We Should Thank the Stinkin’ Vampires

Years ago, I crawled around the innards of a hospital working as a phlebotomist. Few things evoke rabid rejection faster than a gal in a white lab coat appearing in the middle of the night with a tray full of needles. Most patients were reluctantly cooperative. But then others could get downright ugly.
“You’re a stinkin’ vampire, that’s what you are!”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Boondoggle, but I have to get a little blood for the lab.”
“And what am I? A pincushion? Can’t you get all the blood you need with one poke? I know your kind. You’ll be back, wanting more.”
“Thanks, Mr. Boondoggle. We’re all done.”
“ Uh, could I get a Bugs Bunny Band-Aid on that?”

Phlebotomists take a lot of grief for something over which they have no control. Doctor’s orders and lab test protocol determine who gets the needle and how often. But one advantage to the job is that you witness all the fascinating aspects of a hospital. It’s like having a backstage pass to “Gray’s Anatomy.” Not everybody begrudges your visit, and often you meet interesting people who understand that you wish you were delivering flowers, too, but somebody has to get the blood.

When I was a kid, I visited my Aunt Ora at John Elliott Blood Bank in Biloxi where she worked as a nurse. One of my summer jobs was in a plasma donation center. I have written articles about hemophilia. Here and there, over the years, I have learned about how blood plays a vital and indispensable role in saving lives. But it wasn’t until I visited my friend Teresa in Arlington, TX that I fully understood its value in terms of borrowed time.

Teresa passed away in January after losing her battle with breast cancer. She was 38, the mother of two and a great, great gal. She taught elementary school, loved animals and music. Her easy smile is what I will remember most about her.

In her last months, Teresa went to the hospital nearly every other day for blood transfusions. My friend Anne and I sat with Teresa on a Saturday while she received a bag of platelets and a unit of blood. It took just over six hours. We talked and laughed and reminisced. Teresa dozed some, but mostly she shared concerns for her family and their future without her. It was the single most bittersweet day I can recall, smiling through tears and hating cancer.

As the fluids dripped steadily through a catheter into a port on Teresa’s chest, I realized what an incredible gift someone had unknowingly provided her. When she needed blood, and she needed a lot, it was there because someone took the time and made the effort to donate. That blood bought her time with her family. It gave her the strength to make it through Christmas and New Year’s. And even though it could not cure or save Teresa, blood given by strangers made it possible for three friends to gather one last time. To pray. To hope. To exchange that unspoken final goodbye while Teresa still could smile.

Right you are. Needles are no fun. But when you consider the burden of those who need blood to stay alive or to cherish their dwindling days on this earth, a little discomfort and inconvenience pale in comparison to the powerful and lasting impact held within just one unit of blood.

And when you’re done and feeling good about saving lives, Mr. Boondoggle? Don’t forget to thank the stinkin’ vampires.

Go to http://www.unitedbloodservices.org/ for more information on blood donation.