Phlebotomist is Greek for Vampire

Ava made me go to a Red Cross Blood Drive today that was sponsered by our company.  I say “she made me go” in every sense of the word.  I was shamed and forced into agreeing.  When it looked like I might waver from the agreement, she promised that I would get to see her faint. 

“You promise?” I asked.

“I always do,” she swore.

I used to vomit every time a needle came out.  Once or twice I’ve passed out.  One time very memorably after I warned the phlebotomist that it was going to happen and she ignored me.  Then came along very difficult pregnancies that brought me many trips to the vampires, and my panic began to subside.  Not completely, but I’m definitely better.  Still, I’ve never been to a blood drive, nor have I ever given more than the few vials at the doctor’s office.

Ava herded me and one other brave soul from our office into the makeshift clinic, chattering all the while about how everything was going to be fine.

“You promised you would faint,” I reminded her.  Civic duty blah blah blah. Do it for your fellow man yada yada yada.  I wanted to see some fainting.

We signed in and affirmed that we hadn’t been out of the country, had no new tattoos (Damn! Had I known……), had not been ill, and a bunch of other stuff.  Then we sat in uncomfortable chairs and I slowly simmered into a mild hyperventilation.  I started babbling nervously (I’m sorry Cecelia).  My stomach didn’t feel well.  My hair was itchy.

They called Ava back.  And then Cecelia.  Now I was alone – to think.  For goodness sake, I scolded myself,  you’ve had lasik eye surgery.  You’ve bunjee jumped from a 17 story building!  You’ve driven around race tracks at upwards of 200 mph.  You’ve cleaned your son’s room.  All of these things are much scarier than giving blood!  QUIT BEING A BABY!

The man called my name.  When I stood, my knees were shaking.  He guided me around a privacy curtain and took down all my personal information while I babbled uncontrollably.  He asked my weight.  I lied.  My blood pressure was measured and my pulse was taken.  The phlebotomist asked me if I was feeling any calmer.  No.  Definitely no.  I clenched down on my jaw to keep from talking anymore.  And the last test before I could officially give blood, he pricked my finger to check my iron levels.

Deep breaths.  Deep yoga breaths.  I attempted my tried-and-true calmer and recited Springsteen lyrics.  I fidgeted.

I’ll bet that you are expecting me to tell you that I fainted, right?  That it was me that hit the floor and not Ava.

Nope.  It turns out that I’m anemic and didn’t qualify to give blood.  And no, it has nothing to do about the lie about my weight.  He suggested I eat more red meat.  I’m considering vegetarianism as a response.

Ava on the other hand, had a lovely experience.  Her little Indian phlebotomist flirted with her nonstop through the entire event.  Ava gives blood regularly since she has a rare universal blood type and, she claims, for the first time, she didn’t faint.  Cecelia didn’t do too bad either.  They both ate cookies and we all got t-shirts.

Just like you, Dear Reader, I feel cheated.