First impressions are everything. If not everything, they are most of something. Or at least a good chunk of something. Anyways, they have a modicum of importance and therefore should be handled delicately.
Nearing the end of my first week at my new job, I was feeling more comfortable with my surroundings. I’d learned the work culture and knew the taboos. I had 80% of my office-mates’ names put to memory and had not yet done anything terribly awkward.
On Friday Tonya, another office inhabitant, suggested a trip to the Red Cross blood donation center before lunch. Not wanting to seem squeamish or possesive about my blood, I said sure! Tonya, Harmony (another co-worker), and I made our appointments and headed out to the donation center, feeling all warm and altruistic.
I was all confidence as I entered the blood donation center. I used to have to give up a few vials monthly when I was doing an asthma drug trial, so I wasn’t really all that nervous. At first. That kind of changed after I actually entered the donation center.
The first thing to get to me was the air in the clinic. It was cold and had a latex-y taste to it. The florescent lighting and white sterile everything was all so medical. It reminded me of an ER. Good things don’t happen in ERs. Bad things do. Death things. Subconsciously I was edge.
The second thing to get me was when Harmony quickly backed out of the whole ordeal. She politely declined their offer to take her blood, and told us she would be our moral support. I started to think she knew something I didn’t. I, however, don’t back down from a challenge so I proceeded, uneasily.
When I’m nervous I tend to get gabby. I was cracking cheesy jokes left and right, not letting three seconds go by without commenting on something. I thought I was charming the pants off the nurses, but I probably just looked like I was freaking out. If I did seem like I was on crack the medical professionals either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
The induction process took about 20 minutes and included three waivers, two info sheets and an online test. Most of the interrogating took place in a tiny back room that could only fit two chairs and a computer. I made what was probably painful small talk with the middle aged mom-nurse from Arizona (I thought I was winning her over). And then she left me. After ten minutes I peeked my head out of the closet. A volunteer walked by and asked if I was ready. Not wanting to argue, I said “sure!” and was taken to the blood-letting station.
This is when things started to go wonky. I got the new girl. And by new girl, I mean, older lady from Australia (no joke) who had never taken blood before. She was more nervous than I was. So nervous that she didn’t laugh at any of my jokes.
I don’t mind needles and even feel the need to watch when a doctor goes in for the kill. So I wasn’t anxious about the whole poking procedure. I was worried that the newbie was going to give me a long show of it. However, she hit home on the first try due to my abnormally large veins (thanks Dad!) and the draining process began.
I laid back onto the paper covered examining chair (quite comfortable actually) and proceeded to play the word-find game that was conveniently taped to the ceiling. Aussie-nurse just stood nervously by my side making remarks like “You are a fast bleeder” and “Did you find the word ‘acorn’ yet?”.
After 3 minutes, things started to slow down. I wasn’t a speed-bleeding demon anymore. In fact I was slow. Awkwardly slow. I went from Usain Bolt to hipster who smokes too much. It was 11 minutes before Aussie-nurse deemed me done. To put this in perspective, the old man next to me took 4 minutes to finish. I jokingly called him a show-off. He did not seem amused.
Whatever. So I took a long time. I was done! Now it was time for the fun suttf! They were serving granola bars, apple juice, and (drum roll) ROOT BEER FLOATS! For FREE! After the two feet of orange bandage was finally applied to my wound area, I sat up. Maybe I sat up too quickly. I felt a little nauseous. Telling myself that only dweebs get nauseous, I got up and walked the ten feet over to the goody table. Harmony and Tonya were already finishing off their floats. I sat in between them.
My first indication that something was wrong was my inability to speak. Tonya asked if I wanted anything and it took all of my brain power to form the words “yes. Granola.” Where was my quick wit? My droll repartee? Gone was my ability to even form sentences.
My second indication was waking up on the floor with strange people hovering around me, calling my name. This was a more telling sign that something was wrong. Because two seconds before I thought I was getting a full night’s sleep and was being rudely woken up by strange old ladies. Also, my air mattress bed felt hard. And my room was too bright. And I was in a Red Cross. Everything was wrong.
This is what I was told after I was rudely awoken: After sitting down at the food table, I had announced that I was going to “put my head down on the …garble…mumble mumble….” And then promptly fainted into the arms of my brand new co-workers. Before going fully under, I had smartly decided to roll my eyes into the back of my head, just to freak the hell out of them first.
When I woke up, Tonya was as pale as I felt. I was weaker than I had ever been in my life. I couldn’t move my tongue much less my arms or legs. A nurse sat beside me. She held a straw to my lips, and with what felt like the effort of a legless man climbing Everest, I turned my head, put the straw in my mouth, and slowly sipped water. I was also fed pretzels. Which made me drink more water since my body thought that manufacturing saliva was an unnecessary function at the moment.
I was constantly told I was pale. Scary pale. Pale like that guys from the movie “Powder.” Many a vampire joke was made. They also told me that I was out for only a few seconds, but my eyes had been open the entire time, all creepy and white and stuff.
After two glasses of water and a whole half of a fun-size bag of pretzels, they asked if I wanted to sit up. I argued semantics for a bit just to stall and then said I should probably try.
I sat up and promptly projectile vomited every last drop of the water and pretzels I just ate into the trash can next to me. With pretzel water firing out my mouth and nose, I could only hope that my brand new co-workers somehow thought puking was charming, or were at least impressed with my aim.
After that was done, I wasn’t nauseous anymore so that was good. I somehow kept down two small cans of apple juice and got some of my color back. My pride was sadly still M.I.A. My co-workers then made a plan where they would drop me off at my house, put me in bed, and then go get my car and bring it back to my house along with some food for me to attempt to eat later.
2 hours after entering that God-forsaken place, I was finally able to stand and sort-of walk. The head nurse handed me a “don’t sue us” pamphlet and two more cans of apple juice.
Thus brought me to my next mission. It was a two part goal:
To not
1. Pass out in my co-worker’s Lesabre.
2. Hurl in my co-worker’s Lesabre.
I barely made it. The clinic was only 5 minutes from my apartment but the heat and the quick movement made my disloyal body feel all nostalgic about the whole passing out and puking thing. I was a trooper and held back the urges. We got to my apartment. I stumbled onto my air-mattress. And the rest is history.
Tonya and Harmony couldn’t have been more caring or helpful with the whole ordeal. They really were awesome. And thank the Lord I somehow managed to avoid any nicknames from co-workers related to fainting or vomiting.
On a side note, do not give blood if a) you hadn’t eaten for more than 3 hours, and b) just moved from a low altitude place to a high altitude place (it takes time to build up more red blood cells).
No comments:
Post a Comment