Tea & Biscuits (A Blood Donor's Story)

TEA & BISCUITS

My number was called
So I raised my hand;
She waved to me,
I decided to stand.

She called me over,
Pointed to a chair,
Retrieved my number
And said, “Sit there.”

I guess she was thirty-ish,
Or she may have been older;
She fiddled with papers
Inside a folder.

Then, she grabbed my hand,
Talking all of the time;
I thought my luck was in;
Everything was fine.

She looked into my eyes,
Said, “Now, don’t be sick”;
Still holding my hand, said
“It’s only a little prick.”

I wondered who she’d spoken to;
How on Earth did she know?
I felt quite inadaquate,
And wanted to get up, and go.

Then, I realised,
What she meant;
Her remark was made,
By accident.

She squeezed my thumb
Until it went white;
Then she unwrapped a lancet,
That shone in the light.

She stabbed at my thumb,
Blood rose to the surface;
Still she kept talking,
To make me less nervous.

She handed me a swab,
Saying, “Hold it a while;”
While she dropped my blood
Into a phial.

She said she was done,
I could take a chair.
My name would be called,
I could sit anywhere.

I joined the crowd
In the busy hall;
Waited patiently for
My name to be called.

I looked at people
Coming in late;
They’d probably waited
For the rush to abate.

Laughing to myself,
Thought, I’d got here first –
That’ll teach them –
They’ve come off worse.

My name was called
And the lady said,
She wanted me
To lay on the bed.

She asked me some questions,
I answered the truth;
When a doctor appeared
From a curtained-off booth.

A strap was placed
Above my elbow joint;
Inflated, til it reached
The required point.

The doc. Smiled serenely,
And pressed my arm;
Assuring me, I would
Come to no harm.

Then, he unsheathed a needle,
A bloody great thing,
And inserted it swiftly,
Under my skin.

It entered a vein,
Blood began to flow;
The strap was removed,
And the doctor did go.

The nurse said, “Hold this,
Roll it in your hand”
(I hoped she’d offered
her mammary gland.)

I would have settled
For her knicker elastic;
But, all I got
Was a piece of plastic.

She said it would make
The blood flow easy;
It would be quicker,
And I wouldn’t feel queasy.

It took several minutes
Until she succeeded,
To get sufficient amount
Of the blood, she needed.

She withdrew the needle,
Pressed a swab down, where
It had been inserted,
Said, “Hold that, there.”

Wads of cotton wool
Were taped in place;
Then she told me to rest,
Just in case.

I lay on my back,
My job was done;
It hadn’t hurt,
In fact…it was fun.

The next ten minutes,
While on my back,
I stared at the ceiling,
And counted the cracks.

After a while
I got to my feet;
Was directed to a table;
Told to take a seat.

A wrinkled old lady
Asked if I wanted a drink;
Tea, coffee or squash,
Or water from the sink.

Help yourself to biscuits,
While you rest a while;
Others at the table
Chatted and smiled.

People of all walks of life;
There was no discrimination;
All had given their free time
To make a much needed blood donation.

That was many years ago,
I started, before I was twenty;
Over the years I’ve given lots of blood,
My arm must be nearly empty.

I felt really special
On my tenth donation;
As I showed my bronze badge
To the rest of the Nation.

The years went by,
I got to twenty-five;
Thought I’d probably helped
Someone to stay alive.

A silver badge
to adorn my lapel,
I was still healthy myself,
As far as I could tell.

When I’d reached the fifty mark,
I received an invitation,
To attend a London gathering
For a special presentation.

My wife and I
Had a lovely time,
At the Commonwealth Centre,
With food, and wine.

Photo’s were taken
As I went to the stage,
And shook peoples hands,
As presentations were made.

A gold badge now joined
The other two;
I was getting older now,
But good for another few.

Seventy-five donations,
When I got a letter
For another function,
And a get-together.

Covent Garden was the venue, this time,
A glass dish, I was awarded;
Engraved with the blood donor logo,
Along with my badges, it is now hoarded.

Photo’s appeared in the local paper,
A group, who formed a legion;
All reaching that seventy-five mark,
Living in the same region.

My aim was to get to one hundred,
So, again in the glory I’d bask;
But then I received a set back,
To my mammoth task.

My G.P. said I was diabetic,
I was far from being elated;
Nobody wanted blood from me
Once it was contaminated.

I’ve regretted that day
For several years;
At first, it left me
Close to tears.

I hadn’t been able
To reach my aim;
I’d let them down,
Diabetis was to blame.

Now, I see adverts,
And I must confess,
I feel a failure,
When I read the press.

But, then I think,
“Well, I’ve done my bit,
as long as I could,
while I was still fit.”

Now it’s time for others
To enter the fray;
Give up an hour
Of their precious day.

But, what is an hour ?
In our daily strife,
If it manages
To save a life.

So, I’d urge anybody
Til I’m blue in the face,
To donate their blood,
From any race.

Colour doesn’t come into it,
If your blood is acceptable;
To display those badges with pride
Will make you look pretty cool.

Think of your own family,
Or the ones you love;
Would you see them suffer,
For the sake of a drop of blood ?

Give it a try, like I did,
It won’t hurt – just you see;
Then, afterwards you can sit a while,
With your biscuits, and cup of tea.

Reap the rewards for your part in the service,
Without you laying on that bed,
Unfortunately, a lot of people
Throughout the Country, would now be dead !

© Jim Bell

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