Plasma and Pretty Boy Part II

Okay, let me make myself clear, I do not intend on making this the "Plasma Chronicles" but this was a blogging must.

I had my day all planned out, as usual. Met mom in Kinston at 7am, go to the gym, shower, plasma, study. Met mom to get my phone. Check. I couldn't find a parking spot at the gym so I ran in the park. Check. Showered at the apartment, and shaved the legs. Check, check. Now onto the plasma.

I prepared my body for today. I drank extra water yesterday, ate a good breakfast: I did everything correctly. I read the pamplets. I entered the center like a pro, walking over to the sign in sheet beaming at everyone. A woman signed in after me turned and said, "You go to Covenant?" I replied, "Yes Ma'am." She said, "Yeah, you sing in da choir. You look different without your makeup."

I should of turned away and walked out of the center. That my friends, was my sign, but it was on my list. So I sat down laughing at my self and began to study my flashcards. I went into the assigned booth where they weighed me, pricked my finger, asked me about my "behavior" blah blah etc etc. All was going well.

And it was about to get better. They called me back and I took my place in section two, and who was there to greet me? Ah yes those melt-me blue eyes with long dark lashes (see part I for full description). Oh yeah, this definitely made that woman's comment/insult fade away. All was going to be okay. I got situated. Pretty Boy was not in the talking mood so I let him do his thing without interruption. We decided to use my left arm today. The needle went in but felt strange. It wasn't a prick, more like a pinch. But I was off, my count was up, draw began and my plasma bottle began to fill.

Then I started to notice something strange; the second tube that is usually clear began to turn pink. I called a lady over as Pretty Boy apparently was MIA. She said it was nothing so I relaxed. Then the machine began to beep which is never a good sign. My count was low. A sweet worker came over and said she thought there was a clot in my tube. She couldn't find it. By now, the pinch feeling had evolved into a "bite" feeling. I informed her that I was getting hot, which is usually my sign of pain. Mr. Know-it-all from part one then preceded to walk over with his attitude to adjust me.

Enter here: Pretty Boy. He was now off his break, and entered the room to see three workers crowded around my bed. "What did you do," he asked me with a smile. I wasn't laughing. I couldn't even smile. He moved everyone, including Mr. Know-it-all away. I then remembered something. Last time he'd used a smaller needle, I reminded him of this fact. "Ah!" He said, "that may be it. Do you mind if we use your right arm." I was thinking "why the heck not?!"

So we switched over to the right arm. I should of said no. I should of said thanks but no thanks. It was now found the clot; nearly my entire tube was clotted. The fun continued. He couldn't find my vein on my right arm. I tried not to writh in pain, I didn't want to cause a scene, but that was out of my hands; the man next to me began to cry out, apparently it looked disgusting. Pretty Boy called Mr. Know-it-all over. He then preceded to fish for the vein. By now my whole body felt like it was on fire. Pretty-Boy began to fan me.

He got it. All was well. I felt better all ready. Mr. Know-it-all left me with Pretty Boy to clean up the mess (I won't go into detail here). Pretty Boy wrapped my arm and told me I get an extra 2 dollars for all the trouble. Great. Just Great. A half a gallon of gas. Wonderful.

Well my count never went up. They 250 mL of plasma out of me, opposed to my recommended 750 mL. Pretty-Boy said it was over he preferred to stop the process and just return the blood to me. He didn't feel it necessary to put me through any more. He also recommended jokingly, that I stop partying so hard, to prevent this from happening again. "Baha," I replied, "I don't believe in alcohol". This started an interesting conversation.

So plasma. Half-check. Flirt with Pretty-Boy. Check. Two blue bandages. Check. One huge bruise. Check. Get 42 dollars. Check.

Unfortunately besides flirting with Pretty-Boy this experience was horrible. So horrible in fact I treated myself to ice cream afterwards. Needless to say, after this experience plasma will no longer be on my list.