When I was 10 I ended up in hospital after an accident with some hot water.
At the time there was talk of me needing a blood transfusion, but in the end I thankfully didn’t need it. However once I’d recovered a bit and finally understood just how ill I’d been I vowed that once I was old enough I would donate blood. I think as a 10 year old that was all I could think of to repay the services of the staff who had looked after me for a month or so. (The running/walking/skipping long distances for sponsorship thing didn’t seem so prevalent in 1991.)
In 1998, when the National Blood Service turned up at my school and gave a talk to the 6th Form about giving blood, I realised I was now just about old enough to, at last, donate. There was a session in town the very next day and off I went to give my first ‘pint’.
And I’ve kept going back. I don’t particularly like the bit with the needle, but knowing that blood was there if I needed it all those years ago, and wanting to make sure there is still blood there if anyone else needs it, keep me going. That and the free biscuits.
And so this summer I hit 50 donations. That’s a lot of blood. My only wish is that it has all gone to help people who have needed it and it has improved their lives. For such a simple thing, just an hour of my time, it has such a big impact.
I’ll keep going, maybe you’d like to join me? And maybe I can get to 100 before I have to stop.
