Red Cross My Heart

         

          I had time to kill after work, so I wandered around Westwood Village, and found a Red Cross RV in the farmer's market.  The sign said I could save 3 Lives.  I haven't saved anything in my life, except a few crickets and spiders that I found in my apartment, but even then, I probably crushed their legs in the crumpled up paper towel before shaking them out in the bush outside my door.

3 lives could put me on top again.  I have little recollection of having to give a blood sample when I was a kid, and then getting a lemon cookie to ease my sorrow. 

There was a girl sitting at a table with all the sign up stuff, so I made my decision and marched up to her.  She warned me that there was a wait, and I said, "Oh yeah?" and she said, "It's going to be about 20 minutes," and I said, "That's not so bad."

I was worried that grabbing a quick bite to eat would spoil my blood, but she said it was actually a good thing.  I promptly bought 7 perogis from a woman's stand and then ate them outside the blood van.  It wasn't as good as I thought it would be, but at least it was hot.  It was chilly outside, and sprinkling a bit.

"Museum of Oddities," the girl said, looking at the back of my horror magazine.  "Where's that?"

"Uhh," I said, glancing down.  "I don't know- oh, looks like it's in Texas."

I asked her if she liked horror movies.  She said she liked thrillers more, but she wanted to see the latest Paranormal Activity movie.

I went around the corner and threw my paper plate away, and when I came back the girl said she thought I split.

"A lot of people do that."

The sign up girl said she was going to give blood before me, and I asked her if she was cool with needles.  She told me she had a lot of tattoos, so clearly not.  An actual needle that could puncture your entire arm there's a little difference there if you ask me.

The girl in front of me was disqualified from giving blood because of her trip to Jamaica, I guess for the Malaria risk.

"It's the thought that counts," I reminded her.

"Thanks," she said, taking her march of shame.  Then it occurred to me that I'd been waiting nearly an hour,  if I got rejected it would probably piss me off. 

"Sorry son...you got shit in your veins."

"Oh you walked through piss alley on Wilcox-  CONTAMINATED."

Finally, they took me into the Red Cross camper and they stuck me in what was the equivalent of an airplane's bathroom, but the doctor had to squeeze in and type at her computer.   She asked me a series of questions, Name, Social Security, Date of Birth.

"Now I'm going to ask you something personal."

I actually braced myself, I read through their handbook earlier, it was probably something sexual.

"Decribe your first freudian dream in detail," she would ask, and I'd have to squirm and go to a very dark place.  Or maybe she would come up with a doozy that would seal my doom,

"How many times did you masturbate this week?"

"Ummm, 17."

"That's too much, you're disqualified."

"Look, I just broke up with my girlfriend it's-"

"PUT THIS ON," she barks, slapping a sticker on me. It says, "YOU MASTURBATED TOO MUCH SO 3 PEOPLE ARE DEAD"

Anyway, the real question turned out to be,

"How much do you weigh?"

I guess some people have a thing about their weight.

"Somewhere between 190-195."

Moving on. When she put on the rubber gloves, I had that paranoid reaction that I'm sure everyone gets.  The sound of a rubber glove being stretched over a hand is terrifying.  Makes me panic like there's an insane procedure that I'm completely unaware of.

"I'm just going to jam my finger up your ass, to make sure your hemogoblins are paying attention."

"What?  GAH!"

She took my blood pressure, pulse, and a blood sample.  . Then she left so I could answer a series of questions on her computer.Scanned a list for medication I may have taken in the past, and then when i was done I opened the door to signal her I was ready.  She came back in the room and reviewed my answers.

"Right or left arm," she asked me.

Aww yeah, we're in the running now.

I followed her to the operating area, took off my jacket, and laid on the padded table. They sterilized my arm with a wet goober, andthen they wrapped the rubber tubing around my arm tight- I didn't really look the entire time in case it was disturbing.  I squeezed the rubber ball on command and the nurse frowned.

"You have a stubborn vein."

Oh great.  With my luck they'll miss, bruise my arm and it'll be my fault.  I gave an extra squeeze and my vein made a reluctant appearance.

"There you are...perfect."

It was anywhere from 5 to 10 minutes, staring at the ceiling and listening to the other nurses chat about shifts and chicken nuggets.  My blood was filling up a bag somewhere below me, just out of my site.

The nurses kept an eye on me when I finally sat up.

"How do you feel?"

"So far so good," i said, with my arms out, in case I had to grab on for dear life.

They made me wait in the "Canteen" area where there was a cooler of water, a bunch of crackers, and sweets.  I sat there for 15 minutes and excused myself when it was about that time.

I wore my "Gave Blood" sticker proudly and I wanted to tell everyone of my good deed.  That's not really the point though is it... I guess I just wrote a blog about it.