Give ‘Till It Hurts
Everybody has that fear, that nightmarish threat that keeps them up at night, that hides in the back of their mind, ready to pounce like a monster under the bed. Maybe it’s heights? Maybe it’s spiders? Maybe it’s clowns-to which I shake my head at you weirdos and assure you we will talk about that later.
For me, its needles.
My fear of needles is way more of a phobia than just a fear born out of a childhood trauma. Needles have always evoked a near panic in me. My first memories of needles as a child involve getting my vaccinations from Dr. Frank, a sweet nearly-retired general practitioner who had much better things to do than chase my hysterical behind around his examination room. So I would bravely stand still, hold my breath, and cry quietly while he gave me the shot and told me what a good girl I was. If he only knew the strength it took to keep my knees from buckling the entire time the shot was being administered and how that three and a half seconds seemed like an eternity.
It's not the pain that bothers me. Due to other medical conditions and some of my past misadventures, I have a very high tolerance for pain. Nor is it the sight of blood. I was a licensed EMT in a past life and have seen enough gore to appreciate the fact that calm is needed much more than panic in an emergency situation. For me, it’s the idea that this foreign body is inside me and all I can do is mentally scream “Get it out! Get it out! Get it out!”
Full disclosure: I’ve been known to actually scream that too-as well as other colorful phrases not appropriate for a public place.
Sorry about that, staff of Coffeyville Regional Medical Center and Mercy Hospital.
And the lab staff at Sparrow Hospital and Ingham Medical Center.
And the lab staff at St. Francis Medical Center and St. Lawrence Hospital.
You guys are great, and I’m terribly sorry to have announced a question about your paternity so loudly. I had no prior knowledge to whether or not you came from Transylvania nor should I have accused you of taking pleasure in torturing people or fornicating with your mothers.
This is a fear I have lived with my entire life and have made adjustments in order to accommodate it. I didn’t let it stop me from having children. For the record, nothing was going to stop me from that, my children are my greatest accomplishment. I did however drink enough water to float a boat before each blood draw and hold dead still while the agonizing three to ten seconds dragged on. I too, volunteered for the American Red Cross-although I was sure to be busy any time an extra hand was needed in the collection center. I’ve also known my share of insulin dependent diabetics and they can always count on me to give them plenty of privacy while they give themselves a poke. Insert nervous shudder here!
But my days of being a reluctant bag of excess blood are over. As of Friday, I will be donating for the very first time. My sudden and hell-freezing transformation is for two reasons-the most important women in my life. In her pursuit to improve the overall health of our community as well as explore the impact one determined girl can make in the world, my daughter decided to organize a blood drive in our area. It’s been a challenge to say the least, but it has taught her valuable skills. One being that if all else fails, tap your mother for oil!
Another reason I have decided to go under the needle is for my very best friend. Dusty and I have been inseparable since we were kids. It doesn’t even matter that she lives miles away or that sometimes we go months at a time without talking. We have always had a special bond that keeps us tighter than Siamese twins. Earlier this year, my sister-from-another-mister was diagnosed with a condition that requires her to have frequent transfusions in order to stay alive. So somewhere out there, some amazingly generous people have found the time and the nerve to give blood so my bestie can live. To me and everyone who loves her, that is a very incredible act indeed. So how can I continue to cringe?
I have worked a little extra time at my ‘real job’ in order to be able to take off Friday afternoon a little early. I have planned to have lunch at my favorite little coffee shop the afternoon before. I have even invited someone special to come with me and hold my hand. And yes, I have forewarned the poor guy of what he may encounter and he still agreed. He should, he donates blood too.
So now I invite you to do the same. Find a blood drive nearby (and trust me, they pop up around you all the time) or go to your local Red Cross donation location and give. A few (agonizingly long) minutes out of your day not just can, but will save lives. Think of this appeal like the tide pod dare or cinnamon-snorting stunt. You will still come away a little uncomfortable, but you will be a hero instead of a moron. The shortage of blood during the summer months really happens every year. Let’s do something about that and give until it hurts.
I’m Jennifer Beck and I’m Jenuinely Jennifer
Writer, Researcher and Blood Donor!
