The reason I had never donated blood was because I was scared of needles, and the idea of blood being drained out of my body. There was one time when my classmate donated blood at school, and she ended up with a huge blue-black bruise on her arm. That alone put me off donating for many years.
But deep down, I just knew it was something I had to do, and besides, I needed to know what my blood type was. It's quite embarrassing to not know your blood type when you're almost 30.
So in 2017, I went for the first time to the National Blood Donation Suite in Mid Valley. First, I had to weigh myself. I had to be at least 50 kg to be eligible to donate. Then I was asked to fill up a form and answer a simple questionnaire to ensure that I hadn't been involved in 'risky activities' (wink).
A doctor then went through the questionnaire with me, after which she took my vitals, and that was where things went wrong. My blood pressure was dangerously low, she was surprised I had never been diagnosed for hypotension.
I had been on a diet for several months. Nothing severe--only cutting back on calories, especially carbs, which means I still ate what I wanted, but in reduced portions, so that my calorie intake was equal to or less than my calories burnt. I don't know if that was the reason of my low BP. The doctor said it could be because I wasn't drinking enough water. That sounded like a more plausible explanation, because I always had trouble persuading myself to drink enough water. So they said sorry and asked me to try again next time.
The disappointment was crushing. Being rejected by potential lovers is bad enough. But when even the blood bank rejects you, you know you've reached quite a new low.
Not one for giving up too easily, I went again the week after, more prepared this time. I had drunk a lot of water for at least a couple of days before, and I had just had a substantial meal. I also brought along a bottle of 100 Plus just in case. We went through the routine interview and checkup once again, and this time I got through. Phew.
Once I passed that, I had to go to the next step which was to check my blood type. To do this, the nurse had to prick my finger to get a few drops of blood out. The sight of my blood on the test strips was already making me break into cold sweat. But a few minutes later, I finally knew my blood type: It's a B! For some reason, I felt exhilarated, as though the nurse had just announced the gender of my baby.
I had to sit on the reclining chair (or was it a hospital bed?). The nurse poked a needle into my arm, which was surprisingly not painful at all, and made me squeeze a rubber ball. She kept reminding me not to close my eyes, but I couldn't help it. I didn't want to see the needle or the blood.
However, about halfway through, I started feeling so dizzy I almost passed out. The nurse rushed to my side and leveled the bed so that I was fully reclined. She gave me a plastic bag in case I had to vomit, and made me sip some mineral water. Trust me not to cause havoc everywhere I go. None of the other donors had any problem. Maybe it was because I had a heavy meal right before donation.
About 20 minutes later (after an extra 10 minutes to recover), I had successfully donated blood!
They gave me some food and drinks, and also iron and folic acid pills. I got a tiny red book to record my donations.
I was so excited that I went home and googled how many lives I could save with one blood donation (three!). But I also found something that was quite unsettling.
Blood can only last for up to 42 days when refrigerated, after which it will expire. Expired blood will be treated as medical waste and incinerated. In the US, right after 9/11, hundreds of thousands of people flocked to donation centers to donate. As a result, more than 200,000 units had to be thrown away. Every year, about 5% of donated blood gets discarded. I wonder what the percentage is in Malaysia.
I'm not trying to discourage people from donating blood, but facts are facts, and I think people deserve to know that before they donate--that there's a chance the blood may not be used. I'm definitely going to donate again, but maybe not as often as I initially wanted to.
But deep down, I just knew it was something I had to do, and besides, I needed to know what my blood type was. It's quite embarrassing to not know your blood type when you're almost 30.
So in 2017, I went for the first time to the National Blood Donation Suite in Mid Valley. First, I had to weigh myself. I had to be at least 50 kg to be eligible to donate. Then I was asked to fill up a form and answer a simple questionnaire to ensure that I hadn't been involved in 'risky activities' (wink).
A doctor then went through the questionnaire with me, after which she took my vitals, and that was where things went wrong. My blood pressure was dangerously low, she was surprised I had never been diagnosed for hypotension.
I had been on a diet for several months. Nothing severe--only cutting back on calories, especially carbs, which means I still ate what I wanted, but in reduced portions, so that my calorie intake was equal to or less than my calories burnt. I don't know if that was the reason of my low BP. The doctor said it could be because I wasn't drinking enough water. That sounded like a more plausible explanation, because I always had trouble persuading myself to drink enough water. So they said sorry and asked me to try again next time.
The disappointment was crushing. Being rejected by potential lovers is bad enough. But when even the blood bank rejects you, you know you've reached quite a new low.
Not one for giving up too easily, I went again the week after, more prepared this time. I had drunk a lot of water for at least a couple of days before, and I had just had a substantial meal. I also brought along a bottle of 100 Plus just in case. We went through the routine interview and checkup once again, and this time I got through. Phew.
Once I passed that, I had to go to the next step which was to check my blood type. To do this, the nurse had to prick my finger to get a few drops of blood out. The sight of my blood on the test strips was already making me break into cold sweat. But a few minutes later, I finally knew my blood type: It's a B! For some reason, I felt exhilarated, as though the nurse had just announced the gender of my baby.
I had to sit on the reclining chair (or was it a hospital bed?). The nurse poked a needle into my arm, which was surprisingly not painful at all, and made me squeeze a rubber ball. She kept reminding me not to close my eyes, but I couldn't help it. I didn't want to see the needle or the blood.
However, about halfway through, I started feeling so dizzy I almost passed out. The nurse rushed to my side and leveled the bed so that I was fully reclined. She gave me a plastic bag in case I had to vomit, and made me sip some mineral water. Trust me not to cause havoc everywhere I go. None of the other donors had any problem. Maybe it was because I had a heavy meal right before donation.
About 20 minutes later (after an extra 10 minutes to recover), I had successfully donated blood!
They gave me some food and drinks, and also iron and folic acid pills. I got a tiny red book to record my donations.
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| Free food! |
Blood can only last for up to 42 days when refrigerated, after which it will expire. Expired blood will be treated as medical waste and incinerated. In the US, right after 9/11, hundreds of thousands of people flocked to donation centers to donate. As a result, more than 200,000 units had to be thrown away. Every year, about 5% of donated blood gets discarded. I wonder what the percentage is in Malaysia.
I'm not trying to discourage people from donating blood, but facts are facts, and I think people deserve to know that before they donate--that there's a chance the blood may not be used. I'm definitely going to donate again, but maybe not as often as I initially wanted to.
