I am turning into an angry old man. There are those of you who would comment that that’s no transition – that it happened decades ago. So take this tail of woe with the appropriate grain of salt. In the great scheme of things, I don’t have even the most tiny problem. But it will feel good to tell it.
We had high winds over the weekend. The good and bad news is that it stripped most of the leaves off the trees. Good because now I don’t have to wait any longer to do my raking . . . bad because the work I’ve done so far was basically undone by leaves blowing into any nook or cranny big enough to shelter a leaf. So this morning I decided to rake leaves, especially since the weather is supposed to turn cold and wet tomorrow. (We have had a glorious autumn . . . warm and dry . . . so I can’t complain if the weather turns seasonal.)
“Raking leaves” for me consists of cranking up the mower and blowing the leaves into strips, then raking those and carting them away in the lawn trailer. This I did. And did. In fact, I misjudged the time and came in later than I meant to; I had a 1 PM appointment to give blood. But it all worked out fine . . . I took a quick shower, bolted down a quick lunch, and got to my 1 PM appointment a few minutes early.
Except that there were about 30 people in front of me. It seems that there was a bit of a misunderstanding in terms of appointments. You could call to set one up, or you could do it on the web site. But the left hand did not know what the right hand was doing. I think there were 40 people signed up for 1 PM appointments.
I got into the screening session, and the screener didn’t have a thermometer. Then she didn’t have a stethoscope to take my blood pressure. Then I had to explain the geographic deferral rules to her. “No, you aren’t deferred if you’ve been to Turkey; it’s on the other list where you have to be there five years to merit a deferral.”
The good news – as it turns out, the only good news for the visit – was that my hemoglobin was high enough to qualify me to donate double red. So I go to the machine, and the phlebotomist proceeds to complain at length about recent procedure changes and how bad they are. Complain if you want, but not to the person who’s there to give blood!
Then the comment that should have tipped me off: “I don’t see the vein but it must be there somewhere.” Stick. Blood flows for about two minutes, and stops.
I have been donating blood for more than 40 years and this has never happened to me. Maybe I’ve been lucky. But I don’t believe that. Ms “I don’t see the vein” managed to make me waste a couple of hours and endure the discomfort, and for it there is nothing to show.
So this evening I rewarded myself by having a pint of the beer that we missed on Friday night. Made me feel better . . . and writing this blog entry is having the same effect.
Tomorrow will be a better day.