On the Elixir of Life
Can we not at least acknowledge what we're dealing with here?
squeamish (adj): (of a person) easily made to feel sick, faint, or disgusted, especially by unpleasant images, such as the sight of blood. ~Oxford Dictionary
machismo (n): strong or aggressive masculine pride ~Oxford Dictionary
lifeblood (n): the blood, as being necessary to life. ~ Also Oxford Dictionary, aka, Captain Obvious
It may or may not be a well-known that the ancient Egyptians practiced the “art” of drawing blood from the body to cure disease and malaise, a practice generally referred to as “bloodletting”. What is likely less well known is that bloodletting really took off in popularity in ancient Rome, when the Roman Emperor Nero authorized offering Amazon gift cards to anyone with a rare blood type who was willing to donate. (Scholars debate whether it was the gift cards or the threat of painful execution to anyone who refused to donate which was the real incentive. Who knows.)
Flash forward a few hundred years, and the nice lady assigned to make me bleed introduces herself as Asia. She is obviously kind, if a bit too enthusiastic for this time of the morning. Perhaps that is a sign that she loves her job. It is also likely an indication that she is good at her job, because said job requires her to work with people who are in a relatively vulnerable and uncomfortable position.
Completely helpless and at risk of serious harm, some might say.
As I lie on the glorified gurney in our local, drafty YMCA gym to give away my blood, doing my part for my fellow humans (and also for an Amazon gift card, were I to be completely honest), I feel, not for the first time, the helplessness - not to mention the wholesale “wrongness” bordering on horror - of this situation.
I need my blood, no?
Sure, I have SOME to give to people who require the “excess” more than me.
But, still.
Meanwhile, Asia is in the process of preparing all of the accoutrements (a term of French origin meaning “random mystery stuff”) needed in order to ultimately shove a tiny cylindrical piece of stainless steel through my skin and (hopefully) into my vein, at which point she will collect whatever spills out into a couple of heavy-duty Ziploc-esque baggies.
I don’t remember the bags being that BIG, I think to myself. And what is THAT thing? They definitely didn’t use that last time! Is that guy asleep or dead?!!
At the exact moment she appears ready to commence the main event, Asia gives me the best complement I have received in some time, namely that I have “good veins”. (”Well, thank you. It’s about time that someone noticed.”) As the appreciation for the nice interaction wears off, I have two additional distinct thoughts which clarify my misgivings, a pair of thoughts I commonly have in this situation (aside from the intense curiosity as to what snacks are on that little table by the door):
Thought 1: I don’t really like this.
Thought 2: What kind of man is squeamish about giving blood?
The former thought comes, I think, from a blessed assurance that we are not naturally supposed to have objects of any kind shoved through our skin and into our veins/muscles/cartilage/bones/organs. To be sure, we are extremely blessed to live in an age where people have figured out how to help us by poking sharp items of various sizes and shapes through our epidermal layers.
That still doesn’t change the fact that it’s not natural. That little pinch/burn/shock that one experiences when the needle goes in is not meant to be a “thank you” from the body - unless that’s your thing, in which case this is not the publication you are looking for.
That lightheadedness one experiences is not a gift from the Creator of all things head related, but rather the brain screaming “Stop it! Right now! Or so help me I will shut this whole thing down!”
The latter question about squeamishness and masculinity surely comes from a perceived societal presumption that it is a sign of weakness if one is at all averse to blood - to its appearance outside of the body, more to the point. People who have an aversion to blood are dropped of at the same camp as those with a fear of “simple” medical procedures or people who don’t raise a beer bottle in giddy honor at slow-motion replays of compound fractures on fields of sport.
In our society, we generally mock people who would rather not take part in or witness the letting of blood, and men especially.
But isn’t it only right and responsible to be at least cautious of any event where blood is leaving the body?
As a society, we are a bit schizophrenic on this score. (Schizophrenia: another condition that used to be solved, in part, by the use of sharp objects plunged into the body, and thankfully we’ve moved on from that course of treatment!)
The signs of general healthy societal respect for blood are all there:
Blood is one of the top reasons that our movies and TV shows are marked with restrictive ratings.
Blood is the main character in many a crime scene.
Blood is a sign of commitment, and of sacrifice.
Phrases like “lifeblood” always denote the essential.
Blood is the most tangible sign of life. And death.
Blood is part of the Trinity of hard work and bad 70’s music, leading by a mile its arguably less impressive members “sweat” and “tears”.
When it comes to masculinity and blood, I think we have it all backwards. We should, regardless of the rightful honor and necessity found in giving our blood to people who desperately need it, also respect the one who is at least cautious when it comes to the donation of this all important life elixir.
A side challenge to the women out there: you may claim you want a strong man who isn’t afraid of anything, much less blood and gore. But I beg you to imagine your reaction if, while on a first date, the guy says, “My hobbies? Well, I like to watch things bleed, especially myself.”
You would politely excuse your self and run like bloody hell.
By all means, let’s continue to practice this necessary ritual to help our fellow human beings in their time of need.
But let’s also foster a healthy respect for the misgivings of the blood giver.
By the way, that table by the doors? Stocked with raisins, cookies and apple juice.
I figured I deserved one of each.
Thanks for reading! May your day be filled with a healthy respect for the human circulatory system. And free snacks.
“But, still.” 😂👌🏻
Well shared, Phil. I freely confess: I have always been a (much) less than cheerful, enthusiastic giver of my precious blood. ~Ed.