Oh wow, I've been neglecting the blog haven't I? And it's really not because I have better things to do with my fabulous and blessed life :). Really it's because I am LAZY at times, okay for months at a time, when it comes to writing. We have been up to so much this past year, I'm gonna have to post some pictures soon.
So are you thinking about your New Year's resolutions? I haven't made any New Year's resolutions yet and I probably won't because then I for sure won't accomplish the things I need to accomplish in 2011. If I were making a list, it would look something like this:
1. Finish losing weight (Pfffffft! Yeah right, I'll just put the cake down for once...or not)
2. Blog every week, this is your legacy you know (Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!)
3. Be a better listener (Possibly if my tongue is removed)
4. Focus on others and less on yourself (But making everything about me is fun...)
5. Save more and spend less (Errr.....)
6. Cook more often and better (first I would have to acknowledge that corn dogs are not a well balanced or nutritious food)
7. Read literature that makes me a better person (Nope, Twilight and Harry Potter don't count, no matter how many times I read them)
8. Go to bed earlier (Yeah, this one is impossible)
As you can see, that list is already fraught with hurdles and I haven't even officially made it. I think it's best to keep things vague so that nearly any positive effort I make can be spun as me keeping my New Year's resolutions. So here we go, my official resolution:
I will try my very best, most of the time except on Mondays, to not screw up in any way that I am cognizant is an actual screw-up. If I do screw-up, such screw-up shall be acknowledged by making amends with myself, the other person, or thing I've wronged with a promise to try harder the next day.
So that's it, I'm not even adding any fine print. I'm locked in. Happy Resolution making to you and yours.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Courage Reigns
I've decided to enroll the young man in horse back riding lessons for kids with disabilities. There is a place near our house that works exclusively with kids who have to learn to navigate their own disabilities and function the best that they can despite their disabilities. They take all kinds over there; muscular dystrophy, cerebral palsy, brain damage, physical and mental ailments, and autism. I've read many times that the benefits of hippotherapy can be great for these kinds of kids. They learn a new skill, get to do something fun, build self-confidence, better posture, better balance, better gross and fine motor skills, and a whole host of other positive benefits too. So I gathered my courage and I gave the place a call. And the conversation went something like this:
Me: "Hi, I'd like to enquire about enrolling my son in horse back riding lessons with you guys".
Vicki: "Great, tell me about your son"
Me: "Well, he has been expressing a real interest in learning to ride horses and as he has problems with his coordination, I thought this might be a really good fit for him"
Me: (with nervous laughter) "He sort of trips over his own feet and we would like it if he could develop his gross motor skills more"
Vicki: "What is his particular disability?"
Me: "Autism"
And just like that, I dropped the "A" word. I dropped it casually, as if I were simply discussing a type of flower, or the weather. We discussed his condition like we were remarking on the sunny weather. And when I said the word, the dreaded "A" word, I waited for the sting. I waited for the pain that inevitably has come along with that word every.single.time I've said it or thought it since the diagnosis. The sense of injustice, of unfairness and self-pity that have attached themselves to that word as if they really belong there. And you know what? It didn't come. There was no pain, no sting, no self-pity. I felt no shame. Only pride. Pride in a child who is so special, who has come so far, and who I know will do great things with his life. I also felt excitement, almost giddy at the possibilities his young life holds and even those that will be afforded by his condition. There are indeed positive things associated with his autism. I'm starting to notice them. I was so excited for him to start horse back riding lessons and I didn't think once about if he could do it. I know he can do it.
There are so many "increased likelihoods" that attach themselves to a diagnosis of autism. There is an increased likelihood of depression, suicide, loneliness, etc. Just imagine a world where people are cruel to you or exclude you simply because they do not understand you and do not wish to try and you can fill in the blank with the mental conditions that can come along with that kind of rejection. So many of these "likelihoods" have been following me around, scaring me to death about his future, plunging me into my own depression and self-pity, and worst of all, making me feel helpless. It is only recently that I realized I actually have a choice.
I can choose to live in fear, or I can choose to live. I can choose to expect the worst, or I can choose to hope for the best. And you know what? He will be okay. His life will be good. I choose hope. I choose to live.
