Blood Bank Musings

"Can I get someone who's an expert with butterfly needles?" I asked hopefully, catching a glimpse of my right hand involuntarily rubbing the crook of my left arm. "You have difficult veins?" the receptionist probed, peering at me over the top of silver-framed spectacles. She smiled reassuringly as I nodded slowly. "Just tell the intake nurse that your veins are hard to find."

(20 minutes later)

We held our breaths as my droplet of blood hovered at the center of the blue liquid. After a few quick glances at the second hand on the wall clock, the nurse leaned back as the crimson disc drifted listlessly to the bottom of the vial. "Longer than 10 seconds," she remarked. "You may not have enough iron in your blood," she continued, proceeding to collect a larger sample of blood by jabbing another thin tube into my middle finger, which was still throbbing slightly from the earlier pinprick. "But I will need to run more sample in a centrifuge to know for sure." She slipped out of the room quickly, leaving me thinking, "Not another rejection!" *insert exaggerated grimace*

(10 minutes later)

"Your hematocrit level needs to be at least 38%," the nurse prefaced when she returned. She paused for dramatic effect as I shifted to the edge of my seat. "You're at 40%!" she declared with a big grin. "So you can donate today, but,..." She leaned towards my exposed arms and poked the insides of my elbows. "Go get a cup of juice first, so that your veins will 'pop out' more." I did as I was told, deciding not to reveal that I was already feeling quite waterlogged. My veins are just stealthy that way.

(20 minutes later)

"Nothing," the phlebotomist whispered, staring blankly at the empty tube, then at the needle in my left arm. She gave me an apologetic look, then grabbed the wings of the butterfly again. I turned away as she gave it a slight twist. "Got it!" she exclaimed. I expelled a sigh of relief and turned to gaze at the dark red fluid coursing through the plastic tube into the pint-sized bag.

(9 minutes later)

"You're all done!" I hadn't realized until I heard those words that that I had been in a tense state for the past hour. I became acutely aware of my shoulders relaxing and my breaths deepening as I beamed proudly at the plump red bag lying next to me.

See you nice Blood Bank people in 8 weeks!

It's a Girl Thang

This has been a good week. Among other reasons, I reconnected with four girlfriends with whom my one-on-one catch up time was long overdue. The revival of these neglected ties gave me a renewed appreciation for the importance of female friendships.

Interestingly, I encountered these four women during different phases of my life - in my teen years, in college, at work, and as a new Christian. In reflecting upon our rendezvous via Skype video conference, phone call, dinner date, and a mid-afternoon visit, respectively, I marveled at how our friendships had evolved over the years, and how far we've come in life since we first met. They are reminders of the journey that has led me to this resting spot. And they will help me find my bearings as I forge ahead.

Here's a shout out to J.A.G.S., the special women who warmed my heart this week. You may not know each other, but you each hold special places in my heart.

"There's no wax on them..."

...explained the tan Latino man in the plaid shirt, hands tucked into his jeans pockets. "These come straight from the farm." But his customer wasn't satisfied. Holding up a brown-spotted Fuji apple and shaking her head, she insisted, "But they don't look fresh when the skin wrinkles up in just a day or two. They still taste sweet, but they just don't look good like in the stores." The farmer pulled his hands out of his pockets, crossed his arms, and shrugged. "Try putting them in the fridge," he suggested, matter-of-factly.

I love people-watching at the Farmer's Market. The Fujis were the sweetest I had ever tasted -- thanks to the samples provided in tupperware containers -- so I splurged and picked up $5 worth (or 6 apples). Our motto is "Once we go Farmer's Market, we can't go back". Not too catchy, but true. Chain grocery store fruits just aren't as flavorful. Thanks to our local Farmer's Market, eating fruit is enjoyable for me again, like "back home" in Singapore, when we plucked chikus and bananas straight from our backyard trees and devoured them right there.

As for whether waxing is good for fruit, I found at least one source that says so. But I prefer mine fresh and "unwaxed", thanks.

Maggie, Barack, and Me

...and my co-pilot, of course.  We took a 4-day roadtrip down to SoCal recently with our newly-adopted Magellan GPS, the Roadmate 1412 (a.k.a. "Maggie"); and the Senator from Illinois, who accompanied us via dramatic recorded reading of his book, The Audacity of Hope on CD (see excerpt). The four of us turned out to be quite compatible traveling companions.

Truth be told, Maggie got the cold shoulder from me when she first joined us.  I pride myself in having a better sense of direction than most and often claimed the role of chief navigator among my friends after I left the nest of my wise Mother who groomed and mentored this course-plotting grasshopper.  So when Maggie entered my travel world, I felt threatened.  And with good reason, as her confident commands and forecasting of upcoming streets endeavored to usurp my powers and render my map-rustling directions obsolete.  But she is slowly proving herself worthy of my respect.  I'm learning to swallow my pride each time she detours us away from traffic jams and covers for me when I've misplaced a map.  Granted, we're no BFFs, but I'm appreciating her more these days.

As for Mr. Obama, he certainly knows how to captivate this audience,...though perhaps not enough to prevent occasional snoozes when he launches into excessive detail.  Anyway, I need to finish the remaining 1/3 of his inspiring narrative by its library due date on Friday.  Then, onwards to Faith of My Fathers by his presidential opponent John McCain.  As I've always believed and Barack clearly articulates, "No one is exempt from the call to find common ground."

What the...?

Oh my goodness!

"Thin Line Between Heaven and Here"

Some wisdom from Bubbles, a Baltimore Police Department "C.I." (confidential informant, snitch) on my latest free-time addiction, The Wire. We were so captivated by the first disc of Season 1 that, on the same day we dropped it in the mail to Netflix, we dashed out to pick up the second one from Blockbuster...and finished watching and returned it.

I almost wet my pants during the Kitchen scene in Season 1, Episode 4. And I'm fearing for Bubbles. Not sure if I can wait another day for the next installment. *wringing hands*