I’m fascinated by the world of medicine, but fascinated from afar. Because in many ways, our modern medicine is barbaric and disgusting. We can work miracles, but they require poking, prodding, and pain. We cut, we zap, we stitch. Medicine is an antiseptic world, but we are still flesh and bones, and we are still messy, and treating us is messy. I respect doctors, their work, and the marvels of modern medicine, but that doesn’t mean I have to feel comfortable with it.

I don’t like needles. I don’t like seeing them, I don’t like having them jammed into me, I don’t like watching things travel into or out of them. I can feel them go in, I can feel them stay in, and I can feel them after they’ve been taken out. They’re not something I willingly like to inflict on myself. And that is one of the major reasons I’ve never given blood. The second major reason is that I’ve never really understood the process of giving blood, and even reading the Red Cross web site and looking at some pictures has not helped much. The third reason, a bit less major, is that I’ve never been in a position where I’ve seen the direct effects of giving blood. Its all very abstract to me, where the blood goes and what happens to it.

Today I gave blood, and I want to relate the details of it so that other people like me (and I know of at least a few of you) can have a better perspective on the process. It was about what I expected, which is to say, a little nerve-wracking, sort of painful, but all in all not a terrible experience.

I was wandering around Cambridge in a stupor when I stumbled completely by accident across a blood donor trailer parked outside the CambridgeSide Galleria mall. If there was ever a day for me to give blood, today was it. I was in the right mindset, and I felt that, not only would it be a good chance for me to try something new (and make my father happy!), but it might also serve as a needed break and welcomed distraction from my mental funk. Being, well, me, I didn’t go up to the door of the trailer and poke my head in. I stood at a discrete distance until someone else did, and then I followed her to where she was directed. 😉

Apparently, a lot of people give blood fairly regularly, and most of the “slots” had been filled by people who had registered in advance (there is a web site, a phone number, and you can sign up to get post cards and such). I was able to get a slot, but I had to wait about an hour.

First I was asked if I was carrying identification. I said I was, and so I was given a packet and told to sit and read it. It contained several pages of warnings and definitions, and was, on the whole, very interesting. It told me that living in certain regions or having certain lifestyle choices disqualifies one from being a donor. It defined the term “sexual contact,” which would be used later for questions. It talked about some symptoms that indicate one should not be giving blood, or that one could be suffering from certain ailments. It told me what tests would be performed on my blood, and how the results would be reported to me if I was found to have something bad. If any of the things listed applied to me, I was told to return the packet and leave. None of them did. I waited.

I was escorted out ot the trailer, and went inside. There were two little seat-cubbies to wait in. To the left, there were two small soundproof interview rooms, and to the right, taking up most of the trailer, were four recliner seats, two to a side. People were lying on them with needles in their arms. Yikes.

I went into one of the exam rooms for a confidential screening. First, my pulse and blood pressure were taken. A small spring-loaded contraption was used to prick my finger and was then discarded. A small sample of blood was collected into a little plastic tube and was used to test my iron levels, and possibly other things, I didn’t quite see what she did with it. I was given a band-aid. My finger hurt! I also was given a throw-away plastic thermometer strip to place under my tongue, and my temperature was recorded.

Prior to the exam, I had shown my identification and given my name, address, Social Security Number (I decided not to hassle her about it), date of birth, and weight. You must weigh at least 110 lbs. to donate whole blood. Obviously, I was okay on that count.

Next I was asked about two dozen questions, most of which were pretty much rehases of what was on the forms. Here are a few of them, as best I can remember:

* You appear to be male. Is this correct? (This one was asked at the beginning and then again, half way through)
* Between 1977 and the present, have you ever had sexual relations with someone in exchange for money, drugs, or other compensation?
* Between 1977 and the present, have you ever had sexual relations with a man,e ven once?
* Have you ever had sexual relations with someone infected with HIV or AIDS?
* Have you had gonorrhea or syphilis in the past 12 months? (There were several more questions about specific sexual practices, but no questions in general about being sexually active or having unprotected sex.)
* Have you had a tattoo or piercing in in the past 12 months?
* Between 1985(?) and the present, have you spent more than three total months in the United Kingdom?
* Have you had any organs replaced in the past 12 months? (There were a few more questions about other medical procedures, including something having to do with brain coverings.

There were also a few questions about use of injected drugs without a prescription, recent use of antibiotics, whether I had taken aspirin in the past 48 hours, and whether anyone in my family had one of several different diseases that I had never heard of. In general, most medications do not make a difference and the handout gives a list of which things are important. They do not ask about any medications you may be on other than the dozen that are on their list, some of which they ask about specifically.

I believe the final question was asking whether I was still willing to give blood. Once I answered that yes, I was handed a sheet and the interviewer left the room. The sheet had two barcodes on it, one that said I was willing to give blood and one that signified I was not. The barcodes were on stickers below the lables. The sheet told me that the staff had no way of knowing which barcode was which. If for any reason I did not want my blood to be used, I could place the barcode that said so on my form. If I did want my blood used, I would place that barcode on the form. Whichever barcode I did not use I was to place on a different space. Once I finished with the barcodes, the interviewerer re-entered the room, had me read a statement, and showed me where to sign to signify that I udnerstood what was going on and all the above information was correct.

