration hit me until I got home, though. I was feeling a bit disgruntled, despite to acquisition of a Fraggle Rock poster, and wanted to have a glass of wine with dinner. Except that you're not supposed to drink after donating blood. Or even "donating" blood, in my case.
Now that's just cruel.