CONTENT WARNING: Blood (due to disconnected tube during donation) , Needles
 

I used to sell plasma in college. It was an easy way to get some cash, and I usually just sat and read the whole time. For those who don’t know, basically, they put a needle in your arm with a tube attached. The tube goes to a machine, and the blood goes through the tube into the machine where the plasma gets separated from the whole blood. Then, a saline solution is added to replace the missing plasma, and it gets injected back into your body. The cycle repeats a few times, and the whole process takes about an hour and a half. 

After college, I moved to a different city and decided to continue selling plasma. I found a location and filled out the paperwork.  

Pretty soon, I was sitting on the chair getting hooked up to the machine. The attendant inserted the needle while he was checking over the machine to start the process. Satisfied he had done everything, he released the clamp near the needle to start the blood flow.  

Except he hadn’t attached the tube. 

Blood flowed out of that needle and all over my clothes.  

Luckily, he acted fairly quickly, closed the clamp up, and got everything connected for real. I finished up my donation and had to go home looking like I was in a knife fight. But they gave me a bag of anti-coagulant to soak my clothes and the blood stains came out with no problem. 

I figured that was a fluke incident and went back a couple of weeks later.  

This time, I paid closer attention to the attendant and told them about what had happened the last time. They were careful to get everything connected right.  

I don’t really have a problem with needles, but I didn’t want to look over and see one sticking out of me, so I asked them to tape a loose bit of gauze over the area.  

The first cycle of the machine seemed to be taking longer than usual. The person next to me was done with their first cycle before I was even at the part where my blood comes back in. Finally, I heard the sound of the machine indicating it was ready to pump my blood back in. 

What used to be an odd sensation and metallic taste in my mouth now was painful. I flagged down the attendant and told him that it hurt. He wasn’t taking me seriously and wasn’t very quick about getting to me. Finally, he came over and took a look.  

Attendant: “Oh… uh… you’re done for today.”

I was confused until he removed that gauze. My forearm had a swelling in it the size of a golf ball.  

It turns out that the needle was only inserted halfway into my vein, so my blood was coming out very slowly, and when it went back in, a lot of it was pooling under my skin.  

They assured me that it would get reabsorbed into my body over the next few days and there was nothing to worry about. I should just try not to use that arm too much and take it easy. 

What they didn’t say was that it would produce a deep purple bruise from my elbow to my wrist. I had to wear long sleeves for a while until it faded. At least I still got paid for that visit. 

But I decided that plasma donation was no longer for me.

CONTENT WARNING: Blood

Twice a year, I donate blood with a special procedure called double red blood cell (DRBC) donating. Instead of just hooking my arm vein to a collection bag and letting pressure fill it, a machine withdraws a pint, centrifuges the red cells out, and then pumps the plasma portion back in. It does this twice per donation session, hence the “double” in the procedure. This is favored for blood donors of type O-negative.

I go in for my most recent donation. The phlebologist has a little trouble getting the needle into a vein on my right arm, so she has a supervisor come over and get the needle in correctly. She starts the DRBC machine, directing me to grip a rubber ball every few seconds to keep the blood flowing well.

After about four minutes, the machine starts making a gentle alarm beep. Since the procedure usually takes a half-hour, this is unusual. The phlebologist and her supervisor come over and try to clear the error that the machine has. He tries adjusting the needle in my arm, but that doesn’t stop the error beeps.

They then open the cabinet of the machine and recoil. Apparently, one of the centrifuge tubes has a leak, and for the last few minutes, my blood has just been spraying all over the interior of their machine. They quickly shut down the machine, apologizing that they have to stop the donation and that they can’t restart me elsewhere, because they’re not sure how much has been taken from me.

As I’m prepping to leave, other staff come over and look in the machine and recoil. I guess they’re squeamish if the blood isn’t in the nice clean collection bags.

I suffer from a high red blood cell count, so my doctor recommends donating blood. I go to the donation center, but while filling out the paperwork, I see that one of the prescriptions that defers you is similar to one of my prescriptions. I quickly Google the difference and see that I’m probably safe to donate, but I don’t want to rely on Dr. Google.

I approach the intake nurse.

