Blood Bank Blues

To give or not to give...that was the question...

 Aidan and I were a the Y for my weekly post-op workout. I noticed a sign for a blood drive. PERFECT! Here is something I can do to feel "good" about myself, and you know, give back to all my peeps.

I fill out some paperwork. Get my sticker and am cleared for take off...well, not exactly. Let's stop here and assess my not-thinking-this-one-through.  This blog, just being the author of something containing the words "medical" and "mystery" should have been a HUGE red flag to send me running, ok let's not lie - walking/limping to the hills. Nope. Not this determined dumb ass. The nurse checks my vitals, I passed all the "You can't give blood if....." questions, which was either a miracle or HUGE oversight. I'm still on the fence.

Aidan hangs out at the after-blood-donation snack area and chats up a new friend while eating Utz pretzels.  Then, dun dun - dun dun...it's like shark week but scarier - it was time for the dreaded iron stick. The nurse informs me 12.5 was the "magical number" and I said, well what about an 11.8? No bueno said she.

I send all my super duper iron rich blood to the tip of my middle finger (it should be used to this by now - I do it so frequently) small stick and wait. It felt like the wait of a pregnancy pee test, only no red lines,  and not near the fan fare. Um......

I get the thumbs down. But first, she calls over another nurse, take a look at this she says. I thought - damn yo, I was just working out I know I look bad but give a girl a break. No, they did not care about me and my sweat stains, just my sad iron score.  I felt like I was in the olympics and just totally fucked the final vault. Even Kerri Strug got a second try...and a Wheaties Box.

I failed. Plain and simple. But you know when I do anything, I have to do it big - EPIC FAIL.
 12.5 - hell I would have taken a 5.5....see below for the sadness and the shockness that bestowed my nice nurse. "Maybe next time"......

Seriously, 0.0 ????

And so Aidan left with his free snacks and our Dunkin' Doughnut coupon - free doughnut and iced coffee for your blood, I mean troubles. My head hung in shame.  I shrugged my shoulders at the woman at the check in and said "denied" she looked like she understood, probably why she was working the booth.

One day...I still have dreams of making a Wheaties box, minus Béla Károlyi...and the leotards.