Blood Drive Drama

Today's guest blog comes from Damienne Souter, Development & Alumni Relations Specialist on the Downers Grove Campus. She describes how she overcame her fears in order to help others.

The subject line of the email read, "Don't Forget! University Blood Drive: Thursday, January 8th."

I'll admit it. I'm a '40-something'-year-old chicken. As soon as I see the words "Blood Drive," I could always think of a million excuses not to do it. And it always ate at me. I know I should. It can't be that bad if so many people do it. And it would be a good feeling to help someone.

Plain and simple, I don't like needles. I can never, ever look whenever I have to get blood drawn from me. I feel that small pinch and I get light headed at just the thought of blood draining out of me. Even though it's just a smidgen. And just the very idea of a needle remaining stuck in me for any period of time makes my skin crawl. I also get faint sometimes when I get up too fast (or read about bleeding eye sockets).

But I could help someone. Imagine the discomfort of the person who actually needs the blood is going through. Surgery? Injury? Whatever! Plus, a $100 gas card is also being raffled off among those who participate. Hmmm...do the math on that one. I finally buckled, and signed up to participate in the blood drive.

Although the instructions said to eat a small meal before donating, I did, but I wasn't hungry for it. I was filled with a bit of anxiety. How would I feel afterward? Would I even make it through the process? Would I faint? Would I be remembered as the one who keeled over in some dramatic fashion? Perhaps crashing into the cookies and juice?

As I went through the check-in procedures, the butterflies were increasing. The iron test was a good warm-up pinch for the ultimate pinch that would drain the life out of me. I'm not sure how many times I told people, "this is my first time doing this." I was certainly surrounded by veterans of the process. Guess I was looking for the proverbial teddy bear to hang on to.

When I walked into the donation room, it was sobering. There were many beds, and they were all filled. Everyone was flat on their backs. Tubes, pouches, needles, and things that made small beeping sounds seemed to be everywhere. The room was quiet. I gulped and took a seat to wait for my turn. Ten minutes later, I made my way over to the bed.

Once again, I told the woman that it was my first time doing this. She smiled and made sure I was comfortable. From there, I could no longer look at all that was going on with me or around me. I had to do what I could to keep my composure. Focus away from the action. Focus on...the ceiling tiles off to my left. Afraid to close my eyes.

She began to clean off my arm, maneuvering it and things around it. She was quiet. "Okay, now you'll feel a quick pinch," she said.

Oh gosh, this is it! I tried to stay relaxed but suddenly the conscience that was holding me together was feeling lighter and lighter. I fought the urge to close my eyes...afraid that I'd succumb to the impulse that was racing through me. I'm on my way to realizing every fear I've had!

"Okay, we'll be starting in just a few minutes," she said.

What?? That wasn't it?

"Okay, chill. Take a deep breath. Cut the drama," I thought to myself. At the same time, I was giggling to myself. Drama queen! Geez. Nobody else seems to be having any problems here!

Somehow my misunderstanding relaxed me for the ultimate pinch. It was a little sore at first, but after a while it was okay. I don't know if my racing blood made me bleed faster, but I was done in about 10 minutes, which seemed fast relative to the veterans around me. When I was done, she undid me, and I had finally and completely relaxed. "Done. I did it. I gave blood. Now all I have to do is get up," I thought to myself.

I took my dear sweet time in getting up, first poking my head up. Then propping up on my elbows. And taking deep breaths. Waiting for my body to react, rather than reacting for my body.

As I slowly, slowly experienced verticality again, I migrated over to the cookie and juice table. Treats! I usually eat pretty healthy, but I had earned these! And I enjoyed them while I watched those in my wake do what they had done before, and will likely continue to do again and again. I will too.

Through the rest of the day and into the evening, I wore my goofy sticker announcing that I had given blood. Then sitting at the dinner table with my 10-year-old daughter, she asked me to please remove my stick. "Mom, it's grossing me out. The idea of sticking a needle in you and you bleed a lot. Gross!"

Whoops. Well, I guess that's my girl!