Warning: If you don't like reading about blood, giving blood, or anything having to do with the word blood, the following post may cause queasiness or lack of consciousness.
With this time of year always comes the semi-annual blood drive. I always think about donating, and someday I will again, but something always seems to come up.
My first time donating, I was so excited. I walked into the gym and was introduced to the smell so distinct to rooms filled with rubber gloves, plastic reclining-chairs, and bags of blood. I wish there was more to tell, but actually there weren't any problems.
Since then, I've never been successful at giving blood. I've only tried a couple of times because it seems so futile. When I try to give blood I make it about half-way through the bag before my blood flow stops. It scared the heck out of me, but the nurses just tell me I have a great clotting factor. So, maybe I should worry, but I hope not.
So, although I would love to participate, I left that to the students. That also leaves them the consequences of giving blood. One of my kids in homeroom came back to pick up her things. She had all the tell-tale signs of being woozy . . . and more than woozy: tears streaming, unsteady balance, a bit discombobulated. I told her to stay where she was and I'd go get the nurse. Would she listen? Of course not. I had gone to get a student to get the nurse when the student left my room. I had just made it to her by the time she managed to sink to the floor.
I had another teacher press my emergency button while I took care of things in the hallway. Then came the four administrators with walkie-talkies, the SRO (school cop), and finally, trailing behind, the school nursing assistant. Away the student went and off we went to the wonderful land of pop quizzes. Ah the joy of teaching. That counts 1 heimlich maneuver, 1 fainting spell, and 13 bloody noses of students since I started teaching.
Ah, the joy of teaching, and all of those things that go beyond.
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