Me: “Excuse me, this says that isotretinoin is disqualifying. I’m on tretinoin, which I know is different, but I don’t want to cause a miscarriage or something. Can you confirm that I can donate?”

The nurse pulls up Google in front of me.

Intake Nurse: “You’re on the cream, not the oral form, right? Yeah, it should be safe.”

This isn’t the first time I’ve had this experience, but it’s the first time I was asking about someone else’s safety, so I hope she was right!

I’m going to donate blood. For those that don’t know, this means getting dragged into a private room first for some testing to make sure I can donate and answering a whole lot of boring questions, most of which I’ve actually pre-answered on the app this time. However, they have one to ask that isn’t on the app.

Nurse: “And have you had a [contagious illness] vaccine?”

Me: “Yep, and the booster.”

Nurse: “And which vaccine did you get?”

Me: “It was… Oh, having a brain fart right now. Could you remind me the names of the vaccines?”

Nurse: “I can’t do that. You have to tell me.”

Me: “I was just asking for the names to jog my memory.”

Nurse: “If I tell you, then you could just lie and pick one of them when you didn’t really get the vaccine.”

For the record, I’ve had to jog my memory by asking for the names of the vaccines when donating blood at this exact same facility before and didn’t have any trouble with it.

Me: “Do you require a [contagious illness] vaccine to donate here?”

Nurse: “No, but I need to know what vaccine you got if you said you got one.”

Me: “But if I can donate blood without the vaccine, there is no incentive for me to lie about it.”

Nurse: “I need you to tell me a vaccine without my helping, or you can’t donate blood here.”

Me: “So, what? Do you want me to claim I got the [Company #1] one, even though I know that’s not the one I got, just to donate?”

This last question is asked in what I think is an obviously sarcastic tone, but she apparently doesn’t pick up on that.

Nurse: “Okay, fine. I’ll put that. We just need a name.”

Me: “But I didn’t get that one.”

Nurse: “It doesn’t really matter for an old vaccine.”

So, apparently, rather than my potentially lying when I have no incentive to do so, she would rather force me into an explicit known lie.

Once I was no longer distracted by how inane her request was, a little later, I remembered I had photos of my vaccination card on my phone, so I looked it up and tried telling [Nurse] that I actually got the [Company #2] vaccine, but she couldn’t be bothered to go back and correct the records that she had basically bullied me into falsifying.

[Nurse] also managed to stick me wrong when she drew blood — I could tell from the feeling — with what everyone agreed was a badly put-together bag. In her defense, though, I believe they grab already put-together bags, so she probably wasn’t the one to put it together wrong.

Then, [Nurse] told me that her shift was up and she was leaving and letting someone else handle the rest. Cue three separate people all huddled around me trying to figure out how to draw blood for the last tubes they collect for testing when, for whatever reason, they wouldn’t fill despite the main bag filling properly. Luckily, they called in an older man who was apparently their expert, and there wasn’t any real pain, just some pretty mild discomfort, as he fought with the needle to get the blood flowing. Suffice it to say, I was less than impressed with the first woman.

Despite my complaints, though, I really do recommend that everyone donate blood. I’ve been doing it like clockwork every two months for the last decade and a half, and this still ranks as one of my top five worst experiences, despite really not being that bad, so please don’t think you’re likely to have trouble if you donate.

I donate blood every few months; I know there’s a need for it, and my blood type is the universal donor.

Once, during a donation, a woman comes in and asks questions about everything. I figure it must be her first time. There’s nothing wrong with that; she just seems a little nervous. The phlebotomist hooks up her IV, and her bed is next to mine.

Woman: “So, who are you donating for?”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Woman: “My husband is having an operation, so I’m giving blood in case he needs it.”

Me: “Oh, I see. No, I’m not donating for anyone in particular.”

Woman: “You’re not?”

Me: “Nope. Just… whoever needs it, I guess.”

The woman looks around the room, shocked. The other donors are now listening to the conversation.

Woman: “So, all of you are just donating, what, out of the goodness of your hearts?”

She started laughing and then quickly stopped. She didn’t intend for the comment to sound mean; it just genuinely had never occurred to her that blood banks are full of blood from people who donate just to help others.