Giving blood

I noticed today that my son, Darby, blogged about donating blood through the American Red Cross. He's right, it's a great thing to do. Denny and I try to donate if a campground has a drive, or if we notice a Community Blood Center in the area. However, I must admit, for me to give blood is a major event. Unlike Darb (who had several traumatic incidents with hospitals and needles as an infant) I'm not afraid of needles, but when I offer my arm and I hear the dreaded words, "oh! you have small veins" I start to hyperventilate. I know for a fact, that I will 1) be poked and prodded and severely bruised and will probably end up walking out without donating blood or 2) have the tech summon another more experienced tech who will find a vein, but then half-way through the drawing of the pint my blood will clot at the needle stopping the whole process or 3) one of our marvelous Vietam vets who was a war-time medic will successfully find my vein the first time, draw the blood so well it will fill the bag in two minutes and I will pass out either on the lounger or sitting on a stool drinking my juice. These scenarios are not random; one of the three choices has happened every single time I attempt to give blood. Denny has learned to watch my face and when I start to go white he warns the crew that I am about to pass out. Sigh. But like my son who gives blood in an attempt to vanquish his demons, I do the same thing in the hope that one day I'll walk into a donation center just like Joe-Blow-the-Rag-picker and slip onto the lounge chair, donate my pint of blood, eat my cookies, drink my juice and walk out proudly displaying my bandaged elbow as a badge of courage all without creating a scene. It could happen, ya know.

And I never got a coupon for Graeter's ice cream, either. Sigh.