A Firsthand Account of Donating Blood
February 18, 2010 • By Caitlin Hawes,
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“Next volunteer,” called the lady in the white gown and navy blue scrubs. A stethoscope hung around her neck.
I rose and gathered my jacket. She led me behind a red and blue tarp stretched on a metal frame. A desk hid there, along with a computer, a basket of fingerpricks, bandages and flat clear tubes. She sat facing the computer and directed me to a chair at her side.
She asked me a few more questions then gave me a small paper-like thermometer, which I put under my tongue while she clasped my wrist to take my pulse. It tasted like the end of a straw wrapper.
I wasn’t there for a checkup. Tuesday, Alpha Kappa Delta Phi, an Asian-American sorority, sponsored the American Red Cross blood drive.
“We’re happy that people came out despite the snow,” said senior Kristen Hoang.
Hoang said that less people donated blood in recent years because of the growing popularity of selling blood plasma.
Operating in Transitions in Warren Hall, the Red Cross aimed for at least 50 volunteers, although donors seemed to only trickle into the room.
“The need for blood is urgent,” said Melanie Wilkins, the phlebotomist about to take my blood.
Wilkins said that in Virginia, there was only a two-day supply of blood with a shelf life of 42 days. Should disaster strike, she said, the hospitals would not have enough blood to go around.
Next, Wilkins slapped an inflatable rubber cuff above my elbow and squeezed a little bulb that pumped air into the cuff tightening around my arm. Checking my blood pressure, she listened carefully to a stethoscope as the cuff gently relaxed its grip, and my blood spurted back into my arm.
“Hold out your hands,” she instructed. She chose my left hand and started collecting her supplies for the iron test. I rubbed my hands under the table to warm them and draw blood to my fingers. Finally she took my left hand and rubbed my pointer finger with antiseptic. I looked away and felt a sudden pinch on my fingertip. She squeezed my finger and collected the blood in a little clear tube that she connected to a machine.
“Your blood iron is 12.6,” she announced. I sighed with relief. I’d taken two iron pills that morning in fear of coming and having my iron level be too low. She put a little circular bandage on my finger and left me alone by the computer to answer some questions.
That computer! It nonchalantly inquired whether I had had “sexual contact” with a prostitute, an African or a drug-addict. Did I have HIV? Did I have Babesiosis? (What was Babesiosis?) Had I gotten a tattoo or piercing in the last 12 months? Had I been in juvenile detention, lock-up, jail or prison for more than 72 consecutive hours? Had I traveled outside of America or Canada in the last three years? (I had.) Had I had a dura mater graft? (I hadn’t.) The computer emotionlessly pried into my life, all in the hopes of discovering one thing: whether I had blood-transmitted diseases.
“So you’ve been outside of America and Canada?” Wilkins asked when she came back.
“France,” I explained. She nodded, gave me a form to sign and led me out from behind the tarp.
She led me to a sort of a beach-chair-meets-dentist-chair hybrid, made of blue mesh on a metal frame. I settled into the chair, and she gave me a red ball to hold. A nearby table held sterile sponges, rolls of red bandage, hand sanitizer, a scale, a box of blue gloves and my signed consent form.
To make my vein more visible, Wilkins tightened a blue cord above my elbow. She began to wipe sticky brown iodine on the inside of my elbow. I looked away and clenched my other fist while she pushed a needle into my vein. I felt no pain, just discomfort.
She told me to squeeze the red ball every five to 10 seconds to avoid my blood from clotting in the needle. The blood bag hung from a scale that would drop downward when it had reached the desired weight, which was at least 587 milliliters.
Finally the bag fell. I was done, free to collect my prize of juice, cookies, pretzels, or raisins – the real reason I had come.
After donation, the American Red Cross ships the blood to a lab, which tests it for more than 20 blood-transmitted diseases such as HIV, gonorrhea or syphilis. Then the blood is divided into three components: plasma, for burn patients; platelets, for cancer patients; and whole blood, for everyone else.
The blood from the drive would be shipped off to places such as Mary Washington Hospital, Culpeper Hospital, Fauquier Hospital and even Haiti.
Wilkins said each person’s donation was enough to help three adults or six babies.
As I left, Megan Willis, a freshman elementary education major, sat waiting to donate. She had already donated twice before.
“It’s so easy,” she said. “I don’t get scared about it.”
Contact Caitlin Hawes at hawescm@jmu.edu
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