Me: "Hi, I'd like to enquire about enrolling my son in horse back riding lessons with you guys".
Vicki: "Great, tell me about your son"
Me: "Well, he has been expressing a real interest in learning to ride horses and as he has problems with his coordination, I thought this might be a really good fit for him"
Me: (with nervous laughter) "He sort of trips over his own feet and we would like it if he could develop his gross motor skills more"
Vicki: "What is his particular disability?"
Me: "Autism"
And just like that, I dropped the "A" word. I dropped it casually, as if I were simply discussing a type of flower, or the weather. We discussed his condition like we were remarking on the sunny weather. And when I said the word, the dreaded "A" word, I waited for the sting. I waited for the pain that inevitably has come along with that word every.single.time I've said it or thought it since the diagnosis. The sense of injustice, of unfairness and self-pity that have attached themselves to that word as if they really belong there. And you know what? It didn't come. There was no pain, no sting, no self-pity. I felt no shame. Only pride. Pride in a child who is so special, who has come so far, and who I know will do great things with his life. I also felt excitement, almost giddy at the possibilities his young life holds and even those that will be afforded by his condition. There are indeed positive things associated with his autism. I'm starting to notice them. I was so excited for him to start horse back riding lessons and I didn't think once about if he could do it. I know he can do it.
There are so many "increased likelihoods" that attach themselves to a diagnosis of autism. There is an increased likelihood of depression, suicide, loneliness, etc. Just imagine a world where people are cruel to you or exclude you simply because they do not understand you and do not wish to try and you can fill in the blank with the mental conditions that can come along with that kind of rejection. So many of these "likelihoods" have been following me around, scaring me to death about his future, plunging me into my own depression and self-pity, and worst of all, making me feel helpless. It is only recently that I realized I actually have a choice.
I can choose to live in fear, or I can choose to live. I can choose to expect the worst, or I can choose to hope for the best. And you know what? He will be okay. His life will be good. I choose hope. I choose to live.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Lookee who's 3
Well, our "baby" is officially even less of a baby now that she has turned 3. She had a fantastic birthday party with a lot of family and friends. The best part wasn't even the multitude of presents she received (mostly from her Mimi), but the giant pink and purple princess bounce house we rented for the day! It was quite a hit not only with the partygoers but with all the neighborhood children as well :). The princess even got her own pink princess cake complete with an edible tiara and some disney princesses. My friend K made the cake and everything she does is by hand and just fabulous. It was also delicious and I ate far too much of it. Fun was had by all and I'm happy that I don't have to plan another party for the princess for a year :).
P.S. Someone arrived at my blog by googling the phrase " dr weidig the worst doctor hair transplant in the world "....isn't that great. It *almost* beats the time someone came here by googling "what is dog spit used for". Good times :).
P.S. Someone arrived at my blog by googling the phrase " dr weidig the worst doctor hair transplant in the world "....isn't that great. It *almost* beats the time someone came here by googling "what is dog spit used for". Good times :).
Friday, March 26, 2010
Tucking in Young Man
Dearest Young Man,
Last night I went into your room to kiss you goodnight. You had been asleep for a few hours, but I was at your Aunt L's house and missed tucking you into bed. You were laying on your back, breathing with your mouth open and one arm flung over your blanket which was draped across your chest. Your hair was sweaty and I wondered why kids always get sweaty when they sleep, even with the covers off. I pulled your blankets up to your chin so you would stay warm and then I just looked at you. I looked at the masterpiece that God had sent to me. I wondered how He ever thought that I could deserve you. How could I get such a special kid that was going to need to be brought up with extra care? I am selfish, immature, and clueless so much of the time that when I look at you, along with all the love I feel is also a whole heap of inadequacy.
I can't even put into words the depth to which I love you. I think you are one of the most perfect beings to ever exist along with your dad and your sister. You are amazing in every way and every single day you find new ways to amaze me. It's unfortunate that I still feel like a little girl so much of the time because you deserve a Mom who really understands how to be a parent. You'd think by now I might have stopped flailing like a drowning person but here I am, still flailing away.
