Apparently not!
Today I had an appointment with Canadian Blood Services to donate blood. It's the first time in seven years that I've donated, so I read a whole lot on their web page to make sure I was eligible.
See, the last two times I donated, I passed out. The first time, I was about 18 and weighed about 98 lbs. After I donated, I went back to work and promptly passed out on my client's floor.
I waited a few years and then donated again when I was in Ottawa. Five pounds heavier and more savvy about not doing any heavy lifting after giving blood, I was sure that I'd be fine. It took a while to pull that litre of life from me, but I did it. Afterwards, I indulged in quite a few cookies and juices before I felt steady on my feet. I went outside, lit up a smoke and once again, came crashing down.
It's now been seven years, 10 lbs and five years of being smoke-free. I'm healthy, well within the 110lb weight minimum, and my iron dropped like a stone in the first test. I was feeling good when I went in for me final overview with the nurse. She took my blood pressure (a little high at 145 over 68 - but hey, I'm about to give you a litre of blood, I'm nervous!) and my temperature (slightly warm despite my chilly hands) and was just about to start asking the crazy questions about my sex, drug and prostitution background when she noticed that I'd marked yes to "Have you ever experienced fainting?" I explained what had happened on previous occasions, but that much had changed. She just shook her head.
Apparently, they have a strict two strikes and you're out rule about fainting at the blood clinic. She said that although hospitals really need my blood type, they don't want to take it at my expense. And so, I'm now permanently blacklisted. Unless they change the rules, I can NEVER give blood again.
I'm torn about the whole situation. On one hand, I'm really sad that I can't give the "gift of life" any more. They say that although 1 in 3 people CAN give, only 1 in 60 people DO give. I wanted to be a giver. But on the other hand, I hate needles and I really don't like giving blood (does anyone?) so now I never have to and don't have to feel guilty about it.
So my good readers, perhaps you can make my conscience feel a little lighter. If only one of you decided to be a blood donor, you could take my place as that 1 in 60th person. You can be the hero. You could save up to 3 lives with just one donation and one hour of your time. What do you say? Will you feel the spirit of the season and give a special gift this Christmas? WIll you be a registered blood doner?
Showing posts with label blood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blood. Show all posts
Monday, November 24, 2008
Monday, July 14, 2008
My baby. My sweet angel baby,
No one ever told me that becoming a mother means resigning yourself to a life of guilt. From the day you find out you're pregnant, you start to feel guilty.
"I shouldn't have had that glass of wine three weeks ago."
As your pregnancy progresses, you find more reasons to feel guilty.
"If only I'd remembered to take my multivitamins every day, he'd be healthier."
And then they're born and the opportunity to make bad decisions just multiplies.
"Maybe if I hadn't started him on solids when I did, he wouldn't have this wheat allergy."
And when they start moving, oh boy the chance for regret and guilt just skyrockets. (For proof just look at this post.)
After this weekend, I am absolutely riddled with guilt and can not suppress the feeling that I am the most inept and horrible mother ever.
We went to Ottawa for a four day vacation. The first two were wonderful and filled with reunions with our closest friends. Then, on the third day, Hayden and I were playing outside before we went out for breakfast. He kept splashing in our friend's dog water dish and I kept dragging him away and trying to get him interested in the birds and flowers. He ran back and picked up the dish, about to pour it all over himself. So I grabbed it to tug it out of his hands before he soaked himself in dog drool. When I yanked it from his grasp, he squealed and I assumed it was a tantrum. Then I looked down to see his hand covered in blood. Little did I know, the protective rubber seal that normally covered the handle he was holding was gone, leaving a sharp metal edge. When I'd pulled that dish from his hands, I'd actually pulled that sharp metal edge into his fingers. The guilt immediately rose like bile in my throat.
I ran inside with him, my grasp putting pressure on his heavily bleeding fingers. I ran them quickly under cool water and he screamed out in agony. When I opened his fingers to assess the damage, my heart flipped and my eyes instantly welled up. His middle finger had a deep gash on the first finger pad (closest to the palm) and it continued up and in past his first joint. It looked deep and angry and not something I could fix. Beside it, his other finger had a deep gash to the pad. With the help of our dear friends (and please guys - I hope you know that we don't at all even remotely think you are the least bit responsible) we bandaged up his hands and headed to CHEO (the local children's hospital). 11 hours, a conscious sedation (horrible to watch), a whole lot of blood, a horrible doctor, and five sketchy stitches later, we hobbled back to Adam's uncle's house.
