Last Thursday I went over to the Bonfils Blood Center across the street from my office (super convenient). I spent an hour there donating blood- I don’t say this to brag or boast truly. I’m not even writing this to put any high pressure on anyone to go donate blood as well. I just have a story to tell you that is a part of who I am and it is why I donate.
So we have to go back to when I was much younger… five and six years old actually. Truth be told that my memory of this story is a little fuzzy, so bear with me. (oh and I have pictures of little me after the jump!)
It was Christmas time, and my mother was pregnant (I always thought she looked so cute when she was pregnant and I loved touching her belly and feeling the baby move). The thing is- there was something wrong- I remember one day seeing blood all over my mother’s bathroom and I remember the fear that went along with it, but I didn’t understand what was happening. Little did I know or understand was that by the time Christmas was over and the new year had come- the new baby was late. He was almost two weeks late.
So the doctor decided to induce my mom’s labor (and I shall switch from memories – to what my mother told me later as I was being watched over by my grandparents while my parents where at the hospital with the new baby). My mother had a couple choices of how she could be induced- she had a couple options and my mother (by God’s infinite grace and mercy) chose the option that kept her at the hospital during the duration of the entire procedure. Only two hours after the labor started my mother began to bleed out – her condition became so critical that in 12 minutes she had lost 25% of her blood supply.
In those 12 minutes the doctors had done an emergency c-section to get the new little baby boy out and my mother’s life was saved by a blood transfusion (2 pints of blood).
You see… my mother is still here today because of people donating blood and I feel a huge responsibility to offer what I can back to the institution that saved my mother’s life. While I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation when I was six years old- I understand that I could have lost my mother, but I didn’t because she received someone’s donation of blood.
So yes- the needle scares me and I still get a little weak in the knees as I climb into that chair, but I compelled to give back because I don’t know what I would do without my mother and I love my little brother and the two others that come after him. I love my family and my family is whole because of a blood donation.