One Jab at a Time

We all have fears.

Most people are scare of spiders, public speaking or death.  I’m not scared of these things.

But there is one commonly feared thing that just thinking about it gives me shudders.

And that thing is needles.

I’m not a fan of being jabbed, poked or  pricked.  I do not enjoy the thought of anything entering my body from the sharp tip of a needle, even if it is from the hands of a trained medical professional. It might be protecting me against the dangers of the world, but it is not protecting my from stress sweat. And stress sweat is the WORST!  And even more than fearing injections, I fear removal of anything.  It’s in my body for a freaking reason.  LEAVE IT ALONE, DOC.

But here’s the thing: logic should overcome fear.

“Donating blood is good, donating blood saves lives.  Blood, its in you to give.  GIVE SOMEONE THE JUICE OF LIFE!” is exactly what I repeated to myself this past monday as I stood in line to become a blood donor.  I was shaking, sweating, stressing.  But most importantly I was facing one of my biggest fears.

It began with lots of paper work and uncomfortable questions “Have you injected _______ into your body with a rusty suringe in the past 12 months?”, “Have you had sex with someone who has *insert unexpected description here*?” or “Is your mother or grandmother a carrier of some rare alien parasite that will end mans rule of earth?” No.  No. Probably.

Then I had a few of nervous questions of my own.  I looked at a lady who I thought was going to be the nurse that took my blood, extended my forearms, and asked with a quivering voice “Do I have good vains?!” only to realize  she was not a nurse and I am a dork.

After what felt like an eternity and a mountain of paperwork, I found my way to a chair.  I sat down infront of the friendly nurse (who though I do not know her name, she is still my bff) and made nervous chit chat.  I should elaborate a bit here.  When most people get nervous they become quiet, still, shy. I become Little Miss ChatterBox.  I smile to keep from crying, I laugh to keep from silence and I babble on to keep from my thoughts.  So naturally, I had deep talks with my nurse.  We talked about the olympics, funny words and she even scanned the room looking for a boyfriend for me.  When the time came for her to jab the needle into my unpierced flesh (just kidding I have my ears and nose peirced.  Infact she asked me why I was scared of getting blood taken considering I had a hole in my face) I was shaking.  Niagra falls was dripping from my armpits and my face was hotter than Equador but I held my breath, made a pun and took it like a man.  I felt a slight pinch and only one tear drizzled from the corner of my eye.  I took it like a man.  A very wimpy, weak man that refused to look at their arm. But still a man.

And here I am, one donated bag of Ashley juice later.

“I am a friggin super hero.  I saved 3+ lives today” I said to my mother in an attempt to get out of doing the dishes later that day.  But in all seriousness this was one of the most rewarding events of my life.  I literally gave all that I could of myself to another person.  It feels good.  I faced my fears, helped out a stranger  and I have no regrets, or as lousy tattoo artists would say ” no ragrets”.  Doing things that suck, but make the world better are a part of growning up.  I am a donor. And I am facing my fears, one jab at a time.

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3 thoughts on “One Jab at a Time

  1. That is great that you were able to donate blood and face your fears!! You should be very proud because you not only saved lives like a superhero but you faced your fears to, which is very hard for people even superheroes to do.

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