That Warm Fuzzy Feeling Isn’t Blood-Loss

, , , , , | Hopeless | July 15, 2018

I’m donating blood for the first time. I made an attempt a few years ago, but was rejected because I weighed too little. Since then, I’ve been trying to keep my weight at a healthy level, waiting for an opportunity to try again, but not really making it a top priority.

While I’m waiting to get called in for evaluation, I notice an elderly man walking around talking to the other donors. He eventually comes up and starts talking to me. It turns out that this man has bone cancer, and is dependent on blood donations every three weeks for his health. He is making it his personal mission to thank all of us, because it is people like us that made sure he could live to see his two grandsons’ birthdays.

I get through the rest of it with a smile on my face, thinking about giving what I have to someone who needs it. It’s nice to be able to help people, but to see what exactly a simple blood donation can do really gives me a warm fuzzy feeling. Rest assured, I’ll be back to do it again when the 56-day rest period between shots ends.

Has Been Trying In Vein

, , , , , | Healthy | July 14, 2018

(I have been donating blood at least twice a year ever since I was 18 years old. Once the needle gets into a vein, I have no problems filling the bag. The problem is my veins tend to “squirm” under my skin, and if they don’t get pierced straight on, they have a habit of popping. Due to this, I am rather used to them needing multiple attempts to stick me. One time, I go in to make my donation, and after doing all of the paperwork, I am sat on the bench. The phlebotomist — blood drawer — walks up with a young guy.)

Phlebotomist: “Mr. [My Name]? This is [Trainee], and he is a trainee with us. He is almost done with his training. Would you be okay if he did the needle insertion on you today?”

Me: “I mean, it’s fine with me, but he might have a hard time. I’m sometimes hard to stick.”

Phlebotomist: “Okay, [Trainee], I’ll be over there if you need me.”

(The phlebotomist then walks away to go do a draw from another donor across the room.)

Me: “All right, [Trainee], looks like it’s just the two of us. Just to warn you, my veins tend to squirm a bit, and are easy to pop. Just take your time.”

Trainee: “Don’t worry, sir. This should be easy. Just squeeze on this ball, and… Shoot.”

(He slid the needle into my arm, and, like I warned him, my vein moved out of the way. He tries to change the angle of the needle while it is in my arm, causing a good bit of pain, and then scrapes the side of the vein, popping it.)

Trainee: “Darn! Don’t worry; this is fine. There is another vein I can use. Just make sure you sit still, please. Please squeeze. D***!”  

(Another squirm and another pop, luckily with no digging inside of my flesh this time.)

Me: “Do you think you should get your trainer to come and look?”

Trainee: “No, sir. I am almost fully trained, and I have done this before. Is it okay if I move over to your other arm and give that one a shot?”

Me: “Sure, but you are going to have the same problem over there.”

(He moves over to my other side, cleans the skin, ties off the band, pokes at my vein with his finger a couple of times, and lines up the needle.)

Me: “Are you sure you don’t want to call your trainer over?”

Trainee: “I’m sure, sir. This will be fine. Just please don’t move while I’m inserting the needle. Squeeze. Fu… Um… Hey, [Phlebotomist], could you come over for a second, please?”

(He has managed to pop the third vein, and when extracting the needle, he ripped my skin a bit, causing me to start bleeding. When the phlebotomist gets over, he says to her:)

Trainee: “I don’t know what this guy is doing, but he keeps moving his veins while I’m working.”

Phlebotomist: “I doubt he is doing it on purpose. Let me try another vein, and I’ll show you how to do it.”

Trainee: “Umm… I already tried both elbows, and the veins all popped under me.”

Phlebotomist: “Why didn’t you call me when you started having trouble?”

Trainee: “It would have been fine if he hadn’t been wiggling his veins. Look, I tried both in his left arm, and one in his right, but his right is bleeding now, so I can’t do the other. Do you think I should go for an artery?”

Phlebotomist & Me: “WHAT?!”

Phlebotomist: “NO! YOU DO NOT TAKE BLOOD FROM AN ARTERY! NOT WITH THE TRAINING YOU HAVE! That donor over there is almost full; go take his needle out when he is done, and point him to the snacks.”

(The trainee walks away, muttering something under his breath that I can only assume is more blaming me for moving my veins. The phlebotomist apologizes profusely, saying that she hasn’t had any trouble with him yet today, he has been good with other donors, etc. As they can’t get blood from popped veins, she tells me to come back in a month after they have healed up. As I’m walking to the front door, I walk past the trainee, who gives me a glare, and says:)

Trainee: “Next time, sir, please hold still while we are inserting the needle.”

(When I went back in, the phlebotomist recognized me, and came up to apologize again, and said that the trainee no longer worked there, at least partially due to the fact that he kept blaming the donors if anything went wrong.)

A Lack Of Blood To Their Brain

, , , | Healthy | July 10, 2018

(I am a regular blood donator, something like ten times already in around five years, but I haven’t donated my platelets for almost a year due to a lack of time. I regularly get vocal messages from the Blood Donation Center asking me if I would agree to a new donation. This time, I call them back, around 20 minutes after the original call. I moved to [City #1], and the Blood Donation Center here does not have the proper equipment to perform platelet donation, so I am required to go back to [City #2] to do it, which I can only do during weekends.)

