The Giving Blood Fail

Yo.

So, today's story involves giving blood, and don't worry, it's not groce so the squeamish are safe. No images of blood squirting or screams of agony are going to be described in this blog, I assure you.

My mum had been giving blood for years and I could see it was a very worthwhile thing to do. She had even just received a certificate for donating so much, and gotten a free pen - definitely worth it. So I decided, what the heck, I'll be a good citizen, I'll generously give 'em a bit of the old squiddly blood if they want it. Little did I know, it was me that would be jumping through hoops to try and get them to take it in the first place...

Attempt One

Arrived at Leisure Centre. My name is called. I go into one of those little booths, I get  asked all the funny questions ("Have you ever had sexual intercourse with a man who had sexual intercourse with a ferret that had HIV?")

 It's all going well so far. Then they take the iron sample; for those of you who have never been, the iron sample is where they place a drop of your blood into a small tube of liquid and if it sinks to the bottom in under 15 seconds, you have enough iron in your blood to donate. So the nurse puts the blood in the tube, and starts the timer. I'm telling you, you feel like you're being judged, I was inwardly urging my blood on; Go on! You can do it, just sink!

 But it did not listen to me. It meandered around half heartedly, and the time ran out. But sadly, this was not the end of the test. I then had to have a proper needle (boo hoo) and they took a larger sample of my blood and put it on this machine thingy to give us a more accurate reading of my iron count. After a tense few seconds, the machine bleeped, 129. One below what was required to give blood. Pants.

I went home with a sore arm feeling sorry for myself and my poor, rejected blood.


Attempt Two

Arrived at leisure centre. My name was called. I went into the booth. I explained to the nurse what happened last time, and also told her that I tried taking iron tablets but they made me feel sick so I had to stop. The nurse said in that case don't take them then, every body has its own natural level of iron and mine was healthy but still too low to give blood. Not news I wanted to hear. She took some of my blood, into the tube, waited. Same thing happened again. Blood no sinky, nurse no takey, squid no happy. Onto the machine, needle in arm (ouchy) and my reading this time was 134. I was elated, yes! I can give blood now! But my elation was short lived as the nurse said sadly;
"Well you would have been able to give blood with that reading in the past, but unfortunately they raised the iron count required by 5 last month."

Great. Another hurdle in my quest to be helpful.


Attempt Three

Turned away because they had too many people giving blood.


Attempt Four

This time, I was not taking any chances. I ate spinach, I ironed up, I manned through the mild feeling of nausea. I was going to do it. It wasn't even about giving blood any more, it was about beating the nurses.

I got into the booth. The nurse looked at me. I looked back. She took my blood. I twitched. She put it in the tube. Silence as we both watched in anticipation. 10 seconds left, it was falling slowly. 5 seconds left, it was falling quicker...

"Congratulations, you have passed the test!" said the nurse. Well, she didn't actually say that but in my head that is the scenario.

I was going to do it! Finally! I had a huge beam on my face as I walked over to the temporary beds with all the other winners, my nurse came along and attached my bag, attached me to a machine that monitored my blood flow, asked how I was doing, I replied that I was great. The nurse said everything was going smoothly so she was going to leave me alone for a bit. I said no problem. I lay back, a smile on my face, soaking up my victory...

BEEP BEEP!

I opened my eyes. That was strange. It was my machine. My nurse came over and looked at it, she told me it was beeping because the blood flow had slowed down. She moved my arm a bit and the flow picked up. Satisfied, she left me again. I started to relax.

BEEP BEEP!

Oh-oh. The nurse came back, checked me again, said the blood flow was slow again. If it didn't pick up, I wouldn't fill the bag within the 15 minute slot, and my blood wouldn't be able to be used by a patient. In desperation, I asked if there was anything I could do to help. She said I could move my hands and feet to keep the flow going. I started twitching my fingers and toes.

BEEP BEEP!

I started waving my hands.

BEEP BEEP!

I started waving my arms and legs about manically. Other doners were staring.

BEEP BEEP!

The nurse looked at my sympathetically.

I'm sorry, but we will have to stop this donation.

Noooooo! I had failed. For the third time I had failed to give blood. I went home that day deeply saddened by my blood's inability to do as it is told.

The funny thing is, they keep sending me letters saying "Please come back and give us your blood. We really appreciate your support." It's like they're taunting me. You know what, mine is the finest blood around. Any person would be lucky to have it, you mean, rejecter people. There is another session next week and I'm intending to go. Even if I have to jump up and down on a pogo stick whilst donating, I'm going to do it. They will not defeat me.

The Missing Key

Hello everybody :)  What time is it? Blog time! (...yay.)

So, this story begins in Derbyshire, where I, being the fantastic and brilliant girlfriend that I am, had taken my boyfriend for his birthday for a couple of days. We were staying in a nice quaint countryside inn, and we were enjoying the countryside and sickening the waiting staff with our loved up state ('No darling, I love you more!!')

 It was all going swimmingly, until we were packing up to leave. We had just put everything in the car and had to check out before 11am. It was around 10:45am. The car was ready. We were ready. We just needed to hand in our room key at reception. Now, I thought I had taken the key when we left our room,and I thought I had put it in my coat pocket, but when I checked, alas, it was not there. I looked in my bag, I looked on the car seat.

We were perplexed. Perhaps we had accidentally left it inside the room? If  so, that was a complete disaster, it was one of those irritating self lock doors which are just like Kryptonite to the ditsy. I went round the side of the room and peered in through the window to see if I could spot it. I couldn't. I was getting a bit het up now. It was 10:55am. Only 5 minutes left until our check out time ran out. I didn't know what happened after check out time elapsed, but I was guessing it wasn't good. Especially without the key. Perhaps they would hold our luggage as hostage or take back our complimentary breakfast. It didn't bear thinking about.

Stressed, I started pulling bags apart, re-checked my coat pocket, re-traced my steps in case it had fallen out my coat pocket. Nothing. Then Tom said something very condescending.

"You said it was in your pocket."
"Yes, but it's not there, I checked."
"Can I check please?"

I mean really, what did he think of me? I knew I had a bad reputation, but I was perfectly capable of determining whether a key was in my pocket or not. As he started rifling through my pockets I decided it was best to let him know how foolish this venture was;

"Look, I think I can check my own pock-"

At that exact moment, Tom brandished the key from my jeans pocket and held it in front of me, a look of amusement and incredulity on his face. I really, really hate it when your boyfriend is right and you are wrong. Of course this triggered a lot of 'my poor, ditsy blonde girlfriend' comments for the journey back. And I certainly won't expect to be trusted to check my own pockets next time. And yes, sadly I can say with certainty, there will be a next time. Still. At least in a time of feminism and female independence, it makes them feel needed, eh?