Tried to donate blood today. Since Covid shortages, I’ve been a regular. This was my seventh attempt.
I have only successfully donated five of the seven times.
Success crowned my efforts the first five times, although … see below.
Try number six I walked out after waiting forty-five minutes. I’m pretty patient with appointments, but the whole process generally takes over an hour as it is, and it was already after work, too late in the day to stick it out any longer.
Try number four, the blood drawer managed to ruin my best vein when he withdrew the needle. And yes, it hurt and bled like crazy.
Try number seven, today, the blood drawer hurt a lot when she stuck me. It doesn’t particularly hurt most of the time — heck, the finger prick hurts more — but this time made me wince a bit. She paused, then called over a more experienced guy to ask for help. He wiggled the needle (more pain), got the blood flowing, and immediately said they had to stop.
Pulling the needle out was the most pain I’ve ever had with a needle; it actually made me whimper. All he would tell me was that there was a hematoma, which he showed me, a big lump. I had to hold my arm aloft, three people were involved in stanching the bleeding, what with cotton wads, paper towels, a bandage, and an ice pack.
A supervisor came over when it was cleaned up, inquired after my state of mind, took my blood pressure and pulse, and asked me to stay. I asked her whether I needed to keep lying on the table, that it made me feel infirm. (I’m seventy-one, and don’t need any help to feel old.) She had me sit up, and when I convinced her that I wasn’t dizzy, she led me to another table, this one low enough to sit on.
She got a clipboard and a half-dozen forms, and said the forms had to be filled out. I moaned about that, but she said, no, she was the one who had to fill out the paperwork. She asked me if I knew what had happened, and I repeated what the man had told me. She said it was much more serious than that: The two people had stuck an artery, not a vein. Hence the bleeding — very bad scenario overall. Hence the paperwork and the report to higher-ups and the FDA.
She also told me that in her fifteen years with the Red Cross, she has never seen such a high turnover rate and so many inexperienced (i.e., incompetent) personnel.
When I got home, my husband all but forbid (he’s not the type to forbid, and I’m not the type to be so bid) my donating blood anymore. I’m seriously considering not doing it, but it’s almost the only thing I can do to be personally of service to others. Can’t make meals for the needy, giving clothing and hygiene products to homeless shelters only goes so far, and I have a relatively rare blood type.
I looked up the qualifications to draw blood for the Red Cross, and all you need is to become a phlebotomist, involving classes and hands-on practice. The starting rate of pay is $20 an hour.
Has anybody in this community had a similar experience? I donated blood regularly in my youth, but stopped over time with the busyness of work and child-rearing. I have felt good about being healthy enough to be a blood donor, but now I don’t know.
What say you? Give it up?