Went to bleed myself again, this time with a friend, my army buddy Amrish. Despite it being a Saturday, there was quite a crowd at the blood bank. Everything proceeded much faster than before: no more mollycoddling. But thank goodness they still used anaesthetic. The nurses still have the same warped sense of humour: upon asking if there would be anaesthesia applied, she replied with a hopeful smile, 'well yes, unless you don't want any?' And why is it that everytime I wince (okay, squirm) at being stuck, there's always an old veteran donor across the room smirking at me?
Overheard when the lifeblood was being drained from my veins:
Nurse: You can use this coupon to redeem a drink and snack outside.
Donor: Do you have any spirits?
N: No, not these days at least. We used to give donors Guinness Stout thirty years ago, because there were so few of them then. But not anymore, not after having problems with some getting drunk.
D: Pity.
Well one can imagine that losing a litre of blood and making up for it with a pint of beer is not likely to result in sobriety!
Ruminations, in the absence of a rumen, become rather public affairs.
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