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| Sunny Side Up March 20, 2002 �2002, Kathleen Gibson There�s power in the blood My blood drop flattened out on the surface of the liquid in the beaker and stayed there. Good blood drops are supposed to sink to the bottom. Even I know that. �Uh, oh, trouble,� the woman sitting behind screening desk of the blood donor clinic chirped. �What kind of trouble?� I demanded. She smiled reassuringly. �Oh, nothing major�just looks like you haven�t been eating enough liver. Your iron�s a tad low.� She handed over my file and pointed to an empty seat. �A nurse will give you information on how to boost it.� I plopped down beside my snickering daughter, whose blood drop had bounced off the beaker bottom in record time. (And she doesn�t even like liver!) �Well, Mom, you really weren�t excited about giving blood today anyway,� she said. I sighed. True. I came to donate because I still owed several pints after anonymous donors had given me theirs, years ago. My single previous experience giving blood had convinced me that I would never be a candidate for the hundred-pint plaque. But lily-livered was taking on a new meaning now. A nurse educated me on the perils of low iron in an enclosed booth with blue carpet on the walls. I�m a grown Protestant woman, but I felt like a small Catholic child. �No, I don�t eat much meat; yes, I�ve been feeling tired; yes, I�m losing some hair � not handfuls though; no, I�m not short of breath�yes, I understand that I need to eat more iron-rich foods�� Properly chastised, confession made, I walked past the stretchers where the donors lay, their iron-rich blood coursing through the clear tubing into the plasma separators, quietly rocking on the floor beside them. No sign of Amanda. Still in the confessional, I guessed. Spotting a friend at the table set with plates of cookies (for actual donors only), I joined her to wait. �They rejected me,� I said, hoping for pity. �Me too! Low iron.� Karen laughed. �Same here,� echoed the woman across the table. �Darned iron.� �We�re just a table of rejects,� someone observed. I grabbed an Oreo. �Well, okay. I get a cookie for trying at least. Maybe it�ll boost the iron.� It didn�t, and I was tired for months. An old woman at forty-five, I thought. Tra-la, tra-lee, the rocking chair for me. Then my doctor flashed me a warning about iron deficiency anemia. I�m on an iron supplement now, and taking B12 shots. Jumping out of bed in the mornings like Tigger and putzing late into the night, antics I thought were long gone. I took communion in church yesterday, and thought of the vast difference between Christ�s blood and mine. There are no deficiencies in his blood, only pure, unadulterated power�eternal-life-giving power. And on the cross he donated it all to gain heaven for me. A donation like that I can never repay, except to offer him my life. �Just as I am�without one plea�but that His blood was shed for me. You can respond to this column at [email protected] |
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