(I should keep track of how many music-related titles I’m able to come up with on this blog. *g*)
Some things happen for a reason. Others happen by mere coincidence. It was a case of the latter phenomenon that had me at the Health Sciences Authority, waiting in line to donate blood on a day that just happened to be World Blood Donor Day.
Now, my previous attempts at donating blood have been … adventure-ridden, to say the least. My friends have gone so far as to call them “failures”, berating me for putting myself through the process again and again. As per my calculations, however, as long as I’m alive and well and the blood bank has a nice, full bag of healthy blood, the donations count as “successes”. Also, it makes me feel good about myself and
has a lot of people fussing over me for an entire day helps people, so it’s all good.
So off I went to HSA with my brother, slightly nervous at the prospect of a reunion with fat, scary-looking needles, but excited at the thought of
having people fuss over me helping the world. Things went as normally as possible (although now that I think back, the blood bank seemed curiously empty for such an important day) – the nurse found my vein, jabbed the abnormally fat needle in, gave me my blood drop-shaped squishy thing and told me to … well, squish. So I squished and squished and I squished some more.
I was feeling slightly odd by now – usually, by this point of time, something dramatic would’ve already happened that would’ve caused people to flock around me and fuss. And this time, things were actually proceeding smoothly. The nurses were being their usual sweet selves, but – for lack of a cheesier word – I didn’t feel special. I wasn’t that darling little girl who came in despite her having a practically non-existent vein, determined to do her small part to help people. I wasn’t that sweet little child who suffered through ugly, purple bruises, that brave kid who stubbornly insisted on giving blood even as she blacked out halfway through the process. I was just a normal girl donating blood with the rest of ’em ordinaries.
Anyway, once I had squished my way to a full bag of blood, the nurses tended to me, patched me up (the sweet lady even asked me my colour preference for the arm-band) and sent me on my way with my food coupon. Still feeling oddly normal, I joined my brother in the mini-cafeteria, where he was waiting, having already finished his donation in record time. We got ourselves some stuff to munch along with some hot Milo and sat down to eat, discussing … something (I can’t remember what now).
What I do remember is my vision slowly starting to darken as I sat there talking to my brother. That’s it. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, my feet propped up on a chair, with four or five people looking worriedly down at me. Now, a few things I learned from this:
1) Never go for a blood donation alone, especially if you are prone to fainting. If my brother hadn’t been around, it would’ve taken my falling off the chair and probably hurting myself for people to realize I was in trouble.
2) Take your time at the hospital – don’t leave too early. Fainting at the hospital is infinitely better than fainting in the MRT or on the road.
3) NEVER wear a skirt to a blood donation. (Not that I did; it’s just something that got reinforced by my experience.)
Anyway, looking at all those worried faces, I almost burst out in giggles, but I figured it might not be the best thing to do after such a situation and so settled for politely letting them know I was alright. The doctors and the nurse didn’t quite seem convinced (I wonder why!), and so they got me on a stretcher (I haven’t been on one since I was 6!) and wheeled me back into the room I’d just gotten out of to spend another half an hour or so “resting”.
And suddenly, just like that, everything was normal again. I was special. People were concerned about me and were fussing over me.
Finally, things were right with the world again. 😀