I’d been thinking about donating blood for quite some time, but had never got around to it, so when the Red Cross Blood Service launched an appeal in the wake of the Victorian Bushfires, I got on the web and signed up.

Six weeks later, I finally got a call to arrange an appointment, an indication of how busy the service is at the moment, and yesterday morning was that day. People from the UK are banned from donating blood due to the incidence of BSE (Mad Cow disease) in the 80s & 90s, and since I’ve become used to Ireland occasionally being erroneously included in the UK, I wasn’t sure whether I’d be rejected or not. My sister, Bevin, had already been rejected in NZ, so I wasn’t hopeful. As it turned out, I needn’t have worried as the ban doesn’t include us healthy Southerners (but does include the Northies) so I was in.

After filling in the expected forms asking about IV drug use, AIDS, previous operations, transfusions etc. I had my blood pressure and iron levels checked and was given the all clear to donate. Fitted with a nice “It’s my first time” sticker, I was brought to the inner sanctum where the vampires lay, ready to extract a pint of whole blood. After being asked to state my name to ensure the paperwork accompanying me was actually mine, and a quick examination of my arms for a preferred injection site followed by a swab of antisepctic, the needle went in and the blood started flowing.

A couple of test tubes were filled for testing and then I was hooked up to the main collection bag and told to kick back and relax for the 10 minutes or so it takes to fill. No sooner than that was said and the machine started beeping away, clearly not happy about something. Turns out the flow rate was too slow running the risk of my blood coagulating and blocking the needle. Sadly, after an attempt to manipulate the needle in case its tip was abutting a vein wall, things didn’t improve and the attempt was called off with the bag only about 10% full.

Given that my heart only beats at around 45bpm when I’m sitting down, I thought that might be the issue, but was assured that wouldn’t matter and that it was more likely to be dehydration or nervousness. Given that I’d dehydrated anyway when I wake up, and that I’d then gone for a run and had a coffee before attempting to re-hydrate in time for the donation, I reckon that’s the problem.

Despite the mishap, I was still rewarded with a free juice and biscuits for my efforts, though I should have mentioned that the Irish Blood Transfusion Service give you a pint of Guinness afterwards - at least they did in the 80s when Mum was donating, not sure if they still do. Anyway, my next appointment is booked for the middle of June, so I’ll remember to be super-hydrated for that one and see how things go.