Trembling knees, sweaty palms, this is a fear I must overcome. I walk in a room with a faint smell of latex that makes my stomach churn. My reason is telling me to put one foot in front of the other, but my fear is telling me to reverse those steps and run; I continue on. I am now sitting in a chair as the nurse prepares my arm for what is to come. I feel a pinch as I watch the blood drain from arm, my heart racing. Before I know it a band aid replaces the needle on my arm, as a wave of relief washes over me. I realize now the ten minutes of fear I felt is nothing compared to the life I just helped save. Helping others is a sacrifice I feel I must make; I am a blood donor.
From a young age I seemed to spend more time at the doctor’s office then I did at my own home. This was due to a cancer scare I had at the age of five. The doctor’s believed I had Osteomilitis, which caused a huge strain on my family. Thankfully, the doctor’s were wrong, but that didn’t prevent them from making me get blood drawn in what seemed like every week. Soon giving blood was like a ritual for me, but I soon came to realize there can be a greater purpose for giving blood.
When I was ten my mom took my sister and I to one of her doctor’s appointments. The nurse began to draw blood from my mom’s arm, but it was different from how I’d always gotten it done. My mom was hooked up to a machine that shock her blood in a small baggie, and the nurse made her squeeze a little ball. When I asked my mom why it was so different she said it was because she volunteered to give her blood away. At first this sounded crazy to me, but she went on to tell me it was going to all the sick people who need it. For the next six years I waited to be able to donate my blood just like my mom.
It’s been a year now since I donated blood for the first time. It’s been one of the most fulfilling experiences I’ve ever had. Blood donation is the sacrifice I make to help others, and I plan to donate for the rest of...