Rejected

I got through the hard part. I did the pre-req reading, I answered all their questions, I passed all the medication qualifications, I hadn't vacationed to any malaria-infested countries, I drank a lot of water today, I passed the iron test, I even told them my weight . . .

Yup . . . right now, I had hoped to be lounging on a table in the hospital, pumping a pint of my blood into a little plastic bag . . . instead, I'm sitting at the library, on a computer, while Dan, Rosie, Mandi, Tami, and mom are doing their part to fill the Red Cross BloodMobile . . .

I have what I think is a heat-rash on the joint of both of my elbows, and I guess the superviser of the Red Cross squad thought drawing blood from my forearm might either draw the infection of the rash outward, or it might have even had the possibility of being a "contaminated unit of blood." Contaminated. It sounds so harsh. All I wanted to do was share my A-negative, lady.

So, it may sound petty of me, but I made my way into the bathroom and had a good cry over it. My eyes actually started welling up the second they told me I couldn't give, and if it wasn't for the nice nurse who had been taking my information in the little make-shift booth in the hallway being so excited about the superviser leaving her nice gel pen with the squishy-grip behind on the table, I would have lost it right there.

Yeah, I know it shouldn't be that big of a deal.

Well, I guess I'll just try again next time. At least I found out that I have good iron.

(Don't let me fool you. That's just a lame attempt of me trying not to me bitter about it . . .)

Give blood, my friends.