I kind of enjoy giving blood. Not so much the needle piercing my skin, but it's a good, easy thing to do. It doesn't take very long and it helps people. Plus, I'm O positive which happens to be universally accepted. If any of you need blood, I'm your girl. My blood is a non-judger. It doesn't discriminate. It accepts all. I'm pretty sure that we could wax philosophical and discuss how my blood could act as a metaphor for the implications of accepting all people and how this could lead to world peace and overall harmony throughout the universe.
But, I digress. I gave blood, thinking that on top of this small feat I would still keep my regular routine of attending the gym following work. The phlebotomists advised I not use my arms the rest of the day which was fine--I checked with my trainer Justin and we decided to have a leg day instead of an arm day at the gym.
Now, when Justin has me lift weights, he doesn't hold back. It's grueling, to be honest. And yet, I keep coming back. I'm not sure why. There's something so electrifying about finishing a session with him, but it sucks when you're lunging, squatting, doing pull ups, whatever. It hurts! This day, Justin was no different. He slugged some plates onto a bar and had me start doing squats. Up, down, up, down, I wasn't initially alarmed when I felt my right arm began to tingle a little. It often does this when I squat--something to do with the bar cutting off circulation as it rests on my neck.
But the tingle didn't go away. And when I looked down at my arm I saw a tiny bubble underneath my skin. Um . . . the blood under my skin was clotting! A little lump of blood was building under my skin. Disgusting! What can I say? I panicked. "Justin! Justin!" I hissed. I pointed at my arm. There was nothing more I could say. I was freaking out. I instantly pictured myself passing out or vomiting from the nausea.
Justin, however, found this to be an exciting event. He's an aspiring PA (physician's assistant) and he was all about pretending I'm a real patient. So he jogged over to the front desk--somewhat free and easy, I should say--and grabbed gauze and athletic tape. He made me sit down because he really did think I was going to pass out. I didn't think that was going to happen, but I was still dazed from the fear that somehow I was going to die from the blood clot. Can you tell that I wasn't thinking clearly? I will admit, that I had a 'moment' with God later that night. There were too many images floating through my head of me dying. I honestly wondered if as I drifted off to sleep if this was going to be my last night. If so, I needed to make amends with a few people, clean my room, make sure my hair was washed. Instead, as I jumped back to reality, Justin wrapped the entire gauze bandage around my arm so tightly that minutes later my arm turned purple and once again it was tingling. It kind of hurt. That's Justin for you, always making me hurt.
This also happened to be the night that I worked at the gym. As I scanned people's membership cards, almost every person asked what had happened to my arm. I felt pretty sheepish and tried to blow it off. How do you say, "I gave blood and like an idiot I lifted weight afterwards." It makes me sound like a masochist. Like some weirdo who can't get enough from the gym. Although, when you think about it, I guess that's true. I go to the gym everyday. I don't feel good when I don't go. It just seems like I'm slightly unhinged. What's worse,I had no idea how to explain the 'incident' to my co-workers. Usually when random people asked what happened to me, I replied, "I gave blood," like that explained it all. And people would nod their heads like they knew what I was talking about. But at work, they'd all given blood too! They wouldn't look at me like they understood. Nothing had happened to them. They would know that there was something inherently wrong with me. I was grateful for my little cubicle, and that nobody ever came by.
I will say, that I was left with the most wicked bruise. If nothing else, I had a bangin' bruise on my arm and it looked fabulous. When it comes to bruises, I say go big or what's the point? Check out that beauty. Yes, it's sexy.
But, I digress. I gave blood, thinking that on top of this small feat I would still keep my regular routine of attending the gym following work. The phlebotomists advised I not use my arms the rest of the day which was fine--I checked with my trainer Justin and we decided to have a leg day instead of an arm day at the gym.
