Posted tagged ‘Blood donor’

Midlife crisis #2: There will be blood

September 1, 2015

Midlife is, of course, the wrong thing to say. Being younger than Dorian Gray I have yet to reach an eighth never mind middle of any crisis. Nevertheless, there is a critical story to be told.

At this point in my existence I decided to become a do-gooder. Selfishness and insularity was a thing of the past. It was time for me to give something back to mankind. I had read the leaflets and spoken to others that had done it but now it was my turn to become a blood donor. With one fell swoop I would overcome my fear of needles and help someone with my donation. As midlife crisises go this was near the bottom of the Richter Scale, in the relegation zone.

The questionnaire was a breeze. Having never had a an illness or done anything peculiar in the personal, behind closed doors stakes I ticked all the boxes to be a perfect giver. Given an appointment I trained for my date with Dracula. I stopped drinking alcohol for a week to wash out impurities. I stood on my head to circulate the system. A fringe benefit of this exercise is an instant face lift when you stand up again. And I gave my veins encouragement and praise that I had heard from dog owners: good blood, good blood, That’s a good blood, c’mere blood c’mon, aww who’s a lovely blood. I even rubbed my tummy a few times.

The wretched Ratched

The day arrived and I was strapped up to the bench. A very young nurse was to perform the operation. This was pleasing on the eye as some of my co do-gooders were being administered by Nurse Ratched types. I was told there was no pain involved yet when she inserted the needle I felt a massive sting. The other patients looked relaxed, happy and pain free. I was dizzy and mentioned this to the nurse. Quick as a Flash A-AH she ejected the needle and plastered my arm to stop the impending red flood. Then my bench was tilted so that my feet were in the air. Nobody else was in this postion. I was getting a free face lift on the NHS.

After awhile I was released from my bench prison and given water and biscuits in a holding cell. To be truthful, this was the only reason I was there. I’ll do anything for free biscuits. Throughout my ordeal MrsW waited in the wings. She was sympathetic to my failed attempt at blood giving. What a wuus, she said, they’d have been better off whacking me in the nose, they might have got some blood that way. She added, she would even have offered to provide the punch.

I signed myself out and was instructed to return in six months. I went home to heal. I took off the plaster on my arm and found out what had caused all the trouble. The good looking young nurse had missed the vein! There was a needle mark beside one of the bigger veins. This wasn’t right. No wonder I was away with the fairies. They were pulling muscle and sinew and bone from me. Definitely no blood.

What caused this mistake? Was the nurse a terrible darts player? Did I move before the impact? Did MrsW deliberately bump the nurse’s elbow as she was about to penetrate? The mystery remains. And critically, so does the mark on my arm.