There aren't many parts of my body I feel inclined to brag about, but apparently I have very nice veins. No I'm not married to vampire. This week I donated blood.
I'm not new to it. This was my 45th donation. Every time they tell me what nice veins I have. It could go to my head.
My dad was a blood donor and took me when I turned 18. Unfortunately, he died not long after that, but I have continued to give blood, partly because it's a good thing to do, but also in his memory. So this time I took my teenage daughter for her first time.
Except they almost wouldn't let me give because my blood pressure was too low. I always have lowish blood pressure, which I think is good, but this time it was 111/40. It was a wonder I had a pulse. I felt fine, but they made me drink a couple of juice boxes and eat a granola bar, then checked it again. Amazingly up to a nice 120/60.
In the meantime my daughter had been taken in. They couldn't find a vein in her left arm, so had to move her and try the right, poor thing. And then, before I even got to donate, as they removed the needle from her arm, she got light-heated. They had to bring her juice and put cold cloths on her forehead and neck, anxious mom hovering beside her. I was the one with the low blood pressure but she's the one who felt faint.
Not how I wanted her first time to be, but she says she'll do it again. And so will I.