Guess what I did this morning. I gave blood. It’s one way I can be helpful.
So, with spring having arrived, I decided to walk to the Red Cross for my appointment and actually arrived early. Minus my I.D. So I walked back home, grabbed my driver’s license, and walked right back again.
To my great relief, I passed the mini-physical. My temperature was 97 point something, there was iron in my blood, they detected a pulse, and my blood pressure was delightful.
I was tickled pink.
The technician was fun, she played along with my nonsense while she swabbed and marked and hooked me up. All in all, a terrific experience. In 4 short minutes, I’d managed to fill a bulging bag with O+ — a bag, I might add, that resembled a colossal blood blister — and the sight led to a mild case of queasiness.
Then I realized I lose that much blood when I use an xacto knife and I perked right up. Then, yipe, I realized I’d relinquished a grisly crime scene worth of blood and quickly relapsed. Then I focused on the electrical socket and its startled expression and was fine again.
In spite of my cringing, they were impressed. Is that good, 4 minutes, I asked? Oooh, yes, very impressive. According to them, big, burly men often take forever and complain of feeling woozy or dizzy or sick. But not me. I was tough. Especially for someone so little.
Okay, for the billionth time, I’m not little. I’m not small or dainty or tiny. I’m a robust, strapping gal, at least 5’6” or maybe still 5’7”. I’m full grown, dammit.
They then proceeded to bandage my arm, provide care instructions, offer snacks and beverages and time to sit and regain my strength. Pfft, please, step aside. I don’t need no stinking snacks. They fussed and clucked, but nope, I straightened my shoulders and swaggered out.
Pushing through the door I thought to myself, ‘sheesh, what a bunch of screaming mimis.’ I felt just as good going out as I had going in. By the time I’d walked a block, however, my knees were weak and wobbly. By the front door of my apartment building, I was dizzy and light-headed and banged off both door frames. In the elevator, my field of vision started shrinking.
But I made it.
Assuring myself once again: I don’t surrender. One of these days I’ll have to, I know, but not today. I still have the strength of 10 men! Or will again soon.
copyright © 2020 the whirly girl
2 responses to “: a bloody good time :”
Always take the cookie…unless, it is from a stranger out of the back of a van.
You are my hero.
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Okay. But I’ll get it to go, along with a bottle of water. A nurse friend claims replacing the fluid is the trick.
Oh, and by the way, you were my hero first❣️
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