The Bottle with the Yellow Lid

        When I was in the sixth grade, I was pulled out of school one day because my mom was at the hospital. I didn’t have medical knowledge beyond what I had learned from crime TV shows, but I remember her having to have something done; they called it an infusion. She was also dangerously low in iron, and I was utterly terrified at the situation because to a kid, everything was bigger than me. I later found out what exactly that meant. I’m now eighteen, and my mother still has a chronic low iron count, and whenever I see her bottle of iron pills on the kitchen counter, it’s almost as if they mock me or try to intimidate me. It’s something that seems so simple and mundane that we tend to forget that it’s even a problem for some people, that it is a struggle for some bodies to maintain something that others do so naturally. The bottle with the yellow lid used to scare me, but now it does not.

       I first donated blood my junior year of high school based on the excitement of a new experience, but after I finished that first donation, I became acutely aware of the strength I felt. That strength motivated me, because it took me back to when I was younger and all I knew was that my mom didn’t feel well, but I didn’t know why. I found out a few months ago that I too am prone to low iron, and I have been taking iron supplements to try to make up for what my body suddenly can’t. After finding out that I also have low iron, I have been more motivated to stay healthy so that I can continue donations. I’ve realized that I want to donate, not to simply feel that rush of adrenaline, but because it gives me the opportunity to possibly help someone. Doctors helped my mom, and those who need transfusions are helped not only by doctors, but by blood donors. I realized that I wanted to help those who needed that.

        Donating blood has given me a sense of awareness, not only on a personal level, but also on a broader scale. I think about who I might possibly be able to help, and I think that even if no one needs me right away, I will still do what I can to help the mom in the hospital who needs a transfusion rather than just an infusion or the brother who got injured in an accident. Being young, a lot of people feel limited on what they can do to impact the world. We are taught that we should strive for greatness, but we aren’t taught how to get there. Figuring that out has been part of my epiphany. I am still young, but I do not feel small like I did when I was in the sixth grade. I feel powerful, even though I am just one person in the metaphorical army of people who make a difference. Donating blood has awakened a need in me to make that difference, no matter how small it is. It motivates me to stay healthy not only for myself, but for people like my mom, who takes pills from the bottle with the yellow lid, and for people who just might need me in this community.

       I realize it probably seems insignificant to a lot of people who pass me and see the bandage on my arm, but that is the problem. One donation is not insignificant to someone who needed it, to someone for whom the difference between life and death is that blood that one person made time to donate. I had that mentality when I was younger. I didn’t see why it mattered if a few people here and there donated if not everyone did. But it only takes one donation to help make a difference in someone’s life.

      “Donate” does not simply mean to give someone something with no reward, because there is a reward. The reward for me is knowing that I have done something for someone else, even if no one ever knows, even if they never even need it because I am AB positive and it isn’t as common. To donate is to act; it is to act and do what one can to brighten the world, not just my specific area. I got over my fear of needles and bottles with yellow lids and advanced toward something bigger: greatness. Even though I’m still young, I’m figuring out how to strive for that greatness, and it’s something that everyone can do.