I know I get mad at you sometimes. I say things I shouldn't in moments of anger and sometimes I am just mean. I know I get so frustrated with you so often. It's not fair because it's not really you that I feel angry and frustrated at. I feel this toward your autism. Every single day I am angry at the whole world and even at God that you have to learn to live with autism and that I have to learn how to manage the special needs that you will have. Every single day I feel alone and like there is no one in my life that really understands what I'm feeling. So I lash out. At you and at your dad, and the world really when I withdraw myself from it. I want to stop crying. I want to stop feeling sad and just marvel at the goodness and intelligence that you possess. I know that I am blessed to have you. I am so blessed to have you.
I swear I wouldn't trade you for anything, not even a "normal" kid. You are mine. I see it in your smile, your obstinance, and even your eyes just a little, even though they are mostly your Dad's eyes. You are mine. Someday, when the veil has lifted, you will be able to tell me why you chose me to be your Mom. I can't wait to hear it. You are so dang smart that I know you are destined for really great things here and in this life. So please know that even though it's going to be harder for you to be a kid than many other children, and even though not everyone you encounter in your life will understand you or even be kind to you, that I am always going to be your mother. And my love may not be perfect, but it is immense. I think it could fill an ocean. I will always be proud of you. I will always support you even though I am a coward and it's really hard for me to confront other people who may need confronting. I could never stop loving you and I promise to celebrate your every accomplishment, even the little ones. You are my son, my child, and one of the greatest loves of my life.
Last night I went into your room to kiss you goodnight. You had been asleep for a few hours, but I was at your Aunt L's house and missed tucking you into bed. You were laying on your back, breathing with your mouth open and one arm flung over your blanket which was draped across your chest. Your hair was sweaty and I wondered why kids always get sweaty when they sleep, even with the covers off. I pulled your blankets up to your chin so you would stay warm and then I just looked at you. I looked at the masterpiece that God had sent to me. I wondered how He ever thought that I could deserve you. How could I get such a special kid that was going to need to be brought up with extra care? I am selfish, immature, and clueless so much of the time that when I look at you, along with all the love I feel is also a whole heap of inadequacy.
I can't even put into words the depth to which I love you. I think you are one of the most perfect beings to ever exist along with your dad and your sister. You are amazing in every way and every single day you find new ways to amaze me. It's unfortunate that I still feel like a little girl so much of the time because you deserve a Mom who really understands how to be a parent. You'd think by now I might have stopped flailing like a drowning person but here I am, still flailing away.
I know I get mad at you sometimes. I say things I shouldn't in moments of anger and sometimes I am just mean. I know I get so frustrated with you so often. It's not fair because it's not really you that I feel angry and frustrated at. I feel this toward your autism. Every single day I am angry at the whole world and even at God that you have to learn to live with autism and that I have to learn how to manage the special needs that you will have. Every single day I feel alone and like there is no one in my life that really understands what I'm feeling. So I lash out. At you and at your dad, and the world really when I withdraw myself from it. I want to stop crying. I want to stop feeling sad and just marvel at the goodness and intelligence that you possess. I know that I am blessed to have you. I am so blessed to have you.
I swear I wouldn't trade you for anything, not even a "normal" kid. You are mine. I see it in your smile, your obstinance, and even your eyes just a little, even though they are mostly your Dad's eyes. You are mine. Someday, when the veil has lifted, you will be able to tell me why you chose me to be your Mom. I can't wait to hear it. You are so dang smart that I know you are destined for really great things here and in this life. So please know that even though it's going to be harder for you to be a kid than many other children, and even though not everyone you encounter in your life will understand you or even be kind to you, that I am always going to be your mother. And my love may not be perfect, but it is immense. I think it could fill an ocean. I will always be proud of you. I will always support you even though I am a coward and it's really hard for me to confront other people who may need confronting. I could never stop loving you and I promise to celebrate your every accomplishment, even the little ones. You are my son, my child, and one of the greatest loves of my life.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Get Out Of My Dreams, and Into My Car
I'm thinking about dreams right now, and the 80's. This morning I was sleeping in a little bit because the princess has taken to sleeping late in the mornings. Young Man entertains himself pretty well for awhile after he first gets up, so I was enjoying a little extra snooze time after (stupidly) staying up until 2am researching car seat safety and watching countless youtube videos of "dummies" being flung around cars. Car seat safety isn't dumb, but staying up until 2am to further my knowledge wasn't the best decision. But anyway, so I was happily sleeping in my bed this morning at 9am when the pitter-patter of fast moving feet cut into my dream, the creak and then bang of a door as it was flung open and then the sound of an entire liter of urine being dispensed into the toilet in my bathroom brought me to the groggy realization that Young Man had a close call (I'm not sure why he always uses my bathroom rather than the one right.next.door to his room, but he always does, even at 4am). Thankfully he made it in time. But prior to this emergency pee, I had been having an interesting dream.
