After much worry and anxiety over donating plasma, I finally scheduled an appointment. This afternoon I threw on some comfy clothes and drove myself to BioLife. I read the statement out loud, read the packet, got my picture taken, did the fingerprint thing, and I go to the back so they can check my veins.
"You can't donate, your veins are too small."
And I'm all, what the hell does that mean. I KNOW what that means, but really, what do I do to make my veins bigger? Apparently lift more weights and drink more water, as if I don't do enough of that already.
A very frustrating car ride home found me pissed that I got worked up and nervous for something that I wasn't even qualified for. Maybe in a few months I'll give it another go. For now I'll stick to donating blood with my next appointment being Wednesday afternoon. I figure I've gotten myself worked up enough about needles that I actually need to go through with some kind of torture to justify my childish anxiety.
Once I get stuck, I breathe a sigh of relief and silently curse myself for being so immature. There's something about the waiting and pending future donation appointments that get me all worked up. As if the phlebotomists are going to have an "off" day and decide to attack me with the hollow needles. Who am I kidding, it's times like this, late at night, when I let my imagination get the best of me and my stomach proceeds to tie itself in knots once again.
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