My First Ever Attempt to Donate Plasma - Part VI

In Part V of "My First Ever Attempt to Donate Plasma," I had finally made it to the plasma donation floor.

Plasma Donation Prep

I stood beside one of the blue vinyl beds while a medical tech sprayed the bed with cleaning fluid and wiped it down. There was no long, thin white layer of paper to lie on. Just the wiped down vinyl bed. I hoped the cleaning spray had done a magical sanitizing job.

I sat on the bed and laid back. The medical tech busily prepared the plasma machine next to my bed. He explained the process to me. He told me that if I began feeling sick at any time, I should let one of the techs know. No reason to freak out, the tech told me. Just tell one of the techs if I start feeling sick.

The Needle Stick

The moment of truth had arrived. The medical tech was holding the needle that would be inserted into the main vein in the inside bend of my right arm. The needle had a tube attached to it. I grimaced at the terminology used by all the medical techs. "Needle stick." "When we stick you . . ." Couldn't they use a more clinical sounding term than stick?

I watched as the needle was stuck through my skin and into my vein. It felt like a regular needle prick. Not exactly pleasant, but not overly painful either. The tech moved the needle around in my arm to make sure it was properly placed in the vein. I felt a slight burning sensation where the needle was connecting with my vein.

Then the tech allowed my blood to flow into the clear tube attached to the needle in my vein. I had imagined my blood would slowly fill the tube. To my surprise, my dark red blood eagerly shot out of my body, filling the tube in a split second. Yikes. Were people psychologically equipped to witness blood spewing out of their own body so rapidly?

The Beginning of the Hour-long Plasma Donation

A small vial was filled with my blood and taken to the lab room. Then the tube was attached to the plasma machine. My blood was being taken, proven by the green light indicating "draw" that was lit up on the plasma machine. Although I watched as my blood exited my vein and made its way through the tube and into the plasma machine, I could not actually feel any blood leaving my body. All considered, I felt reasonably comfortable. Congo played on the television screens hanging from the ceiling in the line of sight of each reclined donor.

The clear, plastic container collecting my plasma began to fill with what appeared to be slightly brownish water.