I really hate spiders. Every time I see one, I get the chills and a very unpleasant sensation runs along my spine. I automatically and without thinking recoil from even small spiders and move several feet away...but that's not what I was dreaming about. I dreamt about Transformers, yep, Decepticons and Autobots. In my dream for some strange reason my small neighborhood was under attack by the Decepticons. Why? Well, I don't know. It was a dream. Anyway, all the men were drafted into the "army" with the Autobots (they're the good guys) and I was sad because I thought Husband would die for sure. He's not much of a fighter, more of a lover and rationalizer :). But he sure surprised me in my dream. Instead of dying he somehow transformed into a superhero of sorts with some pretty cool powers and saved our neighborhood from certain death by the Decepticons.
So that was my dream. And that got me to wondering...wondering exactly why I would be having a dream about Transformers anyway? And why would Husband have a starring role as the dream hero? I think one could go crazy trying to analyze dreams, so I stopped wondering. Although, I'm sure being the mother of a young boy had a little something to do with the appearance of Transformers in my dream world. Maybe just a little...:)
I really hate spiders. Every time I see one, I get the chills and a very unpleasant sensation runs along my spine. I automatically and without thinking recoil from even small spiders and move several feet away...but that's not what I was dreaming about. I dreamt about Transformers, yep, Decepticons and Autobots. In my dream for some strange reason my small neighborhood was under attack by the Decepticons. Why? Well, I don't know. It was a dream. Anyway, all the men were drafted into the "army" with the Autobots (they're the good guys) and I was sad because I thought Husband would die for sure. He's not much of a fighter, more of a lover and rationalizer :). But he sure surprised me in my dream. Instead of dying he somehow transformed into a superhero of sorts with some pretty cool powers and saved our neighborhood from certain death by the Decepticons.
So that was my dream. And that got me to wondering...wondering exactly why I would be having a dream about Transformers anyway? And why would Husband have a starring role as the dream hero? I think one could go crazy trying to analyze dreams, so I stopped wondering. Although, I'm sure being the mother of a young boy had a little something to do with the appearance of Transformers in my dream world. Maybe just a little...:)
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Quick Getaways and Orifices
Well, there is for sure something to be said about being able to get out of the house quickly in an emergency. Like say, your house is on fire. You certainly don't want to be stuck in your pajamas with your teeth unbrushed and your hair a greasy mess if it happens to already be 10:30 am and it's because you're just being super lazy. Nope, you want to run out of your house with your designer jeans on, accessorized, blow dryed, and with mascara in place. And of course the kiddos need to be dressed to the nines as well. Now, if it's 3 am, well, that's an entirely different matter. I'm pretty sure it would be odd to not be in pajamas at that hour. But we're talking about 10:30 am here. I think most of my neighbors are ready to hit the town by 7 am. I however, I'm a lollygagger. We mill around the house in our PJs with crazy hair until we're pretty much forced out of the house because Young Man starts kindergarten at 12:30 every day. I have never been much of a morning person. Sure I get out of bed, but it's real hard for me to feel motivated before noon. I'm sure that will all change when Young Man starts all day school next year, but for now, why rock the boat?