Now, when Justin has me lift weights, he doesn't hold back. It's grueling, to be honest. And yet, I keep coming back. I'm not sure why. There's something so electrifying about finishing a session with him, but it sucks when you're lunging, squatting, doing pull ups, whatever. It hurts! This day, Justin was no different. He slugged some plates onto a bar and had me start doing squats. Up, down, up, down, I wasn't initially alarmed when I felt my right arm began to tingle a little. It often does this when I squat--something to do with the bar cutting off circulation as it rests on my neck.
But the tingle didn't go away. And when I looked down at my arm I saw a tiny bubble underneath my skin. Um . . . the blood under my skin was clotting! A little lump of blood was building under my skin. Disgusting! What can I say? I panicked. "Justin! Justin!" I hissed. I pointed at my arm. There was nothing more I could say. I was freaking out. I instantly pictured myself passing out or vomiting from the nausea.
Justin, however, found this to be an exciting event. He's an aspiring PA (physician's assistant) and he was all about pretending I'm a real patient. So he jogged over to the front desk--somewhat free and easy, I should say--and grabbed gauze and athletic tape. He made me sit down because he really did think I was going to pass out. I didn't think that was going to happen, but I was still dazed from the fear that somehow I was going to die from the blood clot. Can you tell that I wasn't thinking clearly? I will admit, that I had a 'moment' with God later that night. There were too many images floating through my head of me dying. I honestly wondered if as I drifted off to sleep if this was going to be my last night. If so, I needed to make amends with a few people, clean my room, make sure my hair was washed. Instead, as I jumped back to reality, Justin wrapped the entire gauze bandage around my arm so tightly that minutes later my arm turned purple and once again it was tingling. It kind of hurt. That's Justin for you, always making me hurt.
This also happened to be the night that I worked at the gym. As I scanned people's membership cards, almost every person asked what had happened to my arm. I felt pretty sheepish and tried to blow it off. How do you say, "I gave blood and like an idiot I lifted weight afterwards." It makes me sound like a masochist. Like some weirdo who can't get enough from the gym. Although, when you think about it, I guess that's true. I go to the gym everyday. I don't feel good when I don't go. It just seems like I'm slightly unhinged. What's worse,I had no idea how to explain the 'incident' to my co-workers. Usually when random people asked what happened to me, I replied, "I gave blood," like that explained it all. And people would nod their heads like they knew what I was talking about. But at work, they'd all given blood too! They wouldn't look at me like they understood. Nothing had happened to them. They would know that there was something inherently wrong with me. I was grateful for my little cubicle, and that nobody ever came by.
I will say, that I was left with the most wicked bruise. If nothing else, I had a bangin' bruise on my arm and it looked fabulous. When it comes to bruises, I say go big or what's the point? Check out that beauty. Yes, it's sexy.
6 comments:
Yowza! That is a serious bruise.
Yeah that one doesn't look too good. Maybe next time go the gym before the giving of blood. I admire you for your dedication... it makes me sick and I can't do it... think spinning rooms and greenish black spots on the ceiling... yeah.
Wow. That is probably the most rentangular bruise I have ever seen. I am kinda funny when it comes to bruises also. I am always secretly proud of the really bad looking ones. Like I did something really brave or really heroic or really hard to deserve it. I pretty much wear my bruises like a badge of honor.
Oh, and I love to push on them and feel just a twinge of fresh pain, look who is the masochist now. :)
Yikes...that some bruise! I guess giving blood and pumping iron just dont mix...how is the new job going, still liking it?
You are about to die and you want to wash your hair?!? While you are at it, would you make some cookies for your hearse driver? He'd really appreciate that...
I hope your arm looks better. :o(
Oh Melissa...I am also an idiot like you (that was meant with all the love in the world). I lifted after I gave blood a couple of months ago and got a fabulous bruise...although it pales in comparison to your beauty! At church a few days later, a woman in Relief Society asked who was so horrible at drawing my blood. I told her they got me easy...I just wasn't so smart and worked out after. She told me "that's the stupidest thing and how could you be so dumb...you know better". Where the hell is faith, love, and charity?
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