I would donate blood every month if I could. I'm not anemic, I meet the weight requirement (obviously) and I can handle the momentary pain and grimace as the nurse counts to three and pokes. The problem is...I have squirrely veins. They're little, they roll, and they decide to misbehave on a whim. So when I have to get blood drawn for any reason, I try to do my best to encourage them to cooperate: I dress warmly, I drink a lot of water, and I give them a pep talk. But it never fails-the nurse somehow makes me feel like it's my fault that they can't get a vein. As if I can voluntarily make them lock it up in protest.
The conversation usually goes something like this:
"Well did you eat breakfast today?" Yes.
"Did you drink a lot of water before you came?" Yes.
"Ohh see how slowly the blood is coming--you're dehydrated." Umm, okay.
"You're too cold. Why did you wear shorts?" Because it's 90 degrees outside.
"I'm about to go on my lunch break. Why don't you go get something to eat and come back?" I'm not hungry and NO.
"I don't want to hurt you" I'll give you 4 tries before I fold.
"Why don't you go and see [insert name here], she does the babies" Sure, why not.
"Next time make sure you drink more water" Sure, I'll flood my body.
"Why didn't you tell me it's easier to find a vein in your hand? I tried.
And my favorite blood-drawing encounter occurred this week:
"You so skinny. You married? You have babies? No...not married, no babies.
"Oh that's why you so skinny. That's why it's hard to find vein. How old are you? Don't wait to have babies. I got married at 35 it took 6 years to have baby..."
You can see where this went. The good news is she only had to poke me once, as opposed to her predecessor in the office across the street. And I had to giggle when I thought about it today. God bless the gift of life.
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