Me: “Hello, you just called me for a platelet donation. I would like to schedule an appointment, but I can only come to [City #2] during weekends as I’m living in [City #1], and I know I can’t do this at the local blood donation center.”

Lady: “Oh, yeah, please let me check.”

(She puts me on hold for around three minutes, which is rather unusual. I’m a bit busy, so it gets on my nerves, but hey, it’s supporting a good cause.)

Lady: “Well, [City #1]’s center never had the proper equipment for platelet donation.”

Me: “Yes, I know. That’s why I want an appointment in [City #2], on a weekend.”

Lady: “Well, okay. I have something on [date two weeks later] at 10:00 or 10:30; is that okay for you?”

Me: “Yeah, 10:30 would be perfect.”

Lady: “So 10:00.”

Me: “No, 10:30.”

Lady: “Okay. May I have your name?”

Me: “It’s [My Name].”

Lady: “I can’t find you. You’re not in the registry. You never donated your platelets, did you?”

Me: “Well, how could you call me, and leave me a vocal message asking me to come back to donate platelets, if I’m not in your registry?”

Lady: “I can’t find you. You’re not in the registry. If you had ever donated blood or platelets, you would be in the registry.”

Me: “You see, that’s also why I almost never call back.”

(I called back the next day, got another lady on the phone, and surprisingly — not really — got an appointment booked, as she very easily found me in the registry.)

Observed Something In Passing (Out)

, , , | | Romantic | May 18, 2018

(In high school, I go with my girlfriend when she donates blood. I recently got a piercing, so I can’t donate. After, in the recovery room, she keeps bending over to look under the table. The first few times I look, too, but I don’t see anything interesting.)

Me: “What do you keep looking at?”

Girlfriend: “What?”

Me: “You keep looking at something under the table!”

Girlfriend: “Oh! I’m not looking at anything; I’m passing out.”

(I went and grabbed a nurse. Kind of put me off donating blood!)

Addressing The Addressing Issue

, , , , | Right | May 11, 2018

(In order to donate at the plasma center where I work, you have to have a permanent address within a certain number of miles of our center. Every donor that comes in is required to provide proof of address. The most common way to do this is with a piece of mail addressed to the donor. In order for a piece of mail to be acceptable, all of the information on the mail has to EXACTLY match the information provided by the donor, and it HAS TO be postmarked in the last thirty days. A donor can’t donate plasma until we get acceptable mail, NO MATTER WHAT. Since I work the from desk most of the time, it usually falls to me to take approve people’s mail. It’s not uncommon for people to have a hard time bringing in acceptable mail, but this lady takes the cake. Monday:)

Me: *handing donor her payment card after her first donation* “Okay, [Donor], here’s your card. Your payment should be on there within about twenty minutes. You can come back as soon as Wednesday. Don’t forget, you’ll need your proof of address next time. Do you need me to go over the requirements again?

(The donor ignores me, puts in headphones, and leaves. Wednesday:)

Me: “Hey, [Donor], welcome back. Do you have your proof of address?”

Donor: “Oh, I forgot.”

Me: “Oh, dang. I’m really sorry, but we need that before you can donate.”

(The donor stares at me for a while and then leaves. On Thursday, the donor comes in, walks up to counter, and hands me a dirty letter.)

Me: “Sorry, [Donor], we can’t take this. This is from January.”

(It’s June.)

Donor: “I thought it just had to be mail. That’s my address.”

(I go over the requirements again, and the donor says she understands. On Friday, the donor comes in and gives me another letter.)

Me: “No can do. Your name and the street name are spelled wrong in this one”

(On Saturday, the donor comes back with yet another letter.)

Me: “Ma’am, this has a man’s name on it. I don’t see your name anywhere.”

Donor: “That’s my ex-boyfriend; he lives with me.”

Me: *getting annoyed at this point* “That won’t work. The requirements are…”

(On Monday, according to my manager, she comes in again with another unacceptable letter. My manager makes triple sure she knows the requirements. She says she understands. She also goes on a rant about how, “It’s so stupid that we’re making this so hard,” and, “I live really far away,” and, “I have KIDS,” before she finally leaves. Tuesday, the donor comes in with an older man.)

Me: “Morning, [Donor], did you bring your mail?”

Donor: “No, I brought my dad.”

Me: “Cool, does he want to donate with us, as well?”

Dad: “No, but she lives with me.”

Me: *confused* “Okay.”

Donor: “There. I live with him and he verified it. Can I donate now?”

Me: “What?”

Donor: “He said I live with him. That counts, right?”

Me: *beyond done with this lady at this point* “No, ma’am, it doesn’t. My manager and I have both been over the requirements with you, and bringing in a witness doesn’t count.”

Dad: “But she lives with me! I don’t understand this! WHY NOT?!”

Me: “Hey, [Nearest Coworker]!”

Coworker: “Yeah?”

Me: “Do I live at the White House?”

Coworker: “Yeah, of course.”

Me: “That’s why.”

(The donor and her dad just stared at me for a solid thirty seconds. Then, they walked away, never to be seen or heard from again.)

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