Hindered

I keep seeing commercials on television that call for people to donate blood during this time of crisis with the coronavirus. I’ve tried to donate blood twice since the accident. They got the needle in me the first time, but a relatively minuscule amount of blood poured into the bag before it stopped flowing and they called it quits. They didn’t even bother putting the needle into my arm the second time about a year later. I was told that my veins wouldn’t support the thicker needle used to draw blood.

I’ve wanted to donate blood for the past six years in order to honor the fact that I was given an enormous amount of blood in the hospital during the first week after the accident. If it were possible, I would donate blood several times a year. This past week I actually considered going to the local blood bank in order to give it another try, but my rational mind tells me that I’ll be wasting time…again. They have a hard time just getting a few vials of blood out of me when I need to get it tested for diabetes.

It bothers me to some extent that I can’t help others the way that I was helped in the hospital after I wrecked the bike. My veins and blood circulation just haven’t been the same since the accident. I don’t know if it’s a matter of physical damage or current medications, but in the end my body just won’t allow me to do this. There are times when I feel as though I have no control over something as simple as my own blood. It’s such a fundamentally personal commodity, but with very complex restrictions. Some days I feel as though I’ve been stripped of basic rights, but it’s far too late to put up the “don’t tread on me” flag.