So it's 10:30 am and we are, as usual, all in our pajamas having *just* had breakfast. The kids were playing in Young Man's room together. I was NOT on facebook , I swear. I was...uh, doing laundry. Yeah, I was catching up on laundry when suddenly I hear the Princess say to Young Man, "Can you get the lego out of my nose?". And she sounded just a little panicky. Now Young Man responded very appropriately with, "No way, I'm not sticking my finger in your nose!". So then of course I was heading in there faster than you can say "Jiminychristmas" and verified that yes, I could see just the tiniest bit of white plastic up her nostril. So it was off to the Pediatrician we went. Oh great.
Now remember I said that none of us was in a state to be seen in public. So I took the fastest shower I have ever taken in my life (and managed to wash my hair, I was so proud of myself). My legs are looking pretty hairy due to not having any time to shave them, but hey, it's winter and we're in pants every day. Within 20 minutes, we were all dressed and rushing out the door. I wouldn't say I was exactly presentable. I was wearing Husband's baggy butt sweat pants and an old pink hoodie with my wet hair pulled up in a wet bun with a scrunchie (shudder), but like I said, I WAS clean. If I were one of my many lovely and stylish neighbors, I would have already been dressed and ready to go, looking hot at the Pediatrician's office rather than like frumpy mom. But oh well, that extra hour of sleep was probably worth it :).
So the Pediatrician took about 5 minutes with some pretty wicked looking instruments and popped the lego out. He asked if I wanted it back and I, of course, asked him to just throw it away with the crinkly paper after he finished thoroughly checking her every other orifice above the neck. Princess hated the whole process as you can imagine. I'm pretty sure she won't be putting anything else up her nose for awhile. So a lesson has been learned by both Princess and by myself. Princess learned that foreign objects don't go up noses or in ears or mouths. I have learned that there is something to be said for getting out of bed at the crack of dawn to dress nicely and do my hair. You really just never know what is going to happen and what will force you out of the house before you are "dressed".
So it's 10:30 am and we are, as usual, all in our pajamas having *just* had breakfast. The kids were playing in Young Man's room together. I was NOT on facebook , I swear. I was...uh, doing laundry. Yeah, I was catching up on laundry when suddenly I hear the Princess say to Young Man, "Can you get the lego out of my nose?". And she sounded just a little panicky. Now Young Man responded very appropriately with, "No way, I'm not sticking my finger in your nose!". So then of course I was heading in there faster than you can say "Jiminychristmas" and verified that yes, I could see just the tiniest bit of white plastic up her nostril. So it was off to the Pediatrician we went. Oh great.
Now remember I said that none of us was in a state to be seen in public. So I took the fastest shower I have ever taken in my life (and managed to wash my hair, I was so proud of myself). My legs are looking pretty hairy due to not having any time to shave them, but hey, it's winter and we're in pants every day. Within 20 minutes, we were all dressed and rushing out the door. I wouldn't say I was exactly presentable. I was wearing Husband's baggy butt sweat pants and an old pink hoodie with my wet hair pulled up in a wet bun with a scrunchie (shudder), but like I said, I WAS clean. If I were one of my many lovely and stylish neighbors, I would have already been dressed and ready to go, looking hot at the Pediatrician's office rather than like frumpy mom. But oh well, that extra hour of sleep was probably worth it :).
So the Pediatrician took about 5 minutes with some pretty wicked looking instruments and popped the lego out. He asked if I wanted it back and I, of course, asked him to just throw it away with the crinkly paper after he finished thoroughly checking her every other orifice above the neck. Princess hated the whole process as you can imagine. I'm pretty sure she won't be putting anything else up her nose for awhile. So a lesson has been learned by both Princess and by myself. Princess learned that foreign objects don't go up noses or in ears or mouths. I have learned that there is something to be said for getting out of bed at the crack of dawn to dress nicely and do my hair. You really just never know what is going to happen and what will force you out of the house before you are "dressed".
