Not Another Trip To The Dentist

I used to hate going to the dentist. Now, I really do enjoy it. Honestly, I do. No, seriously, I’m not lying to you. I like it as much as any normal person likes it.

Whatever. Just read on. Hopefully when you are done, this will all make sense.

I gave something of myself last Saturday afternoon. It was a thing that I had not given in quite a few years (actually, it was decades but who’s keeping track). My charitable mood was spawned earlier in the week when I received an email soliciting volunteers to make a voluntary donation at the Ladera Rec Center. Being the proactive kind of guy I am, well, that and Ms Khan signed us both up for it, I made it to my 1:30 pm appointment to give blood.

Now, the last time I gave blood (in the traditional sense of the concept; more on that later) was when I was a senior in high school. I recall that experience not to be a particularly pleasant one. The nurse who was administering the service missed my vein at least twice and I had to spend the next week walking around with three scars on my right arm (what’s the word for the other side of the elbow?). And to top it off, I tried to get up too quickly after the procedure and I quickly returned to earth with a crashing thud because I was short on fluids in my body.

So, it was with a little trepidation that I arrived at the mobile blood donation service operation for my appointment. From the second I arrived to the moment the entire blood-giving was done, I was thoroughly impressed with the entire operation. There were literally an army of people in white lab coats and clipboards scurrying about doing various jobs and generally looking busy. <>

After checking in with the guy sitting behind the laptop, I was brought to a semi-private area where the nurse asked me a series of personal and health related questions as they took a tiny sample of my blood from my finger. Then I was escorted to another private area where I had to verify my answers to the previous questions by placing a sticker on the questionaire.

That task being done, I was led to the most uncomfortable elongated folding chair I had ever seen. It was sort of difficult to get in but I managed. The nurse then gave me this thing (imagine the hand grip part of a crutch) to squeeze while she located a vein on my right arm. She then proceeded to drain me of a pint of my blood (which filled up in front of my very eyes in this little plastic pouch). FYI, I learned that a pint of blood weighs 1 pound.

After removing the needle from my arm, she wrapped my “wound” with some pink gauze (it was chosen for me because it matched some pink and red stripes I had on my white collared shirt). I was then taken to the recovery area where I was fed two mini ice cream cup, a glass of orange juice, and a (few) cookies. (So much for losing that pound not five minutes earlier).

Fifteen minutes later, I was on my way back to school so I could finish writing my 8th grade algebra test. I had done my good deed for the week/month/year (I’ll choose one when I do something good again sometime in the future) and I had provided something that someone could use to save their life. So, I guess that feels pretty good.

It’s funny because my usual line is that I give blood at the dentist because I went through a period of my life that I neglected a trip to the dentist for about 10 years. When I finally got the courage to go again, my teeth and gums were in such bad shape that I bled profusely every time I went (which is every 3 months for these past 4 years). Things are waaaaay better now (I’ve actually grown accustomed to the pain and think of it as my penance for missing so much chair time in his office over the years) and I couldn’t imagine not going.

It’s nice now when I hear the phrase, “I’m giving blood”, that I don’t immediately think of the dentist. I can actually visualize the process I just described and be like every other person in the world that has given blood in the normal way. I am so glad I’m normal now.