And that was the end of the interview.

I will note that the barcode form was *not* the last time I was given an opportunity to withdraw my blood. The Red Cross really knows what they are doing, and they’re really good about giving you every opportunity to “come clean.” When the entire process was over I was given a form with a toll-free number and encouraged to call it if for any reason after I left I decided that they should not use my blood.

But let’s talk about how, exactly, they took the blood.

I was told to recline on the seat, and to move my feet over to one side so they could have some space to work. The technician, a nice older woman, put my paperwork down next to me and lowered an arm rest. She examined both of my arms for signs of needle marks. She placed a blue cushion on the arm rest and had my put my arm on it. She gave me a plastic tube covered with gauze and told me to hold it in my hand, with my hand making a fist, but not to squeeze. She tied a tourinquette around my arm to restrict blood flow a bit. After a few minutes she came back and made a couple small marks in purple washable ink on my arm to indicate the veins. She then removed the tourniquette.

The donation process uses a sterile kit consiting of a set of bags (some people do a more complicated process that requires two bags), a tube with a needle attached at the end, and six vials of different sizes with different colored caps. I was told to look away and to expect a slight prick as the needed was put in my arm. It *hurt*. It *continued to hurt*. She said the pain would go away in a few seconds, and while it did dull, I felt it in there until the very end. But I guess for other people its less uncomfortable.

Once the needle was inserted and the tube taped securly to my arm in two places to keep the needle in place, she twisted the blue plastic tube that surrounded the needle and pulled it back. The needle stayed in place and the blood started to flow out. The tube was draped over my arm so that I couldn’t see much of what was going on, and the bag was hanging from a machine below my chair which metered the flow and stopped it when the bag was full. I sat for about ten minutes while blood flowed out, gently squeezing the tube in my fist every five seconds or so. Had I known I was going to be doing this, I would have brought a magazine. Instead I fiddled with my BlackBerry and talked to the technicians. It wasn’t terrible. I mean, there was a needle in my arm and my blood was draining out, but it didn’t really bother me too much.

When the bag was full the technician folded the tube and put a small metal band around it, then crimped ith with a plastic scissors-type device to stop the flow of blood. She then took the blood bag off the hook and placed it next to me. Wow, there was a lot of blood in there! Do I really have ten times that much in my body? Yikes! One at a time she put each of the one-way vacuum vials up to a valve on the line and filled them with blood. She then used another scissors-like device to crimp the tube closer to my arm, and clicked the blue plastic tube back into the adapter on the needle and then, holding gauze in place on my arm, removed the needle. Oww.

She placed a barcode on the bag and took it away. Meanwhile, I was told to hold my arm up above my head and use my other hand to keep the gauze in place. Three fingers went over the gauze, my thumb looped around the back of my arm, and I applied pressure for a few minutes. My blood went into a cooler filled with ice. That is — the blood that I had given, not the blood still in my body, which, I was assured, there was still quite a lot of. I did not feel dizzy, faint, or nauteous. But, like I said, I weight a little over 110 lbs., so I didn’t really expect to. While I was in the van one woman and one man, both smaller than me, went through the procedure. Both felt fine afterwards.

My needle wound nicely clotted after only a few minutes, the technician taped some gauze over it and offered me some drinks and cookies. I had to sit for another ten minutes or so to make sure that I was feeling all right, and I had to drink at least one drink, either water or a fruit juice.

After that, I was on my way, and the ordeal was over. I was told to keep my arm clean and clear for five hours and to not do any strenuous activity for the same amount of time. I asked if I could run on the treadmill tomorrow, and I was advised to wait at least a day. I was also given a sheet with a list of things to watch for, like swelling, rash, nausea, etc., and a number to call if I experienced any problems. And I got another bottle of water — and some more cookies — for the road.

I was able to walk home at a comfortable pace with no problems. Later in the evening when I made the mistake of running up some steps, I got pretty worn out, though. I was advised to double my intake of liquids for the rest of the day, which I insisted was not possible — I drink a heck of a lot of water.

I can give blood again in 58 days. Will I? The process was not painless. My arm is still sore. My finger when it got pricked for the initial screening is still sore. The ordeal took a small chunk out of the day which, if I was working, could be sort of annoying, unless my job ends up being one of those that lets their employees use work hours to donate. But was it terrible? No way. It was tolerable. It was a minor annoyance. It didn’t scar me for life, the needle pain will go away in a few days, and really, it just wasn’t that bad.

Maybe I won’t give blood again in 58 days, maybe I will. But I don’t doubt that at some point I will give blood again. I can’t see the effects directly, but I know my blood is going to help someone. I watch enough hospital-themed TV shows to know how important it is to have fresh blood on hand. And I know that one day when I end up in a hospital it will be important to *me* to have the blood I need. Same goes for someone I care about.

Giving blood is just another one of those things that we so often don’t do because they are inconvenient, but sometimes its okay to be inconvenienced. Sometimes, we should welcome the opportunity. From what I could see, there is a class of people who are really committed to giving blood as frequently as possible. I’ve dated one of those people. I applaud them for it, and I think its the kind of thing that you should just feel good about doing.

Plus, it makes me less of a target for vampires!

* Image taken from here.