Last week I donated blood. Or, as I like to say it, I saved lives.
D has offered to come and hold my hands, not the one at the end of the arm with the needle in, because you have to open and close your fist to let the blood flow. I eventually decided to go on my own.
They send you a form home to fill in with questions about your health. You hand it over when you arrive. Then you are called by a nurse who checks the level of iron in your blood by pinching D said it would hurt. I was ready to scream. But it was only a little pinch. My iron was fine so I was asked to sit and have a pint of water. Then I was called again and asked to lie on a reclined chair. And I started to get nervous. I hate needles. I hate blood tests. What was I doing there?When they inserted the needle it hurt like crazy. And when they took it out too, I discovered.The overall sensation is that your body is saying, what is this thing doing in my arm? Why is this blood going out? I need this bloooood! Stop it now!!
I am getting carried away. All the pain and the discomfort (which lasted only a good 5 minutes in a 24 hour day) are a very small price to pay to do something good.
And I got free biscuits and a sticker.