Blood

[jayfurr]

Since the Red Cross switched to a system that checks the blood of potential donors for grams of hemoglobin per deciliter of blood and doesn't use the old hematocrit (percentage of blood that consists of red cells), I've been unable to donate.

I was stunned when they switched back in January because I used to just barely scrape over the minimum (38% hematocrit) most times I donated and now, under the new system, I was falling far, far short of the 12.5 grams per deciliter mark. It seemed incongruous that under one system I was usually barely to reasonably qualified to donate and under a new system, heh, NOT EVEN CLOSE.

As I explained in three livejournal entries earlier this year (here, here, and here), it was a very frustrating experience, finding that I'd gone instantly from a highly sought-after O- donor to someone whose blood they wouldn't take on his best day.

If you're late to the conversation, blame beta thalassemia minor for my congenitally low hemoglobin.

Anyway, back in January I did everything I could think of to get my hemoglobin up, taking extra iron and so forth, and even then the highest hemoglobin reading I got was 11.8, still far short of the 12.5 threshold. I guessed that I'd never be able to donate again and would forever be stuck at 5 gallons donated, lifetime.

Anyway, Carole had an appointment for double red cell donation today and last night I gave her some iron supplements after dinner as a just-in-case kind of thing, then paused, then took four myself. 400% of my RDA of iron. I didn't even really know why I did it at the time inasmuch as I had no plans to try to donate. And then this morning I wasn't hungry for breakfast, felt reasonably alert and didn't feel like I needed or wanted coffee, and found after a couple hours that I'd had nothing to eat or drink. Except, around 8:30 in the morning, three more iron supplements and just enough of a sip of water to wash them down. I'd never stopped to say to myself "Take tons of iron, dehydrate yourself so your blood will be nice and thick and concentrated, then go in with Carole and try to give blood" but unconsciously, I found myself acting on precisely that plan.

When we got to the donor center at 11:15 I hadn't even told Carole of my late decision to try to donate and let her go on up to the counter on her own. Once she'd gotten her paperwork and taken a seat to fill it out, I told them I was a walk-in and signed up too. Not for double red cell, of course, because that requires an appointment because it takes so long to process two units of red cells out and put back all the plasma and stuff, but for ordinary donation.

Carole said, later, that she sort of registered me going in for my donor interview but hadn't noticed whether or not I'd come out. She said she'd figured that I'd probably fail to qualify and would quickly come out, announce the bad news, and then wander off to mope in a corner. When I didn't do any such thing, she was in the middle of her own interview and didn't really stop to take notice of my failure to act as expected.

The reason I hadn't quickly come out with a hangdog look on my face was that the little red box of doom on the desk in the booth had shocked the daylights out of me by displaying a hemoglobin reading of 12.6. Twelve point freaking six. In other words, there was no need for me to hastily beat a retreat out and watch, glumly, while she donated; I needed to go through the whole medical history in preparation for donation, just like regular people.

Carole was rather startled when she came out of the interview booth and found me sitting in a donor couch, arm extended.

So no matter what else happens today, at least one nice thing happened to me. (Even the experience of having the nurse rummaging around in my right arm with a needle for five minutes trying to get the flow to start before having me switch arms didn't lessen the pleasure at finding that I'd somehow, mysteriously, managed to get my hemoglobin up. In any case, the left arm worked like a charm and I had the bag filled in four minutes, tops.)

I assume not having donated for ten months may have something to do with my hemoglobin getting back to what other people would consider normal. But the dehydration (not recommended by the Red Cross, by the way) and the iron supplements probably didn't hurt any.

Yay me.

Comments

[l-l-u-w-d.livejournal.com]

I used to donate every chance I had. Religiously, almost. Every single donation drive that was had in my area, I was there, with bells on. Then, somewhere around '95 I got a letter from the Red Cross stating that my donation had been rejected due to it having tested positive for Hep B. Well, I marched down to my own doctor, got tested, came up negative for any Hep of any sort, and then contacted Red Cross wondering what the hell was up. They couldn't tell me. A few years later, I get another letter from them, telling me that oops, it was a mistake on their part, and apparently my donation that came up positive for Hep B was in fact a false positive, upon further testing, sorry for the confusion and stress and worry. But, that they would no longer take any donations from me anyway, no matter these updated results. I was all WTF? But, I have tried, occasionally, to donate again, but I'm flagged in their system, so it's always a no go. I haven't tried in several years though. Maybe they've changed that policy, as well, being as how they have changed their iron level testing methods.

[batzel.livejournal.com]

I used to donate. And every single time, I felt absolutely terrible. I never passed out, but always came close. There's always been something about that piece of metal in my arm that just sets my system off -- I become hyperconscious of that area of my arm, and then of other effects on me, which rapidly hits a feedback loop -- I feel my heart rate climb, which makes me tense which makes my heart rate climb higher...

I really don't know what precisely to blame for this reaction. I did have lots of bad doctors and nurses as a child, with a number of rather traumatic events in there, but I guess I'm just kind of wimpy in this respect.

Seems odd, given that I have no issues with going hunting and its aftermath, nor am I particularly upset with other people's injuries or surgery, just that needle staying in my arm while I have time to fret about it I guess.

Anyway, it's all moot for me now. I'm on so many meds that they've told me to not come back. They don't even send me letters begging for my O+ blood anymore. I suppose I should be grateful for that at least, but.

I'm glad you managed to donate again! I know it means a lot to you -- and even more, no doubt, to the recipient.

[flaviarassen.livejournal.com]

Thanks for taking up the slack for those of us who can't.

[jayfurr.livejournal.com]

You're welcome, hon. (Did I pronounce 'hon' right? Carole says there's a particular Bal'mer pronunciation that you have to do just right.)