Blood, Steak, and Aging Gracefully
This week I received two calls from my blood donor center. They were in dire need of A-negative blood, and had resorted to calling through their list of known donors twice. As I am a good person (this has nothing to do with my being in demand and loving it), I drove in to donate as soon as my schedule allowed.I am somewhat notorious at this particular clinic, where I am known as “the whiny chick with the small veins.”
I know them as “the butchers with the 16-gage needles.”
When I walked in during my lunch break, my two usual phlebotomists (say that quickly five times) were working. Of course Hayden and Michael recognized me, for every 56 days they spend our 20 minutes of quality time alternately asking after Cat and cursing my veins. -Mostly cursing my veins. (A rock is more accommodating than my right arm).
Pleasantries aside, this donation was special. I had reached Gallon Status (meaning I have now donated a full gallon of special A-negative goodness. Go me!). This meant I got a coffee mug in addition to my T-shirt (because caffeine is a donor’s best friend, of course). But that is not the point.
As I was bubbling over with giddiness about what an awesome person I was, they did the Iron Test. They pricked my finger, and placed a drop of blood into the special Iron Testing Liquid Vial. Theoretically, the blood sinks, but mine floated there in limbo, prompting Hayden to excuse himself with more of my blood to conduct a more specific test.
This is when the giddiness evaporated.
Now alone in the room, for some inexplicable reason I decided I would give my blood a pep talk. When it still didn’t sink, I started to yell at it. How dare my iron levels not cooperate! I have even donated blood while on my period in the past, and ne’er a problem had ever arisen because of low iron.
When Hayden returned, he found a rather dejected woman slumped in her chair, feeling rather upset that she may not be able to donate blood when the need for her blood type was critical. At least the one-sided entreaty to the vial had been private.
Luckily, I was above the threshold to donate, with an iron level of 12.7 (one needs at least a 12.5). I could donate! I could potentially save three lives! I could keep my coffee mug!!! Yay!!!
Hayden must have noted my concern over my iron levels (I am never as subtle as I think I am), for he immediately assured me that I was not anemic. I do have acceptable iron levels- they just prefer donors to have slightly higher iron levels then average.
So I AM above average…. Haha!
I was back to being happy (and thinking I would splurge for steak tonight, because I am so awesome and obviously need the iron), until Hayden made his next comment: “As you get older, your chemistry changes. Perhaps that is what is happening here.”
Wha-aat? Oh.
Perhaps this is trite, BUT I AM TOO YOUNG TO BE AGING! AUGGHH!
I am not overly concerned at turning 24, because I have plans to turn 24 each year from this year on out. However, being pronounced ‘aged’ while strapped into a chair with a needle sticking out of your left arm is somewhat of a buzzkill.
What the situation does allow for, though, is 15 minutes of reflection over the past 24 years, and some time to ponder the possibilities of the future ones. With that in mind, I would like to thank all my family and friends for loving me. I love you, too.
Now go donate blood.
posted by Jill @ 2:24 PM
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