30 DAYS OF ALTRUISM: Day Twenty Two

Activities: Giving Blood

 

Integrity: Bloody scared!!!

 

Thoughts: Holy shit, I hate needles. Em drove my quivering, pale, reluctant body up to the blood bank in Airport West. I sat, dry mouthed and hunched in the waiting area, filling out an ocean of paperwork to confirm that I was Karin, I didn’t have jaundice and I hadn’t done any man-on-man sex in the last 6 months. A stout lady shuffled me into a tiny office where she attacked my finger with a jagged metal nail and eagerly squished blood out of the wound over and over again, then wiped a bit into a blood machine. Apparently this was a haemo-goblin* test but it felt more like a scene from Dracula. The scene where he conducts a haemo-goblin test.

 

I sat secretly wishing that I had hepatitis or an iron deficiency so that I would be excused from the needle but still get lots of thanks for trying. Annoyingly, I was stamped as perfectly healthy and my goblins were cackling at a good volume. The nail-wielding haemo woman didn’t seem to notice that I was sunken and wan with fear, or rather she chose to ignore my crying and bustled me stiffly out onto the blooding floor. I crept reluctantly between rows of people reclining in sterilised chairs with huge plastic tubes pumping their vital essences away. Haemo woman prodded me into an empty chair and marched off, leaving me with my sweat and shaking limbs.

 

Presently a nurse appeared and began briskly removing equipment from plastic wrappings. She was about to shove the needle straight in when I made a quiet choking sound and for the first time in the whole visit, someone noticed I wasn’t feeling ok. I told the nurse that I was antsy around needles. She asked, “did you ever have a blood test?” I said, “Yes, and I had to lie down afterwards.” She said, “Ahhh…” and gave me a long talk about exactly how blood donation works, how I could stop at any time and how even if I didn’t manage to give blood I was still very brave for coming in. She even let Em in to hold my hand. Eventually, after much fretting and fussing I agreed to let her tear my body open and feast on the bloods within.

 

The jab was scary. She put a band on my arm to pop out my veins, bodybuilder-style, and got me to squeeze a ball in my hand to get the blood flowing. The needle went in sharp and quick and I squeezed both Em and the ball very hard. After a few seconds though, the pain receded and I could only feel the needle if it got bumped and moved under my skin. I was still freaking out a fair bit and Em helped calm me down with encouraging words. She later revealed that she thought I was a dickhead and it was all empty sentiment to end the scene quicker. That makes her simultaneously a good and bad sister.

 

Here’s a photo of me getting jabbed. The nurse shrouded the needle so I wouldn’t freak out.

 

 

After what felt like an hour the nurse un-stuck me and patched up my wound with tape. She made me stay in the chair for another 10 minutes in case I died or something, and she brought some juice to replace the blood. When I was finally allowed to leave the blooding floor, I stood up to find gigantic, dribbling sweat puddles on my chair. I’d been so nervous that I sweated more on that chair than any equipment during Gym Month. We were shuttled into the recovery room where I had a cuppa soup, some milk and a chuppa chup. I was freaked out but otherwise fine, which only made everyone excited for me to come back. The nurses said they’d hassle me to do it every three months. I don’t know if I could cope with that kind of pressure, but at least I’d get a better dinned from them than I would at home.

 

I think the scariness was really all in my head, but that’s the same with any fear. The nurse said she’d rather give blood than sing on a stage. I guess we all have our mosters to battle and I faced mine to save curly headed children with Leukemia. Of course, my stupid blood is AB+ which means only 3% of curly headed children have it. I really hope there’s at least one with Leukemia so I didn’t go through all that for nothing! Hm, that’s not very altruistic…

 

Here’s a photo of me and my milk. Oh, I was so glad to be alive.

 

(* I know what haemoglobin is. I’m just being an idiot.)

30 DAYS OF ALTRUISM: Day Twenty One

Activities: Driving Miss Daisy

 

Integrity: Full Throttle

 

Thoughts: Petrol is probably my biggest household expenditure and because of that I’m quite possessive of it once it’s in my tank. It costs me roughly $50 to fill my 30L tank and that gets me about 500km in good traffic, which lasts 6 to 8 days depending on how much work I have. Now kids, if I buy four tanks and travel 2000km’s, how many people will I flip off on the Ring Road? Write your answer at the bottom along with your name and bank account details.

 

Em had been having car troubles for the past week. She heard a ticking in her engine and was very pleased with herself when she “cured” the problem by topping up the oil. Her hopping with pride ended two days later when the car wouldn’t start and had to go to the mechanics for a full overhaul. Poor Em.

 

I took pity on the lass and decided to be her seeing eye car. I drove to the mechanics so I could give her a lift home, I drove her to the shop so she could buy a custard tart and I drove her to the Mac shop so she could wave her warranty slip in the face of a snotty sales assistant who didn’t want to fix her laptop. Just a typical day.

 

I was rewarded with a tart of my own (and she bought me a pastry! Weyheey!!) but mostly good feelings. I miiight have hijacked the car at one point to go to Poyntons, but the rest of the journey was definitely all about Em’s needs.

 

Here’s a photo of us in the car…

30 DAYS OF ALTRUISM: Day Twenty

Activities: Presents for everyone

 

Integrity: Mysterious

 

Thoughts: Our show was finishing at The Butterfly Club and I wanted to do something nice for everyone in the cast to say “hey, world hunger is still a thing and poverty’s all up in our faces but we all temporarily forgot about those starving babies thanks to the little play we did.” It’s the kind of gesture that makes a team out of rag-tag renegades with nothing to lose.

