BDSM & Blood Donation???

Master's knee replacement surgery is approaching, and the recommendation from His surgeon was that He do an autologous blood donation for Himself. That was scheduled for this morning, and I accompanied Him to the center so that, should there be any difficulty at all, I could drive home or whatever. Once we got there, we noted signs all over the place saying, "Bring a friend, have them donate too... blah, blah, blah." We hadn't actually considered that possibility, but since I was there, we decided, "what the heck, I might as well go ahead and donate too..."

Well... not that easy.

Seems I have these little, tiny, wiggly veins, AND blood that does exactly what blood is supposed to do -- it CLOTS readily and rapidly. Just try getting blood out of me. Just try!!!

Now, I should mention here that, while I am an avowed and confirmed masochist, I DO NOT DO NEEDLE PLAY. I've never understood this particular kink. Disclaimer duly given. You are forewarned. Those of you who might be squeamish about such things may want to click "next blog" now...

I filled out all the appropriate forms. Answered all the necessary questions. Got the little finger stick. So far, so good. Vital statistics, all fine... Cleared for take-off. Went on back to the little, comfy, nifty reclining blood-donor chair. They put Master in one close by and get Him started. Phlebotomist #1 steps right up and starts perusing the arms for likely looking veins. He scans the left arm carefully, then zips around to the right side and peers intently at that arm for awhile. Finally, after careful consideration, he settles on the best available vein and wraps my arm up in the worlds' tightest tourniquet. I go to town squeezing on the little ball thingy, and he stabs me with the FIRST needle (while I look the other way -- over toward Master who is happily filling His bag with nice, dark, red blood). I hear my guy go, "Hmmmmm...." This is not the sound you want to hear from the person who has just jabbed a needle into your arm, because in any language on the planet that particular "Hmmmmm" translates as "AHHH FUCK, I just missed the damn vein and now I'm gonna hurt this fool while I dig around in here looking to see if by any chance I might accidentally hit it..." Which is exactly what my guy proceeded to do for a good long while before he gave up and called for help: "Joyce, you wanna come pick this up for me?"

Phlebotomist #2 (Joyce I assume) comes scurrying over and picks up where the first yahoo left off, still poking around inside my arm. I am beginning to not have a lot of fun. Somewhere along the line, one of them asks if I've ever donated blood before, to which I reply, "yes-- lots of times." It occurs to me to ask if any of them have ever drawn blood before, but I don't ask it out loud. Eventually, Joyce declares that the vein in question is just not working and pulls the plug, much to my relief. She suggests, somewhat tentatively, that she could try the other arm and see if she could do any better over there. Like a damn fool, I say, "OK -- sure." We shift sides and do the dance again. Problem is that now she is working on my deaf side. And I am shaken. And I am beginning to fall back onto tricks learned in years of SM play to manage the pain and discomfort -- but of course they don't know any of that. It doesn't go a whole lot better on arm number two. We still don't hit it on the first try. We still have to dig around for what seems like forever to get in the vein. She still hurts me A LOT, but we finally do manage to actually get blood to flow from my veins at long last. I almost cry from the relief. Now, I think, all I have to do is lie here and squeeze the ball every five seconds or so, and fill the bag.

Easy -- right? Wrong.

When we finally get the bag full, and that is no easy trick because my blood wants to clot and plug the tubing -- they have to keep messing with the needle; pushing and prodding and twisting to keep things flowing, we still need at least 3 vials of blood for the required tests. Otherwise the donated blood will be unusable. And damn -- the minute they pulled the bag, that was it. No more blood coming down the pike. Twist and turn all you want. That's it. I was in agony with their darn needle in my arm by now. And increasingly, using what I know to do in order to drop into subspace. Unfortunately, subspace does not look "good" to your average garden variety blood bank staff. Add to that the fact that my left side deafness means that I am likely to be unresponsive to many spoken commands anyway and I had them scared shitless at this point.

Imagine my annoyance when all of a sudden 4 or 5 of them descended on my intensely focused hold on subspace to make me "cough" and breath deeply and wiggle my feet and open my eyes and on and on and on... Good grief!!! How's a girl supposed to put up with all of this stuff you are doing without shrieking if you won't let her concentrate???

They got me "back." Damn and double damn. Sadists everywhere! And went after veins in the backs of my hands. Same song, second verse. First one flattened out as soon as they stuck a needle in it. No blood there. Breathe, focus, deeper, deeper, away... Other hand, another try, another vein, more digging, more pain -- are we hurting you? DUH!!!! Finally!!! Enough blood to do whatever they were going to do. All the cuffs off, all the tubes pulled. Bandages everywhere. Master said it looked like a crucifixion.

I figure they will mark my donor record -- "NOT WORTH THE TROUBLE." Not sure how to chalk this one up -- needle play, non-consensual play with unsuspecting "vanilla's?", blood play...

Hmmmm...

swan

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