Have you ever donated blood? I have several times. It’s becoming rather routine for me.
Well, I was scheduled to go back on Sunday. The appointment was made when I was in for my last donation. Usually I’m given an extra week for my donation as a rule. I guess someone doesn’t know that unwritten rule.
Let me explain. When a person is kind enough to give a pint of their precious life fluid for use in another person’s body to keep them alive an ample amount of time is allowed for replenishment of blood. Two months is considered adequate.
My appointment was set for Sunday. My work schedule decided there was going to be a conflict if I desired to keep paying my bills on time. So, I decided to go in a day early to donate my blood for free.
The gal taking my information was going along just fine until she took my blood pressure. It was too low. I never had that happen before, especially after I drank a cup of tea for lunch just before I went in.
We waited ten minutes and took it again. This time I passed with numbers in line with what they normally are. I think she may have put the cuff on wrong or something.
The next hiccup came after she entered that I wanted to give whole blood, which I usually do. The computer wouldn’t let me…until the next day. Come on now, is one day going to really make that much of a difference?
I know, safeguards are in place to protect the blood suckers from a lawsuit.
She pointed out that I was eligible to give platelets or plasma.
One of the reasons they like me so much is because I have one of the rarer blood types. It’s one I try not to emulate in my life. It’s B negative.
I do my best to keep a positive attitude as often as possible. As a truck driver that gets put to the test much more frequently than I wish it would.
Anyway, back to donating blood. I decided to give my platelets away rather than come back in a week when my schedule would most likely coincide with my attitude.
This meant that instead of the usual half hour I’d be plugged into an aspherisis machine, or something like that, for about an hour and a half.
That contraption draws some blood out, separates it into its different components then replaces the stuff they don’t want back into my body.
I used to do it to give a double amount of red blood cells so I didn’t have to go back every two month. I got to wait four months instead.
This time my red blood cells would be replaced and the platelets kept for someone else to benefit from.
At least that was the plan.
The needle stick is always the most painful part, even though it usually just stings for a few seconds when it’s done right.
This time was a bit more challenging. I think she overshot how far the pointy thing went into me. She had to pull it back a mite before the blood came out properly.
I hate when that happens. That means more pain for me.
Well, when the blood splitting machine commenced to re-spit my blood back into my arm another shot of pain went to my brain.
I never had that happen before.
I had a gauze laying over the place where the needle was poking into me. When the vampire taking my blood saw the expression on my face she picked up the white mini-blanket. There was a bulge in my arm.
That was another first.
She said some big medical term for what just happened, shut the machine off and retrieved an ice pack for my owwee.
This apparently isn’t totally uncommon for them, just for me.
She then explained that the machine was spitting my red blood cells back into my arm at too high a rate for my vein to keep up. The extra fluid built up at that site.
She poked around on the bulge and asked if it hurt.
Surprisingly it didn’t. She said that was a good sign. I was comforted but still concerned.
I now have a few choice names for whatever they call that blood splitting machine, and I don’t think I’ll ever let them hook me up to that beast again.
That’s the first time my blood donation flopped into a total disaster. Not only do I have to wait another two months before I can donate again but the blood I did lose this time can’t be used to help anyone else.
I hate when that happens.
I don’t mind enduring that discomfort when I know someone will live longer because of it. I don’t appreciate the thought of my blood going to waste.
I wonder if that thought ever crossed the mind of Jesus as He hung on the cross.
His blood donation was a one time shot. It can never be duplicated.
What if nobody believed Him?
What if the disciples still tried to bring the kingdom in by attempting to overthrow the Romans?
What if they all ran away never to return?
Fortunately He knew those “what if’s” would never happen.
He knows the future. The kingdom is not of this world.
He saw us as his blood dripped away into the soil under His feet.
One of the last things Jesus said was, “Tetelesti”, translated as “It is finished.”
It’s also an accounting term that means “paid in full.”
But, now let me use a little creative imagination here, what if it was every name of every believer that will come into the kingdom combined into one word?
That means your name and mine was on Jesus’ lips as He breathed His last breath.
I don’t know about you but I find comfort in that thought.
This pain in my arm is tiny compared to what Jesus endured.
I guess now it’s not all for nothing after all.
I’ll see you later. Wade
