Last Saturday, my husband and I decided we’d give blood at our church while the Red Cross was running a blood drive. Now I hadn’t given blood since my senior year in high school and to be honest with you I was nervous because in high school I remember being told I had passed out and I had scared the folks running the drive. So for me to actually go to the blood drive and donate again last weekend was an accomplishment in itself.
If you’ve never given blood or it’s been a long time since you last did, you’ll be happy to know that the process is very easy and simple. Basically, you sign in, answer a bunch of questions, get your finger pricked, answer a bunch more questions, and then wait your turn to have your arm stabbed by a big needle. Okay. Fine. The needle ain’t that big, but my mind tends to over exaggerate things like any good Southerner’s would. You know, like a really good gossip story.
We took our kids with us to the church so we could show them what we were doing and why we were doing it. When it was my turn to donate blood, I called my kids over and told them, “Come over here and give me a hug before I die!” Only two of the three did so. My youngest asked me:
“Mommy, what are they going to do with you?”
Me: “Oh, they’re just gonna take a little bit of my blood to give to someone else that needs it.”
Him: “How do they do that?”
Me: “Well, they stick a needle in your arm and then the Red Cross sucks it into a baggie.”
Him: “So, you mean they’re kinda like vampires, Mommy?”
Me: “Exactly.”
And then he ran off not to be seen again until he saw me eating the snacks for the donors. So I gave him a nutter butter bar.
Then I went home and passed out for an hour.
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