In less than an hour, I plan to trek over to my local Red Cross and do some serious live-saving. Or, rather, I’m going to sit in a chair, offer up my veins, and watch in awe as my O+ blood gushes into a plastic bag. And then I will get a cookie.
I donated blood for the first time a few years ago at college. I proudly displayed my Red Cross sticker (on one of my many Madonna posters) and felt like quite the philanthropist.
Admittedly, I’ve neglected my civic obligation to the Red Cross by dodging their calls and convincing myself with every excuse in the book as to why I couldn’t stop after class (they make it so easy to give blood on campus!), roll up my sleeve, and make the world a better place. Was I scared? Apathetic? Wrapped up in my own world of academic, social, and reality TV-watching demands?
Since graduating, however, (and since I live minutes away from a Red Cross), I feel that donating a bit of time and bodily fluid aligns with my transition into full blown adulthood (ha!). And I get a cookie.
My preparations this morning include:
Lightly moving my body. All hail Tara Stiles’s hip openers.
Doubling my fluid intake:
Eating a light meal:
Let’s do this.