Monday, December 14, 2009
The Gift of Life
So I was sitting in Relief Society (for those not in the know, that is one hour in our 3 hour block of church where the women folk meet) a few Sundays ago perusing through the various sign up sheets. I was having the usual monolog in my head: "Do I want to volunteer for opening or closing prayer? Really? I hate to answer a question with a question, but are you really asking me that?"; "Am I interested in a scrapbooking class? Absolutely nope."; "Would I be willing to volunteer in Primary (kids Sunday school) if needed? HAHAHAHAHAHA..oh wait, they're serious. So nope."; "Can I take a meal to so and so this week? Only if they want to die on top of the hard times they are already suffering, or want pizza"; "Would I like to donate blood at the ward blood drive? Heck no". Oh wait. Donate blood? I've never done that before. Hmm, maybe it would be kind of fun. And so went my thought process until I actually found myself signing my name next to one of the open time slots. I think some otherworldly force temporarily took control of my hand and signed my name. So then I had an appointment...
So the magic day of giving of my own precious bodily fluids arrived, faster than I thought it would, and I actually felt beholden to the promise I made when I signed my name on the sheet. Before I knew it, it was 5:50 and time for me to leave for the place where this donation was to take place. I was nervous before I even left the house. By the time I got there, I was positively pukey with anticipation. If you can believe it, there was actually a line of people willing to do this, so I had to wait about 40 minutes before my number was up...I mean called. While I was waiting I made the mistake of glancing around at the numerous beds which contained people hooked up to tubes that led to clear plastic bags that were in various states of being filled, with blood. Yes, the bags are actually clear. And yes, they actually have the people right out in the open. You know, just to chase off at least 75% of the first timers who show up to "do the right thing". But I didn't run. No sirree, I stayed right where I was. I think my face might have changed to a frightening shade of vampire white though, because a couple of the people I was waiting with asked me if I was okay.
So then my number was called and I was led into a small booth with black sheets all the way around it. Why choose the color black anyway? I mean, it's kind of morbid. But I digress. So there was just enough room for me, a small table with a computer at it, and the nurse who was sitting in front of the computer. She proceeded to ask me all kinds of questions and if I weren't donating blood to some other person which made the questions relevant, I would have been offended. And just for the record, no, I've never had any experimental vaccines, sex with men who have had sex with other men, lived in the UK for 3 months or more between the years of 1986 and 1996, had syphilis, or any other manner of awful sounding conditions. And yes, if you are reading this, I guess I have given away that I do in fact weigh more than 110 pounds. Dang, my secret is out.
So anyway, reading down the list of 1,000,000,001 reasons why a person can not donate blood, I felt sure I would come across something that would disqualify me. Then I would be able to leave with my head held high and a halo over my head anyway because, well, I would have tried. It wouldn't be my fault they didn't want my blood. But alas, I am clean enough for the Red Cross, and there was nothing to disqualify me. Not even my traitorous blood pressure felt like being traitorous. For the first time in my entire life, it was completely normal in a medical situation. Sheesh, how unreliable. So then the nurse did something completely unforgivable in my book...she actually pricked my finger. And it hurt! I nearly shed tears over it but since black sheets don't actually muffle sound, I felt embarrassed and didn't cry. And yes, my iron levels were "excellent". Absolutely, perfectly high. My level was 15, and it only needs to be 12. So I was officially cleared and led to the table like a sacrificial lamb.
I climbed onto the table, making jokes like I usually do when I'm nervous. I tried to make myself comfortable but my feet were slightly above head level and the nurse wouldn't let me cross my legs, so that was a battle lost before I really even began to fight it. Oh yeah, and of course there was the, "Oh my good grief that thing is huge!!" needle they so delicately shoved into my vein after a relaxing betadine bath for my arm. I'm not kidding folks, it is a big needle. It's long, yes, but the most scary part is the girth of the needle. It is made to drain blood, and fast. As soon as they put it in my vein, my blood was flowing like beer at a frat party. Oh yes, let the party begin. It took 7 minutes and 34 seconds to drain away a pint of my blood. And apparently it will take up to 5 weeks for my body to replace those lost red blood cells. That's an awful lot of time for replacing something that took only 7 minutes to give away.
