There are certain things I feel a person should do to improve the quality of life for his fellow man (or man’s best friend). I love to vote, I’m an organ donor (I’m pretty sure) and I love sending Alan at CARA his $20 check every month. Not to mention the two monsters we adopted and had spayed/neutered at the request of Bob Barker. Kell and my dad have always given blood regularly, as Kelley evidently does (see right), and after little convincing from Kell yesterday, I decided I would do the same.
We had planned to go after work, and I was really excited. I felt as though this would be one of those things that I could do to really be of worthy assistance to the 97% of people who will need blood at some point in their lives. I was a little afraid I would pass out, and Kell said he would laugh and pick me up. As I waited for my turn at the needle, I saw people eating their cookies and drinking their orange juice, and I was really feeling good. I was going to join the few, the proud – the blood donors.
When my name was called, I entered the little room where the nurse took my name, social security number, etc. while I read the list of questions asked of fellow donors. None struck me as being a big hurdle, so I waited and had my finger stuck to test my hemoglobin. It hurt. I remembered why I hated getting physicals as a child. But, taking one for the team, I persevered. Evidently, a donor must have an iron level of 12.5 to donate. Well, mine was 11.9. Bummer. The nurse asked me if I’d like to be stuck again, and I agreed. 11.4. Great. I’d been rejected by Mississippi Blood Services.
Just then, I heard Kell’s loud laugh. I couldn’t imagine that he’d enjoyed the blood test enough to be jubilant, and the nurse then told me that his iron level was too low, too. We were now 0 for 2. And, since I was so let down about getting the no-go and other things that day, Kell took me to Little Tokyo even though it's expensive and he hates it.
I have a history of low iron, but I’m not giving up. Though my fingers hurt as I am typing this, I will try again.
That story really was a lot of rising action for little climax. Sorry. I just wanted to share, and I’m not the storyteller that Heather is. Even though I am a better speller.