My folks had always participated in the local blood drives. Once a year, Dad would round up three kids and a dog into the red Rambler station wagon and troupe on down to the local grange for a Red Cross blood drive.

As we would pull into the parking lot, I would see the bright lights shining from the grange kitchen, always a sure sign of my favorite activity - community treats! Mr. Jones would be on the front porch, greeting folks (...oh, come right on in! Just put your coats over there and take a seat. Gretchen will sign you in...there you go...), while the volunteer firemen and garden club ladies would be bustling around with one sleeve rolled up to show their community spirit and a fresh Band-Aid to mark their recent donations.

The white-hairs would be manning the sign-in table over by the wood-stove and trading gossip (...did you catch who just walked in, and who he's with! ... take a look at that skirt! ...what does she think that she's twenty or something? ... heard Ben got a new tractor, must be nice... have you seen the folks who moved in to the Eberhardy place? ... I don't know, four or five kids, though ...take care, Ethel, don't put the completed forms there, you'll mix them up... We don't want her blood, it must be 90 proof! ...oh, do let me tell her, I want to see the look on her face...) By the end of the evening, that ambient temperature would rise by fifteen degrees...as much from heated comments and knowing looks as from the crackling fir logs in the stove.

I was always fascinated by the white curtains hiding a special "adults only" section where handmade signs were pinned to each curtain with neatly blocked letters clearly stating - "No Kids Allowed". I imagined the sharing of some sort of secret codes and handshakes and passing of top-secret materials took place behind the mysterious white shrouds. Moms and dads were herded to by ones and twos from one curtain to another until finally they emerged adjusting their sleeves and sporting Band Aids on their fingers.

But it was an adult thing - another of those strange events from which I was excluded. So I joined my brother and sister and chased school friends through the parking lot, dashing between parked cars and playing tag for the hour it took for my parents to donate blood. With the attention span of, well, children, we would often tire of the game and wander back up to the porch. Invariably, I would smell the coffee perking in the kitchen and my brother and sister and I would take turns sneaking in for some of the homemade cookies left out on the counter. We would hunker down below the porch in the dark munching on chocolate chip clusters and pecan sandies until one parent or the other would step onto the porch, singing a litany of names from eldest to youngest. This was the signal for my brother to dash back through the kitchen for one last snicker doodle we could share on the ride home.

Though this was an annual tradition at our house, by the age of eleven or so, I stopped accompanying my parents. I stayed home to watch the younger children in their absence, and for fifteen years, I never gave it another thought.

A combination of things brought me back to the donation table. The blood bank in our area launched regularly scheduled blood drives every 56 days, with a donation center a short three blocks away. A coworker whose son had required massive blood transfusions during a surgery began to donate as a way to give back to the community. And my employer allowed time from the workday to participate in the local drives. The only way it could have been any more convenient was for the technicians to draw my blood while I was seated at my desk! So every 56 days, I would receive a telephone call and march myself up to the auditorium and donate a pint.

It isn't so different from those days of donating blood at the local grange. I miss the old wood stove, but I don't think I miss Gretchen and the other busy bodies. Their day has come and gone. There was no Mr. Jones standing on the porch to shake my hand and direct me to the sign-in table, but most donation sites have friendly volunteers to greet donors and guide them through the simple three-step process.

First, a volunteer typed my basic information into an on-site computer. My name and address are recorded in order to notify me of upcoming blood drives, and to track my total donations. I have been donating regularly, and I have never received a solicitation or advertisement based on the information provided.

Second, a technician conducted a private interview behind a screen and away from the main donation area. This is actually the most difficult part of the blood donation process. Due to the advent of the human immunodeficiency virus (HIV), the virus which causes AIDS, blood centers around the country attempt to screen out high-risk donors. Donors are screened not only for possible infection with the HIV virus, but also for Hepatitis, Jacob-Creuzfelt syndrome (a slow virus that causes brain damage and death), syphilis and other dangerous blood born illnesses as well.

After the interview, Ann popped a thermometer in my mouth, a blood pressure cuff on my arm and swabbed my finger prior to testing my blood. She explained that she needed to see if I was anemic, among other things. After disinfecting my finger with alcohol, Ann placed a lancet, sort of a spring-loaded needle, against my finger. She pressed the end of the lancet and before I could blink, a needle popped out and pricked the skin. (That old witch in the Sleeping Beauty story would have loved this!) Ann held my finger over a glass vial of blue liquid and squeezed one perfect round drop of blood into the glass.

As the blood drop floated lazily to the bottom of the vial, Ann explained that this indicated I was approved to donate because I was likely not anemic. A floating droplet can mean just the opposite and if the droplet floats, you are not allowed to donate. Mine sinks every time. Ann took my pulse, then quickly checked my blood pressure and temperature, all of which were within "normal" limits. My pulse was 60 beats per minute, and my blood pressure was 128 over 80 - both a bit elevated (for me), but Ann attributed that to "white coat syndrome", or nervousness in the presence of doctors. I guess I compensated for the elevated measurements with a lower body temperature; at 98.4 F, it was just slightly below normal. According to the American Red Cross, the most common reason for being rejected as a blood donor are anemia (low blood count), elevated temperature, pulse or blood pressure, and travel to a malarial area.