 

I went to Altona Gate (the mall, not the political scandal) and looked for gifts. Altona Gate is the classiest of malls. The parking lot is bigger than the shopping area, for your convenience, and if you want diamontes glued to the corners of any product, you really need look no further. I trawled through the mobile phone case stands and the polyester nana shirt shops until I found a small gift shop next to the self-serve K Mart.

 

The shelves were crammed with such a diversity oddities; plastic guns next to photo frames next to cigarette lighters next to angel wings. Whoever was supplying this store was clearly taking the leftovers of any other store they could get hold of. I stopped by a rack of personalised pens. Each one had a name and a short description inscribed upon it. For example: “Janet – a generous friend” etc. I couldn’t find any of my friends on the rack and for a while I toyed with the idea of just getting them arbitrary names with accurate descriptions (instead of the other way around) but the pens were $10 each and I didn’t have that kind of cash to gamble on a risky joke.

 

In the end I forewent the pens and left without them. Oh well, it was a good idea but maybe next time. But then, mysteriously, after we finished the show that night four mysterious miniature dragons mysteriously appeared backstage with our names on them mysteriously. I definitely didn’t put them there but they were exactly what our show needed. Tiny gifts for the team. While I can’t take credit for their appearance I definitely wished them into existence and I will take credit for that.

 

Here’s a green dragon guarding the mint.

 

30 DAYS OF ALTRUISM: Day Nineteen

Activities: Calling the Blood Bank

 

Integrity: Pledged

 

Thoughts: Holy shit, I hate needles! They make me stay alive and stuff but they’re so pointy! They get all into my skin and push gooey liquids in there! Or take out my vital essences! I can feel them in there wiggling around trying to find a vein and spewing foreign substances straight into my blood! Oh shit oh shit oh shit I hate needles going into my body. I wouldn’t have even got my ears pierced if Em hadn’t pierce pressured me into it.

 

When I have to get a needle I freeze up like the nurse is a tyrannosaurus. If I stay really still she might stick someone else with her big jabby tooth. My muscles go all rigid, which I’m informed makes the stabbing more painful, but if I were to relax them I’d either start shaking uncontrollably or just vomit straight up all over the nurse-tyrannosaurus.

 

Why the hell did I ring up the blood bank then? Well, Mum said I wasn’t being Altruistic enough in my blog so I needed a grand gesture to the people of Australia. Apparently the only thing of value I have to offer is my blood. I’m hoping that it will go towards saving the life of a beautiful, curly-haired child who has some horrible disease and not reattaching the penis of some idiot footballer who decided to play Chicken with a revolving door. I hope I get a photo of the person I save, like a sponsor child.

 

The lady at the blood bank was very matter of fact as she booked me in to the centre, asking me lots of questions about my lifestyle and general health. Frighteningly, I was totally healthy and eligible to donate so I was popped into the system for early next week. I’m now trying to ignore the pictures of guillotines, gallows and meat cleavers that keep swooping into my head. Fuck I hate needles!!!

 

Here’s a picture of what I imagine my arm looks like after a needle. I made it small because Sexy Man Friend nearly puked when he saw it.

30 DAYS OF ALTRUISM: Day Eighteen

Activities: Dog Surgery

 

Integrity: So pained!!

 

Thoughts: My Dog, also called Good Dog, had a lump on her leg. We discovered it a few weeks ago and it was about the size of a coco pop but gnarled and grey and rather alarming. I took Dog to the vet and the vet said it was nothing and would clear itself up. A fortnight later the lump was craggier, more painful looking and swollen up to the size of Malteser. Again I took Dog to the vet who said that even though the lump was still harmless it would be very annoying to Dog. She said that surgery was an option but Dog would have to go under a general anaesthetic and the whole thing would be very expensive.

 

I opted to forgo the surgery on the grounds that I was way too poor to pay for an operation for something non-life-threatening to Dog. Dog, however spent the next few days sadly lapping, whining and gnawing over the lump and her whole leg looked red, sore and itchy. Eventually, I felt so sorry for the poor beastie that I gathered my shekels and booked her in for the operation. It was way more than I could afford but I knew it was the best thing for Dog. Stupid Altruism. Stupid feelings.

 

Day Eighteen dawned and I drove Dog in for her 8am appointment. She was cranky because we had to skip breakfast, I was cranky because I was up at 8am. I started having second thoughts about my decision. What if something goes wrong? What if they can’t stitch her little leg up? What if they give her too much gas and she doesn’t wake up? Am I putting her in more danger than I would if the lump had stayed put? While I dithered, the vet looked firm and confident and whipped Dog away in a flash. Dog didn’t want to say goodbye to me because the vet had liver snacks.

 

Eight hours later, Dog was returned to a very relieved Karin in one piece. Well, two if you count the lump. She was groggy and had a bucket on her head but the Vet said she’d be 100% fine in ten days. I drove Dog home where she sad sadly all evening trying not to bump her bucket on things. It was a tricky decision but I know it was the right one because I had to use up a lot of money to get it.

 

Here’s a picture of the saddest dog in Essendon. On a smurf blanky. That bucket is so big that Dad wanted to put her on the roof to see if we could get Foxtel.