Archive for March, 2012


Slowly my lids shut, and my mind began to drift to a realm full of pleasure surreal, as those fangs off a lust stricken (female) face sunk into my skin and penetrated my veins like a friend of mine would a bar of chocolate or as I would a chunk of fruit cake or wheat bread.

I’ll get lost trying to explain why it was this sort of emotion that sauntered through my being when the nurse pierced a needle into my vein in order to retrieve a pint of my free-of-infections-and-what-not blood. Yes, it’s not like malady can be passed/received through a transfusion though the thought of the possiblity came up as regards certain fellows in my physical and virtual life.

So I’m lying there, squeezing on a ball in my left hand while the nurse waits for blood to start flowing into the little bottle… “squeeze the ball a little harder” she says and I oblige. “No, don’t use your ‘whole body’ to squeeze it, just relax and squeeze it ehn…” *cleanses mind at this point*.

“I’ll have to try from your other hand” she declares, her voice almost seeming defeated by the failed attempt to draw blood from my left arm. So, bed adjusted, we attempt to draw a pint from my right arm…

“Oya, squeeze the ball like I told you to” she goes as she pampers a puff of wetted cotton wool on the part of my outstretched right arm where the needle would… *wince*… pierce to draw blood out.

“now, breathe out” she tells me soon as the needle’s in, this is to facilitate the outflow of blood I assume. Then, “keep squeezing” she tells me, “it’s flowing out too slowly” she goes on, voice starting to have a hint of defeat to it.

“What could be the matter?” I ask, staring to the sky, keeping silly thoughts out of my mind as I lay on the bed, squeezing away and fearing the worst of responses such as ‘your blood’s like that of a werewolf’ or ‘your blood’s jelly-like instead of being in thick liquid form.’ and so on… ‘your blood looks like a mix of marijuana and codeine’… I shook my mind’s head vigorously at this point and implored that it focus.

“I’ll have to stop.” the nurse says, bringing body, soul and alter egos back to the reality that was the shaded pathway to PG hostel from Business Admin. Block in Yaba College of Technology. “Your veins are too small and I’ve pierced both arms so I can’t try to draw blood from another vein” says the nurse, adding that “the blood’s already clotting sef”.

I’d been stopped on my way to have a haircut by a member of their team, asking quite politely that I donate my blood and “save a life”. After quite an interesting Q&A session with him and a subsequently jovial test of blood levels with two other members of the team under another shed, I was served a bottle of malt with (to my disappointment) two “coaster” biscuits; I finished just one, the malt however was drained ( ._.).

All that was to prepare me for the episode that played out above. Too bad my veins are gaunt as my frame is apparently. Either way, afterwards, I was given the choice of a complimentary branded polo shirt or wristband with two packs of noodles and two eggs. I declined the shirt and chose the wristband instead along with the noodles and eggs. Then I was told to have as much liquid as possible for the rest of the day and avoid exerting much energy as well; I was given a bottle of water to go, not exactly ‘one for the road’.

Summarily, it was my first experience donating blood and I realised the importance of it as my sister (upon me telling her of my experience) let me know of a certain model who’d died due to not getting blood she needed while ill. Her blood group is a rare B-negative, same as my sister’s. “Who knows, she would’ve got blood if I donated mine that year” she tells me (paraphrased).

I guess what I’m on about is, whenever the opportunity presents itself, do donate some of your blood for you never know whose life your blood would spare another chance to appreciate sunrise, sunset and the life of a day lived between.

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