Bloody Friday

This morning, I get life-boosting blood pumped into my veins. The red liquid will give my body the cells it needs to feel better and recover for chemotherapy next week.

I've given blood many times in the past and always felt good about helping someone who needed this red substance, of which I had an abundance. I was happy to roll up my sleeve and lay on the cot for a little while, knowing my blood could help an accident victim, a surgery patient or anyone else who needed it. Of course, the cookies doled out by the Canadian Blood Services volunteers afterwards were an added bonus.

I needed two pints of blood during my hysterectomy and bilateral salpingo oopherectomy surgery (the one where they removed all my womanly parts and the cancer) in 2009. But I was, thankfully, deep asleep during that whole procedure.

This time I'll be awake, watching the red liquid flow into my veins. Someone else's red liquid. To tell you the truth, while the concept of blood transfusions are brilliant because of all the good they do, the idea of someone else's blood being pumped into me freaks me out just a little. I know it's screened and cross matched to my blood type to avoid any allergic reaction. It's also very carefully checked for all diseases and contaminents. But it's just the whole idea of it being someone else's blood.

Of course, I'm being an idiot, because I get chemotherapy pumped into my body, which are toxic chemicals that can definitely cause damage to my organs and wreak havoc on my systems. I take handfuls of pills to stave off nausea, vomiting and constipation, and they also have potential side effects. So I'm being squeamish about the blood, which is designed to provide only good after-effects. I need to suck it up (like a vampire) and get over my qualms about the blood once belonging to someone else.

I'll go roll up my sleeve this morning and gratefully accept the blood a generous soul donated. I whisper a thank you to the anonymous person who took the time to give.

Tina