The only gift is a portion of thyself. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson
Last week I climbed into a big red bus for my first-ever (voluntary) blood-letting. The mobile lab had been showing up like a stalker in the parking lots of places I frequented, and as repelled as I am by needles, I felt myself being wooed to part with some of my precious red stuff. When I read an email announcing it would be on the campus where I work, I made an appointment.
A guy who looked to be high school-age smilingly greeted me as I entered. I immediately announced this was my first time giving blood and that I was somewhat needle-phobic. He grinned like I'd made a joke, invited me to sit, and handed me paperwork that asked some embarrassingly personal questions. After I apparently passed the paper and pen test, Grinning Guy announced he was going to pull blood from my finger to ensure it had sufficient iron. Before I could mentally compute I would be stuck with a needle before the main event, he'd done the deed. "Most people feel this is the worst part," he assured me while staunching the blood. Most people would be wrong.
He next asked which arm I'd like impaled (probably not his exact wording.) We agreed my left looked good, so I dutifully hoisted myself onto a recliner built into the wall. A nervous young woman handed me a soft ball and requested I squeeze it while she checked my vein. She poked the inside of my arm for a moment or two, then asked me if she could look at the other arm. Uh-oh. We repeated the squeeze/poke procedure on my right side, then switched back to my left arm. When she went to the front of the bus for a whispered consult with Grinning Guy and another (very!) young woman, the truth became obvious. Nervous Nell was a rookie, and I was her training dummy.
GG accompanied NN back to my arm, poked at my vein area, and told her it was fine. I accepted a bottled water while NN made another trek to the front of the bus. A microwave beeped and its door slammed shut. She returned and exchanged the ball in my hand for a warm plastic sack. "Your hand is cold," she told me. "Squeeze this." I turned my face toward the bus wall and started yoga breathing while she clumsily struggled to tape something to my arm. "Are you okay?" she asked. "Fine," I lied. I opened a book I'd brought and tried to focus on the words while she fumbled, all the while narrating what she was doing. I felt pressure followed by an unpleasant sensation in my arm, but nothing I would label as pain.
He next asked which arm I'd like impaled (probably not his exact wording.) We agreed my left looked good, so I dutifully hoisted myself onto a recliner built into the wall. A nervous young woman handed me a soft ball and requested I squeeze it while she checked my vein. She poked the inside of my arm for a moment or two, then asked me if she could look at the other arm. Uh-oh. We repeated the squeeze/poke procedure on my right side, then switched back to my left arm. When she went to the front of the bus for a whispered consult with Grinning Guy and another (very!) young woman, the truth became obvious. Nervous Nell was a rookie, and I was her training dummy.
GG accompanied NN back to my arm, poked at my vein area, and told her it was fine. I accepted a bottled water while NN made another trek to the front of the bus. A microwave beeped and its door slammed shut. She returned and exchanged the ball in my hand for a warm plastic sack. "Your hand is cold," she told me. "Squeeze this." I turned my face toward the bus wall and started yoga breathing while she clumsily struggled to tape something to my arm. "Are you okay?" she asked. "Fine," I lied. I opened a book I'd brought and tried to focus on the words while she fumbled, all the while narrating what she was doing. I felt pressure followed by an unpleasant sensation in my arm, but nothing I would label as pain.
Suddenly NN announced it was over. I'd read exactly one short chapter in my book (which I'd have to reread when I got home, of course.) I watched as she wrapped burgundy gauze around my arm, and topped it off with a yellow gauze bow. A badge of honor. I gathered my things, wished the blood-letters a good day, and exited.
As I got into my car, I couldn't help feel that although the beauty of the day seemed exactly as it had 45 minutes earlier, something had shifted. I'd experienced a rite of passage of sorts. I'd confronted a fear, and done a very "adult" thing that would hopefully benefit someone else. Would I do it again? Probably, but I'm in no rush.
In the meanwhile, I did what people do to celebrate a rite of passage. I took pictures.
As I got into my car, I couldn't help feel that although the beauty of the day seemed exactly as it had 45 minutes earlier, something had shifted. I'd experienced a rite of passage of sorts. I'd confronted a fear, and done a very "adult" thing that would hopefully benefit someone else. Would I do it again? Probably, but I'm in no rush.
In the meanwhile, I did what people do to celebrate a rite of passage. I took pictures.