It was November 17th, 2014. I had never donated before, and, to be honest, I was scared. I heard rumor after rumor of people passing out while giving blood and how large the needles were. It definitely did not seem fun. For some reason though, I decided to sign the white sheet of paper on the desk. I am not the kind of person to back out, so by that point I was dead set on donating blood.
I went back stage, where the blood drive was being held at my high school, and I started the screening process. I made it through all of the questions and tests, which made me feel great, but made me nervous at the same time. The clock ticked on, and it was finally my turn to donate. I was hooked to a machine, which at the time I did not know what it did, and the blood began to be pumped out of my body. Through the cold and nauseous spells, I was just praying it would be over soon. Little did I know that I would be going through the process TWICE.
The first round went about as smooth as I expected it would. I did not feel great, but I survived. During the second round, though, I ran into some complications. Due to the lack of light on the stage, two of the hoses connected to myself and the machine got mixed up. That alone would be enough to scare anyone, but, to a first time donor, it was horrifying. The nice women running the drive assured me that I would be fine, and they did everything they could to keep me calm. I was still shaken up, though, and I did not want to donate again.
A few weeks later I received a letter in the mail from the Arkansas Blood Institute. I opened it and inside was a piece of paper and a card. The card had an ID number on it, along with my name and blood type. The paper, on the other hand, was actually a thank you letter. I was being thanked for donating blood, and assured that my donation would be put to good use to save lives.
I never thought something so small and simple would make me feel so good. I never thought that I would do something that could potentially save lives. The idea of helping people sparked my interest, and I began to look deeper into blood donations. During my research I learned that my blood type, O+, could be donated to all kinds of people, not just those of my blood type. I also learned that the scary machine I was hooked to during my first donation was for separating the red blood cells (which were kept as the donation), and everything else (which was put back inside my body). This type of donation could help people with anemia and even people who suffered severe blood loss due to trauma. Knowing more about blood donations made me more comfortable with the thought of donating again.
The idea of helping people definitely took over my fear of needles or discomfort. I donated any time I was able to, mainly red blood cells. It became more than just going and sitting on a stage with a needle in my arm. I keep going back because I know that what I do is helping other people, most of them I will likely never meet. Knowing that I could potentially save just one person’s life, though, makes the needles, the uncomfortable tables, and the hours of mental preparation completely worth it.