I gave blood the other day.
At City Hall, there was a challenge of blood donations: police versus firefighters. I had no idea I was getting in the middle of a competition. I got an email a few days before that said I could give blood again (you can only donate once every 56 days — I guess that’s how long it takes to replenish red blood cells). Anyway, the email said they needed my blood type, and I love feeling both special and needed, so there I was at 12 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon.
I posted showing I was on a bed, crossed legs, showing my doc martens and the Red Cross symbol in the background: “Giving blood!!! 😍✌🏻,” feeling proud.
I overheard the phlebotomist at the bed behind mine giving a man the rundown on what would happen next. He laughed, “HA HA, OH, THIS is my 52nd time GIVING BLOOD, so I know a THING or two about how this works.”
He went on, telling her all sorts of statistics (that I later realized were posted up on a makeshift display card table). “Isn’t it SAD that only 3% of people who can donate blood actually do?” The phlebotomist murmured a verbal nod as she set up his blood bag. “You know why they don’t?” he asked her. Before she could answer, he raised his voice. “Selfish! Pure selfishness.”
This guy, I thought. What a piece of work.
But wasn’t I the same? In my secret thoughts?
Just a few moments earlier, as I drove into the parking lot, I was making myself choke up at my own imagined story: my funeral and my husband standing at a podium. “She was just a special kind of caring person. The kind who donated her own blood to people — in the middle of the workday! She would stop and give blood. Who even does that?!”1
I mean, I actually do get teary-eyed anytime I donate blood because I look around at such a wide swath of people and think—we’re all here because we have a little extra of something that someone else needs, and we want to share it with them. It’s this common kindness of humanity in a harsh world that hits me in some kind of way.
About 10 minutes into this particular blood donation, staff kept coming by, tapping my line, telling me to squeeze the ball more, fiddling with the IV. My veins weren’t able to give enough blood, despite all my extra hydration the last few days. They got half a pint and had to call it quits.
“I’m so sorry!” the phlebotomist said. I asked her if she could use my half-pint, and she shook her head. “Only in Japan or Sweden. Here, we need the whole pint.” Feeling both deflated and light headed, I ate the cookie they gave me, took an extra one for the road and drove back to the office.
I didn’t even take my post down. People were commenting and messaging me, “Great work! Giving blood is awesome!” and I just hearted their words. Me and that judgy blood giver guy are not so different.
around 6.8 million people in the US do, that’s who