My friend, Sunshine, and I, go out to dinner once a month to catch up and get out. Yesterday, she called and we decided to go out tonight – but before dinner, we were going to go donate blood at our local Red Cross center. It had been the requisite 56 days for her; I can’t remember the last time I gave. Appointments were made. I was looking forward to finally giving – my mom {sheepish} works for the Red Cross and always gives me a hard time for not donating {/sheepish} and it’s truly such an easy thing to do to help.

We got there early and read the warnings and laminated booklet with all of the questions – have you been out of the country? have you taken any of these medications? did you ever live in any of the 34 countries? Then signed our names and went to wait.

So there are blood services people who check people in – they take them into little rooms, check their temperatures, verify identity, check iron levels, blood pressure and re-ask all the questions. The rooms are stark; the blood services person I got? Not all that friendly.

The visit started good enough – she asked my name, asked for id, verified that I knew the information on my id {SIDE NOTE: do people actually fake identity so they can give blood??}, verified that I knew I was female (was totally trying not to laugh) and where I lived. Then she stuck a paper thermometer under my tongue, pricked my finger to check for iron levels and took my blood pressure. Then frowned. Then typed in big numbers, frowned again, and asked if I had a history of high blood pressure.

Sometimes this adoption thing sucks, yo

She checked my bp with the “more accurate” cuff {yeah, don’t be afraid of using that the first time, eh?}, and still, numbers were too high. Meanwhile, my tongue is starting to be chopped up by the damn paper thermometer, so I pull it out to speak. She’s printing paperwork, telling me I can’t donate and I still had that damn thermometer in my mouth!!

Apparently, with high blood pressure, giving them blood would be “dangerous”. No more information was offered. I was handed a piece of paper, told to check back another time and dismissed.

And beyond disappointed.

With the process, with her lack of compassion and explanation, with myself.

I guess I had been waiting for a sign; something to kick my ass into gear to start eating better and exercising regularly.

Denial to give blood at the Red Cross beats a heart attack or stroke or something else, I guess.

Tomorrow I will exercise, one way or another. And then on Friday? I’ll worry about Friday. One day at a time, I’ll get in better shape, get healthier.

One day at a time.

Dammit.