Another donation

I’ve written before about blood donation, how we match up patients on ship who might need blood transfusions to crewmembers with the same blood type.  I’ve written before about donation, the personal element present here that is often lacking when I donate in the West, the intimate knowledge that the intravenous cannula I put in one night would transfuse my own life for Mariam with the sunrise, the surreal moments of watching my own blood drip through the chamber whole and warm.  And there is nothing like spontaneous hugs from an energetic little boy, knowing that the bits of myself I gave away two months ago have made a difference.

Yesterday was the sixth day I’ve been crossmatched to a patient in just over a week…after waiting exactly the minimum time since my last donation of two pediatric units for Eddie.  B+ blood is a hot commodity here in West Africa, and not common among the rest of the crew.  And because our blood storage capability is limited, we prefer to store it uncollected, inside a crewmember.  The week progressed into a laughable pattern – crossmatch notice in the evening, solid meals with several liters of water each day – and by Friday morning my bladder was starting to object.  On Friday afternoon I came home to my room and just started to giggle…not only did I have another crossmatch notice, but above the line where my name was written in as the donor, I had “faithful, old” written in as well.

Apparently #6 was the winner, because I got paged to finally donate – the third of four units of blood for a patient (quite a lot of our current B-group blood!).  But this time after Claudia pulled out the needle I downed an extra pint of water and asked if this time, maybe I could take my own blood to the patient.

So I waited, chugging orange juice, while she cross-checked the blood type to be extra sure, then I signed the transfusion form in the “staff delivering blood” spot, and carried it carefully down the hallway. 

A scrub cap and set of booties later, I found myself offering a double handful of my own blood to the anaesthetist in OR#3, the cobaan elastic wrap around my elbow still smooth and white over the vein we finished taking blood from less than ten minutes ago.  Lina was stretched under a sterile blue sheet, breathing easily with the ventilator, a name and type and blood bank number on a page as we checked and crosschecked the details. 

I only gave 450 mL...an amount my body can easily spare and quickly replace.  I might be a little lightheaded, or more tired the next few days, but I probably won't miss it much.  But if we needed to give all of mine, to save these lives at the cost of my own...would I be willing?  Would I give my life?

Jesus willingly gave all His blood: as a covenant and payment, for freedom and holiness.  He watched it drip, whole and warm, knowing it would give life in abundance.  But at what cost?

In giving everything, He has given us everything.  What an incredible gift.

Whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be slave of all.  For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many. ~ Mark 10: 43b-45