We've got a bleeder!

The last words you want to hear while someone is taking your blood:

"Uh oh! We've got a bleeder!"

I was a bleeder this morning.  Clay and I had to get out of bed at the crack of 7:00 a.m. (I usually get up at 10; this was early for me.) to go into town and participate in a biometric screening for his heath insurance company.  They had to take our height, weight, and suck out no less than 50 gallons of our blood to keep in their evil, scientific lab.

I've donated blood in the past, but I haven't done it in the last several years because I have a tendency to go a little pale and start screaming about tourniquets. But my main reason for not giving blood anymore is because the last time I did, the nurse who was babysitting me accidentally "hit" the wrong vein in my arm.  Since I'm not a masochist, I looked away while she inserted the needle, but looked back immediately when I heard her whisper, "Oops".

What do you mean "oops"? There is no "oops" in removing stuff from my body.

When I glanced over to see what was wrong, I saw it written all over her face.  Like, literally.  As in, my blood was ALL OVER HER FACE.

Blood is meant to be inside your body. If it wasn't, we'd all be running around gushing everywhere and staining each others' linens.

I know that donating blood is an admirable, selfless gift you can give to a complete stranger (unless you're just in it for the cookies), but I'd much rather make a monetary donation to the Red Cross or maybe offer to bake some of those free cookies.  If there was a way to transfer your blood to someone by just touching hands like E.T., I'd donate all the live long day.