Maybe Not Wise, But Worthwhile

Donating blood is always a mixed blessing for me. There's the feeling of excitement and victory when I pass the screening and find out that my iron levels are high enough for me to donate, but it is always and inevitably followed by the realization that this is only intellectually enjoyable, and after that, the shivers, shakes, nausea, and disorientation that comes from hypotension and anemia.

I'm never actually going to stop trying to donate. And I'm happy as hell that I succeeded today - this is the first time I tried to donate since I got my tattoo a year and a half ago, and it feels incredibly auspicious to succeed at my first attempt. The nurse I was working with was very helpful, too, and between positioning me differently and making sure I was drinking juice as they bled me, made sure that I never actually blacked out (a first, in the past ten years).

But now I am home, and hot, and feeling like my brain is running in slow motion. The fun part is over, and I am remembering just how much no-fun the aftermath is.

That sentence makes sense in my addled and oxygen-deprived state, but I'm not sure it will be comprehensible to anyone else.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. Sleepy. Slightly queasy. Clumsy. Not thinking very clearly. In a mental place where 'America's Got Talent' seems like valid entertainment. Realizing that donating blood is almost exactly like getting drunk, except that instead of paying for booze, I get a voucher for free ice cream.

When I put it that way, it seems like a much more reasonable plan....