Donating Plasma

You know the "Donate Plasma" ads in the newspaper offering up to $209, or $314 or $432 a month? They say, "Donate, Thousands Do!"

This ad speaks to me in 3 different ways:

1. I can earn money
2. There is a high demand for plasma
3. I need to get over my fear of needles

So after weeks and months of thinking about donating plasma, on Monday I did.

The first time, the process is long and arduous. I had to answer a long list of questions, provide a piece of mail, my SS card and my drivers license. I had to give them a urine sample, and go through a simple physical exam where they checked my heart beat, took my blood pressure and tapped my knees with that little hammer. They also pricked my finger, took my weight, and explained to me everything they do, and how, and why.

Then the big moment came when they sat me down in a bed, my left arm on an arm rest, and an older, tired-looking Phebotamist came over to set me up to the Plasma machine. My heart raced like crazy and I almost started crying if I let myself think about people and things I loved, so I forced myself to not think about these things, and to be strong.

The needle they use is thicker than and different looking than an injection needle. It is metal and it is gauged. When I saw it, I didn't know to be afraid because I didn't know it was a needle. The Phebotamist gently pressed it down in the crook of my elbow, and because it was so very sharp, and because she does this all day, the needle went smoothly into my vein without any pain, except for a slight sting because of the iodine she had rubbed on my arm before she pricked me. I watched my blood flow thickly in the tube they attached to the needle.

The process of separating plasma from the blood is interesting. I had to continually pump my hand to keep the blood flowing. The blood flowed in the tube and the tube attached to the plasma machine that spun the blood very fast so that the plasma could be extracted. Then the plasma dripped out of the machine into a bottle, and the red blood cells were saved in a tube and was pumped back into the same vein. Plasma is yellow and resembles urine. This process took about 45 minutes. After I had filled up the bottle with my plasma, they unhooked me, and I felt very proud that I had bravely passed the test of getting over my needle fear, and that I was going to earn some money, and that my plasma would help somebody.

Then, something bad happened.

I got up and went to the counter to receive my pay. My head wobbled, and I got dizzy and my stomach clenched. I was going down fast.

So I quickly pushed open the door that led to the donation room, and collapsed into the bed I just got out of. They brought me a barf bag, and an ice pack to put behind my head. I spent the next hour sipping juice, being fed snacks, and resting enough until I was well enough to stand up on my own.

I watched about 20 people leave the donation room, and everyone was fine. I was the only one who got seriously sick. I felt like a weakling, and I felt scared and I felt silly. I felt like I had failed at giving plasma.

I left the Plasma center, and got home. I was too weak to respond to Nina's excited licks and jumps. I watched the Simpsons on my Macbook and felt like a little weak baby. I ate a bunch of tootsie rolls and they helped me to feel a little more energetic.

I have issues with feeling I am weak. I don't like to feel unable to do something, or like I am weak when others are strong.

After giving plasma, instead of recognizing that I did something brave, I just felt weak.

I don't think I will go back and do it again. Even though it will be quicker and easier from now on. I am afraid of getting sick again, and afraid of feeling weak again.

I did it once, and that is enough.