They gave me a sticker, some juice, and a cookie. I felt an awful lot like a kid must feel after they've been to the pediatrician to get shots. The sticker really just doesn't make it feel worth it. Now if they'd given me a sucker, I might have felt differently :). So why did I do it? I'm not sure, really. All I can say is that it really wasn't all that bad (except for that dang finger prick) and I felt pretty normal the next day. And well, I guess I did feel pretty good about myself and my "gift". I think I left the building looking a little like this. But don't worry, it didn't last long...
So the magic day of giving of my own precious bodily fluids arrived, faster than I thought it would, and I actually felt beholden to the promise I made when I signed my name on the sheet. Before I knew it, it was 5:50 and time for me to leave for the place where this donation was to take place. I was nervous before I even left the house. By the time I got there, I was positively pukey with anticipation. If you can believe it, there was actually a line of people willing to do this, so I had to wait about 40 minutes before my number was up...I mean called. While I was waiting I made the mistake of glancing around at the numerous beds which contained people hooked up to tubes that led to clear plastic bags that were in various states of being filled, with blood. Yes, the bags are actually clear. And yes, they actually have the people right out in the open. You know, just to chase off at least 75% of the first timers who show up to "do the right thing". But I didn't run. No sirree, I stayed right where I was. I think my face might have changed to a frightening shade of vampire white though, because a couple of the people I was waiting with asked me if I was okay.
So then my number was called and I was led into a small booth with black sheets all the way around it. Why choose the color black anyway? I mean, it's kind of morbid. But I digress. So there was just enough room for me, a small table with a computer at it, and the nurse who was sitting in front of the computer. She proceeded to ask me all kinds of questions and if I weren't donating blood to some other person which made the questions relevant, I would have been offended. And just for the record, no, I've never had any experimental vaccines, sex with men who have had sex with other men, lived in the UK for 3 months or more between the years of 1986 and 1996, had syphilis, or any other manner of awful sounding conditions. And yes, if you are reading this, I guess I have given away that I do in fact weigh more than 110 pounds. Dang, my secret is out.
So anyway, reading down the list of 1,000,000,001 reasons why a person can not donate blood, I felt sure I would come across something that would disqualify me. Then I would be able to leave with my head held high and a halo over my head anyway because, well, I would have tried. It wouldn't be my fault they didn't want my blood. But alas, I am clean enough for the Red Cross, and there was nothing to disqualify me. Not even my traitorous blood pressure felt like being traitorous. For the first time in my entire life, it was completely normal in a medical situation. Sheesh, how unreliable. So then the nurse did something completely unforgivable in my book...she actually pricked my finger. And it hurt! I nearly shed tears over it but since black sheets don't actually muffle sound, I felt embarrassed and didn't cry. And yes, my iron levels were "excellent". Absolutely, perfectly high. My level was 15, and it only needs to be 12. So I was officially cleared and led to the table like a sacrificial lamb.
I climbed onto the table, making jokes like I usually do when I'm nervous. I tried to make myself comfortable but my feet were slightly above head level and the nurse wouldn't let me cross my legs, so that was a battle lost before I really even began to fight it. Oh yeah, and of course there was the, "Oh my good grief that thing is huge!!" needle they so delicately shoved into my vein after a relaxing betadine bath for my arm. I'm not kidding folks, it is a big needle. It's long, yes, but the most scary part is the girth of the needle. It is made to drain blood, and fast. As soon as they put it in my vein, my blood was flowing like beer at a frat party. Oh yes, let the party begin. It took 7 minutes and 34 seconds to drain away a pint of my blood. And apparently it will take up to 5 weeks for my body to replace those lost red blood cells. That's an awful lot of time for replacing something that took only 7 minutes to give away.
They gave me a sticker, some juice, and a cookie. I felt an awful lot like a kid must feel after they've been to the pediatrician to get shots. The sticker really just doesn't make it feel worth it. Now if they'd given me a sucker, I might have felt differently :). So why did I do it? I'm not sure, really. All I can say is that it really wasn't all that bad (except for that dang finger prick) and I felt pretty normal the next day. And well, I guess I did feel pretty good about myself and my "gift". I think I left the building looking a little like this. But don't worry, it didn't last long...
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