But the nice lady informed me that I will have to wait for a little bit first. Now call me crazy, but when I finally build up the courage to allow someone to puncture my veins with a sharpened metallic object, I don’t want to spend a lot of time thinking about it.
Just like the first time I gave blood years ago. I was working in a hospital maintenance workshop when a pretty little nurse appeared in our doorway like a perfumed angel. “Would any of you big strong men like to help me?” she asked, and was nearly trampled in the resulting stampede.
When the dust settled, she turned around, smiled over her shoulder and purred, “Follow me boys.” As she led the way up to the hospital we trailed behind her like a herd of drooling poddy calves. For some reason, I was reminded of her recently while watching Pippa walk down the aisle at the last Royal wedding…
Now we didn’t know, or care, where we were headed, but were a little surprised when we found ourselves in the hospital blood bank where several heavily built orderlies gripped our shoulders and ‘assisted’ us to some nearby chairs. The pretty nurse disappeared, and a much older nurse, possibly female, with a moustache and chronic bad breath, proceeded to remove gallons of blood from our arms.
When I finally lurched from the room, sporting a little ‘Bloody Hero’ sticker on my chest, I saw the pretty nurse return with the next batch of goggled eyed victims; a gang of laundry workers she had found smoking in the car park. The suckers!
But the funny thing was, now that the ice had been broken, I kept going back, and even became good friends with the old nurse, who I fondly nicknamed Sister Stabby. Then one day I stopped going, and it became one of those things I meant to do again real soon, but just kept putting off; like sit-ups.
Until now; and fortunately the only thing that has been pricked so far has been my conscience.