Bloodbank

I’ve always been someone who is conscious of their role in society. My country looks after me and so, in turn, I feel I should give something back every now and again. In dramatic and brave fashion my gift to my society is my blood. One litre of it, every three months. And yes, I still don’t really understand why I’m not seen as a self-sacrificing heartthrob like that guy in Twilight. But I can put such shallow concerns behind me, and I did a couple of weeks ago in Brixton when I headed to the assembly hall to drain myself for the good of others.

I first started giving blood when I was seventeen, but I must admit I’ve been a little lax of recent. It doesn’t help that the previous two times I had attempted to give blood I had failed miserably: once because I was suspected of having some sort of North American bird flu, and the other time because they stuck the needle in the wrong place. This incident, which occurred up in Leamington Spa, was particularly embarrassing because I was trying to convince my then girlfriend to give blood, and she had come along with me.

As I lay back on the bed, with her looking over anxiously at me, I gave her a confident smile. The nurse then ever so quickly stuck a needle in me, whilst explaining how shattered she was from her day’s work. The pain was a lot greater than normal, but when I was asked how I was feeling I obviously said I was fine – I wasn’t going to seem weak in front of my girlfriend, especially as I was trying to convince her that the whole process was relatively pain-free.

It turned out they had missed my vein and stuck the needle into my muscle. Not only was this bad but first I was criticised (“Squeeze your hand harder, you’re slower than most…”) and then the nurse decided it was my fault because I had “small veins”. All the while I was trying to choke back tears . Of course, the whole error had nothing to do with the overworked nurse.

I put these past misfortunes behind me however, and the unsettling thought of actively volunteering to spill blood in Brixton, and marched down to the Lambeth Town Hall, little red donation card in pocket. I filled out the usual forms (‘Have you ever had sex with a man?; Have you ever paid for sex?; Have you ever had sex with a man who has paid for sex?’) and somehow managed to insult the woman on reception before eventually getting to donate blood.

Whilst lying down, squeezing my hand as fast as I possibly could (I’m not slower than most…), I encountered one of the funniest people I have ever seen.

A nurse was attending to the woman lying next to me when the patient’s husband walked up, a large man unsurprisingly clad in a Welsh rugby shirt. He paused, took a long look into the nurse’s eyes (a large Carribean woman who couldn’t have been more motherly if she tried) and then came out with the type of comic gold that would have been firmly at home on ‘The Office’:

“125 donations”, he said, leaving a moment for dramatic effect.

Then, with his eyes bulging he followed up with the killer punch – “Platelets”.

The nurse wasn’t really listening but he went on anyway, describing how there was a times when he had a needle in each arm (“pumping it out I was”). All the while his poor wife was lying next to him in silence. I was enjoying this thoroughly, when he managed to top everything by saying, “Once the doctors came up to me and said, ‘This blood is going to the children’s hospital, because it’s so PURE’”.

I couldn’t believe this man, and it was enormously satisfying to hear the nurse follow up his ridiculous boasting by asking him why he wasn’t giving any blood right then. He shrugged and explained he was diabetic, before going on a tirade against the blood services because he had once found out his blood was going to private hospitals. God forbid a dying person in a private hospital gets treated! The nurse correctly showed how stupid his argument was, but all he had to say was, “I’m not for sale”. I left the donation session with the conclusion that someone should give this man his own television show.

In the meantime give blood.