The Gift of The Gift of Life

Finally.

After almost five years, I have once again been permitted to donate my blood. Yesterday, my friend Jennifer from work and I went to the blood donor clinic at Sherway Gardens mall and bled for the cause. It was all familiar and almost comforting. Except that we were, you know, in a mall. I’m not quite used to people strolling past me with Sears and Sony store bags while I lay on the cot with a big needle in my arm.

But everything went well, and I filled my bag with no fuss and in close to (personal) record time. I lay there, feeling the heat of my blood as it passed through the tube lying across my wrist, looking up at the water damaged ceiling and out at the blue, blue sky through the skylights above me and just felt better. Giving blood is to me an opportunity for me to give of myself in a very real (and literal) way. I know that what I’m doing is going to help people who desperately need help. It seems to me so much more meaningful than giving money. And there is no anguish over whether I am giving to someone worthy, or whether my donation will be used wisely, as is so often the question with monetary donations. I am sharing my blessing of health and giving of my time, and that makes me feel good – and more, it makes me feel like a good person. I expect no reward, and I thank the volunteers and workers almost as profusely as they thank me.

And then I have cookies and peach juice and Bits and Bites.

And, in an unexpected bonus, I won an mp3 player from a promotion on the Canadian Blood Services website. They may be forgiven now. Bribes definitely help.