My father teaches phlebotomy at ODU, but is a total wuss when it comes to donating blood. He used to fall back on the excuse that his type I diabetes excluded him from donation, but had to find another excuse when that prohibition was lifted.

I’ve been prohibited from donating blood for a year every time I get a tattoo. One time I got prohibited from donating blood for a year because I gave a false positive for Hepatitis B. The Red Cross assured me they did further tests on my blood and found I did not have Hep-B, but asked me to stop donating just the same (I was reinstituted a year later when the FDA approved a better Hep-B test).

I love giving blood. There’s a sense of camaraderie among blood donors at the drives, AND, most importantly, there’s FREE COOKIES and JUICE at the end of it!!! And you have to eat them! It’s mandatory! YOU CAN’T LEAVE UNTIL YOU’VE HAD COOKIES AND JUICE!!! FREE!!! w00t!!!

That’s why I think it’s sad that researchers have found that bad experiences giving blood can dissuade young people from repeat donations. Let me give you an incident I experienced giving blood that should, hopefully, get you kids back into the blood drives:

Yo Soy

About 15 years ago I was walking by a blood drive at Virginia Tech, and decided to step in and donate. No big deal. I knew the routine and within minutes I was relaxing on a cot with my arm being swabbed by a very nice woman. When it came time to stick me, she wrapped a rubber tourniquet-thingy (I’m pretty sure that’s the scientific name for it) around my bicep, let the vein stand out, and slipped the needle in with a momentary pinch…

Then she accidentally pulled it out.

Fssssst!!! A geyser of blood shot into the air.

“Oh dear,” the she understated, watching this crimson fountain uncertainly, her hand to her mouth. She had no clue what to do.

I pointed to the rubber-strap-thingy wrapped around my bicep, “I think you need to take this thing off–”

“I know what I’m doing!” she cut me off, and then proceeded to place a cotton ball over the pinhole-sized wound.

“I don’t think that’s…” I trailed off as the cotton swab quickly soaked with blood and a stream of red poured off my arm.

Next thing I know, I’m looking at the ceiling emerging from clouds of black from when I’d fainted, there’s a paper bag over my face and someone is coaching me to cough in order to get my blood pressure up. Thankfully, someone got the torniquet-rubber-strap-thingamagig off my arm, but not before half my shirt was sprayed with blood. Then I was escorted over the resting area…

WHERE I GOT TO HAVE COOKIES AND JUICE!!! YAY!!! HOORAY FOR COOKIES AND JUICE!!!

But you know what else I got? A really cool story to tell. My blood donation story kicks everyone else’s blood donation story’s butt! So you kids who won’t go back to the blood drive because you got a little queasy, suck it up!

Take pride in that queasy feeling. It’s a badge of honor, and if a metaphorical badge of honor isn’t good enough for you, they’ve got FREE STICKERS YOU CAN WEAR AS A REAL LIFE BADGE OF HONOR TOO!!!

YAY!!!