I was hoping that tonight it would start looking a little better, but when we changed over the dressing, the biggest wound has turned black...not a good sign. We're going to see his doctor tomorrow and she's referring us to a pediatric plastic surgeon to make sure his little hands will work perfectly.
The guilt continues to overwhelm me whenever I think about it, if I try to sleep, when I see his little hand or hear him cry when it touches against something. The reasonable part of my brain tells me it was an accident and I couldn't have foreseen the result of my actions. But the deeper, darker part of me is needling my heart, asking again and again how I could hurt my own child this way. Snidely reminding me that if I had a little more patience, maybe I wouldn't have pulled so hard and Hayden would be fine; That all three times Hayden has been really hurt in his short 20 months of life, it's been under my watch; That I am one horrible mother. I can't stop thinking it. I can't stop blaming myself. And the thought that he might need more surgery or have more trauma twists my stomach until I gag on the guilt.
Every mother I tell this to tells me that this won't be the last time. That there will be many times in my life that Hayden will hurt himself and I'll relive the moment forever and think "if only I'd..." or "If I had just..."
I never would have believed that I would have three such moments before my baby's second birthday.
Say a prayer or think good thoughts...My gut tells me we're not through the worst of it yet.
"I shouldn't have had that glass of wine three weeks ago."
As your pregnancy progresses, you find more reasons to feel guilty.
"If only I'd remembered to take my multivitamins every day, he'd be healthier."
And then they're born and the opportunity to make bad decisions just multiplies.
"Maybe if I hadn't started him on solids when I did, he wouldn't have this wheat allergy."
And when they start moving, oh boy the chance for regret and guilt just skyrockets. (For proof just look at this post.)
After this weekend, I am absolutely riddled with guilt and can not suppress the feeling that I am the most inept and horrible mother ever.
We went to Ottawa for a four day vacation. The first two were wonderful and filled with reunions with our closest friends. Then, on the third day, Hayden and I were playing outside before we went out for breakfast. He kept splashing in our friend's dog water dish and I kept dragging him away and trying to get him interested in the birds and flowers. He ran back and picked up the dish, about to pour it all over himself. So I grabbed it to tug it out of his hands before he soaked himself in dog drool. When I yanked it from his grasp, he squealed and I assumed it was a tantrum. Then I looked down to see his hand covered in blood. Little did I know, the protective rubber seal that normally covered the handle he was holding was gone, leaving a sharp metal edge. When I'd pulled that dish from his hands, I'd actually pulled that sharp metal edge into his fingers. The guilt immediately rose like bile in my throat.
I ran inside with him, my grasp putting pressure on his heavily bleeding fingers. I ran them quickly under cool water and he screamed out in agony. When I opened his fingers to assess the damage, my heart flipped and my eyes instantly welled up. His middle finger had a deep gash on the first finger pad (closest to the palm) and it continued up and in past his first joint. It looked deep and angry and not something I could fix. Beside it, his other finger had a deep gash to the pad. With the help of our dear friends (and please guys - I hope you know that we don't at all even remotely think you are the least bit responsible) we bandaged up his hands and headed to CHEO (the local children's hospital). 11 hours, a conscious sedation (horrible to watch), a whole lot of blood, a horrible doctor, and five sketchy stitches later, we hobbled back to Adam's uncle's house.
I was hoping that tonight it would start looking a little better, but when we changed over the dressing, the biggest wound has turned black...not a good sign. We're going to see his doctor tomorrow and she's referring us to a pediatric plastic surgeon to make sure his little hands will work perfectly.
The guilt continues to overwhelm me whenever I think about it, if I try to sleep, when I see his little hand or hear him cry when it touches against something. The reasonable part of my brain tells me it was an accident and I couldn't have foreseen the result of my actions. But the deeper, darker part of me is needling my heart, asking again and again how I could hurt my own child this way. Snidely reminding me that if I had a little more patience, maybe I wouldn't have pulled so hard and Hayden would be fine; That all three times Hayden has been really hurt in his short 20 months of life, it's been under my watch; That I am one horrible mother. I can't stop thinking it. I can't stop blaming myself. And the thought that he might need more surgery or have more trauma twists my stomach until I gag on the guilt.
Every mother I tell this to tells me that this won't be the last time. That there will be many times in my life that Hayden will hurt himself and I'll relive the moment forever and think "if only I'd..." or "If I had just..."
I never would have believed that I would have three such moments before my baby's second birthday.
Say a prayer or think good thoughts...My gut tells me we're not through the worst of it yet.
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