“What a week!” The week that spanned the end of July and beginning of August is a week I won’t soon forget. It was a week that included blood, sweat, and tears.
Blood
On Thursday I went to donate blood at a local fire company. Blood banks are hurting for donors since COVID started. Naturally, donating blood doesn’t seem like a desirable thing to do during a pandemic, but sick people still need blood, COVID or no COVID.
I hadn’t donated blood in years since my iron count is often too low, but this time my iron count was normal, so I got to donate.
It’s always a bit weird to lay down on the cot and watch your dark red blood drain into a little plastic pouch that wobbles back and forth on a scale, but overall blood donation is really simple, so if you’re a healthy person who’s able to donate, I highly recommend it. One of my nephews needed blood for a life-saving surgery as an infant, so I often think of him when I’m on the cot.
One time when I donated blood, the nurse inserted the needle into one arm only to realize the blood draining contraption was on the other side of the cot. Since laying on my stomach probably wasn’t an option, she then had to insert the needle into the other arm, too. The nurse apologized profusely, but really it wasn’t that bad.
Friends who’ve never donated blood have asked me, “Does it hurt?” Yes, it hurts for about two seconds when they stick the needle in— here’s the best way I can think to tell you about how much it hurts:
- Get a clothespin.
- Pinch a little bit of soft skin from the underside of your forearm in the clothespin.
- Leave it there for two seconds.
Did you survive that? If so, you can donate blood!
Sweat & Tears
The Wednesday before I donated blood, I attended the funeral of a church friend who died an untimely death.
On Friday, my brother’s wife went into premature labor with twins. Since they live nearby, I went over to see if I could help with their other children as they rushed off to the hospital.
With fresh memories of Wednesday’s funeral in my mind, I kept praying, “Please, God, let the babies live.” Two of my nieces were staying with us, so I drove them back to our house, along with a bunch of frozen food my sister-in-law had been trying to fit into the freezer when her water broke. Since our freezer was crammed full already, I left my nieces with Mom and drove to my grandmother’s house to use her freezer. Grandma, who had her own set of twins more than fifty years ago, was happy to help out.
A few hours later, we got the happy news, “Two baby boys, born healthy!”
Saturday came, and I attended a wedding, the first wedding I’ve been to since before the lockdown. (I was actually invited to two weddings, same day, same time, but you can only be in one place at a time.) Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday was busy with being an aunt, meeting with friends, and going to a public library for the first time in months. I put in the usual hours at work, canning season is upon us, and canning supplies are the latest item in short supply and we set sales records everyday.
In a few short days, I’d experienced the sadness of death, the joys of seeing a friend get married, and the happiness of knowing new life had entered into the world. Not that I’ve seen the twins yet, they’re still in NICU, but they both tore their feeding tubes out today and the nurses said “we won’t bother putting them back in” and so that means they’re a step closer to coming home.
We’ll have to wear masks to go visit them, but when I get to hold little Timothy and Benjamin in my arms, I’m going to whisper in a muffled voice in their ears, “Welcome to the crazy world of 2020. Be prepared for a ride!”
Leave a Reply