Ann directed me to her friend Bob, another technician who escorted me from the interview area to a group of folding tables in the center of the room. I was now ready for the third step of the process, the actual blood donation.

The blood donation process differs depending on location. The mobile blood drives often set up in auditoriums and gymnasiums with folding tables arranged in squares of four. I am a very tall girl, and I usually feel a bit uncomfortable, as my feet tend to stick over the end of my table and onto that of my neighbor. When I can, I donate at my local blood center, rather than waiting for a blood drive to come to my office. The blood center has some pretty nice permanent reclining chairs with arms that swing away for easy access and a television mounted on the wall. But in either case, I am not there for more than ten minutes, so the comfort of the table is really not a big consideration.

Bob got me settled in, then left to retrieve the bags and paraphernalia required to collect and store the blood. He returned with a bag and tubing and began the process of drawing blood. He asked me to spell my name, taking care that the paperwork, including labels, matched who I said I was.

Bob checked both my arms, then selected the one with the most prominent veins. He applied a blood pressure cuff, but only inflated it enough to make my veins stand out. (My theory is that anything the technician can do to facilitate finding a vein fine with me!). Next, Bob popped open a fresh packet of iodine swabs and swabbed the area clean (yellow, but clean!). By massaging my arm, Bob was able to bring the veins even closer to the surface; he then selected one and "marked" the area by pressing my skin with a handle of the swab. I was now ready for the needle.

The needle is attached at the end of a tube leading into the bag. Bob uncapped the needle and waited for me to look away. (One of these days, I will be brave enough to watch, but even after having given birth to three children, I find I still cannot watch the technician during the actual skin prick). "A little sting", he said, and before I could ask if he was done - he was done! I turned back to see the tube running down into the bag had turned a purpley-red color. Bob hung the bag on the arm of a weighted scale next to the table. When full, the bag would tip the scale signaling to the technician that the bag was full and the donation complete. The human body holds and average of nine pints of blood, one unit of blood is approximately one pint.

Bob placed a squishy ball in my hand and instructed me to squeeze (lightly) once every three seconds or so. Within ten minutes, my plastic bag was full and Bob was back. He sealed the bag, stripped the tubes, and even managed to fill another four vials with blood from a valve in one of the tubes. I watched as he carefully labeled the bag, and each of the tubes with coded labels, asking me once again to spell my name. The tubes of blood would be used to further type and test the blood prior to delivery to hospitals.

Bob applied a bit of pressure to the needle and slid it out so quickly, I didn't even notice it was gone! A quick swipe with an alcohol pad and instructions for me to apply a bit of pressure and hold my arm in the air for three minutes, and Bob was off to further label and store my one unit of blood in a cooler stored beneath their work station.

Bob returned and assisted me off the table. I was a bit dizzy, which is normal and goes away after a few seconds. The dizziness is actually related to the fall in blood volume after donation, and it is the reason persons who weigh less than 110 pounds are not allowed to donate blood. There is about a 1 in 20 chance that a donor may faint during or after blood donations, due to the fall in blood volume associated with donation. Since blood volume is proportional to body weight, smaller persons have a greater percent of their blood volume removed, putting them at an increased risk of these reactions. As a six foot tall, 200+ pound woman, I seldom feel faint for any length of time. The percent of my blood removed is much less than that of a smaller woman.

After assuring himself that I was not nauseous or that the dizziness was not severe, Bob directed me to the "canteen" for a ten minute snack of orange juice (to replace the liquid lost with the donation) and a cookie (to compensate for low blood sugar after donation).

I talked to Ben, the volunteer manning the canteen. He told me there were lots of different reasons folks donate blood. Some are relatives of folks who have required blood transfusions who wish to return the favor to the community. Others are just civic-minded individuals. Ben leaned a bit closer, "Some, he whispered, "just come on down to get away from the office for an hour or so." Then he handed me a cookie and a sticker for my jacket.

According to statistics provided by the American Red Cross, in our lifetimes over 95% of us will need blood, but that in some communities, fewer than 5% of us donate blood each year. I picked up the sticker and smiled when I read the motto...."Give Blood, Get Cookies!". I remembered my brother sneaking back into the grange for one last Snicker Doodle. Everyone is motivated by something.

I received my three gallon pin this week - man, that's a lotta cookies!

Persons who cannot donate include anyone who has a blood-borne disease or who might be at high risk of contracting one. Other conditions excluding potential donors are being pregnant, having low iron or having a cold or the flu. Those who have been in a malaria area during the past year or who have had malaria within the last three years also cannot donate.

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