My husband is very proud of his history as a blood donor. He was a regular donor in college, passing the gallon mark in his early twenties. He fell out of the habit for a while, but when we lived in St. Cloud, he picked up again, and even became a volunteer at the local Red Cross donation center. It made me feel guilty that I'd never donated, but because he went to the center every week, I didn't really keep tabs on when he donated, so the guilt didn't hit me hard enough to do anything about it.

When we moved to Bluefield, Josh was disappointed to learn there wasn't a local donation center. So in the spring, when a drive was being held at my school, he was ready to donate. I decided it was finally time for me to "man up" and donate. As I waited in chairs, I joked about getting off the hook by having low iron. They poked me and I "just passed" the cut; I wasn't sure if I was glad or not. The techs had a heck of a time getting a vein, and when they did it was such a flaky insert that the tech had to stand there and hold the needle in my arm to maintain a slow dribble into the bag. Half a pint or so into the donation, the needle site clotted, and they stopped the procedure. When I asked they confirmed that my partial donation would be discarded.

It was disheartening, to go through all of that--especially the bad poke, and them wiggling the needle around in my arm trying to get the flow started--just to have my efforts washed down the drain. (Well, they probably incinerated the blood, but you get my point.) So when they called to let us know that there was another drive in our area, I was a little wary. I decided that I should give it another shot, but that if it went badly a second time, then I would be off the hook in the future. Too bad I didn't clarify to myself what "badly" meant.

Things started off much better--I had some red meat the day before so my iron came out fine. Even though the same techs that bungled my first donation were present, the tech that placed my needle did great, and I was bleeding like a rock star. I had finished the actual donation and the tech was taking test vials when I started to feel woozy. I said, "I'm starting to feel a little dizzy," expecting--well, I don't know what, but not the reaction I got. She called for help and pretty soon every tech in the room was gathered around, lowering my head, raising my feet, feeding me sugar, having me breathe into a bag. It worked--I felt much better very quickly, and while this was going on my tech finished taking the samples, so this time around my donation didn't go into the dustbin (YAY!), but I was horribly embarrassed. Everybody was fawning all over me, while four or five other people were quietly, successfully giving their pint.

So what's my verdict? Did this donation go "badly"? Will I try to donate again? Well, this is not the first time I've gone ill from having blood taken. I was once in a doctor's office having samples taken for testing--a much smaller amount than a pint--and went dizzy. (BTW, their response to my sickness--smelling salts--was much less pleasant and much less effective than the techs' at the donation site. Go Red Cross!) So my response was not unprecedented, and I'm wondering if it will be persistent. Am I just the kind of person that gets woozy after bleeding a pint or so? (I'm kind of confused by this, as I'm a big girl and so a pint is a smaller percent of my total blood volume than it is for lots of people.) If I am, does that mean I should stay away from donating, or is a pint of blood (which will "save 3 adults or 5 babies") worth the complications--both to me and the techs? I mean, would the techs rather have me stay home, or come anyway, fully understanding that I will probably get sick and need extra attention? How much trouble is a pint of blood worth?

I don't know the answers. I guess though that I've got 8 weeks to think about it.