I'm Feeling A Pint Low

I didn't pass out. That is a quantum leap forward for this 6'6" chicken. I really don't like needles. I've been trained in CPR, First Aid, and as a Wilderness First Responder (all of which have expired, mind you). And yet needles have an unexplainable power over me.

The last time I gave blood, I was teaching high school biology in Ottawa. The school was hosting a blood donor clinic at the same time I was teaching a unit on blood and circulation to my 11th grade classes. So we field tripped down to the gym to "watch Mr. B. get drained." And right at the end of the pint, apparently my color went white, I got dizzy and a little disoriented. I said something like, "I don't feel so good," and the nurses kicked into the frenzy of attempting to keep their donor conscious. They yanked the needle, tipped the bed back so the blood would rush to my head - at least that's what I remember. It's a little hazy because the room was blacking out and sound was getting fuzzy. I never lived down the stigma of that day. "Remember that time Mr. Bushfield passed out giving blood?" became a frequent refrain in my 11th grade biology class whenever they needed a good laugh. But they got the full pint out of me.

This time was much better. No blurring vision. The nurse was great. Joanna and Justin came with me in case I couldn't drive home. Justin was very brave for me, only covering his eyes and ears for a few seconds while the needle was put in. He was my courage. I got free parking and a T-shirt to show for it, and they let me keep the little orange squeezy-ball.

It's only a precaution - the directed donation. Tessa probably won't need the blood, they tell us. But just in case, she'll have it. And if she uses it, they say she might take on some of my more charming personality traits for a while. We head into the city again tomorrow for the pre-op visit with Tess. We'll know more about what to expect next week after spending time with the surgeon. Thanks for your continuing prayer and support.

We've done our best to explain to Tess what's happening inside her, and what's going to happen - without the gory details that would freak out the bravest kid. She has a basic understanding of the 'clump' inside her and that the doctors have to go in and take it out to keep her healthy and strong. Every once in a while, she shows some evidence of being afraid, although some of this vulnerability has been manifested at bedtime - and she's world renowned for knowing exactly which buttons to press to delay the inevitable requirement of unconsciousness.

So, for those of you praying out there, please pray for Tessa's courage. Pray that she'll be protected from irrational fear, and that we'll be able to strengthen her and comfort her through the next few days. And you can begin praying now, too, for her recovery post-op. I have no idea how they're going to keep her still so she can heal. Tethering a beam of sunshine seems a futile and less-than-possible proposition. We believe wholeheartedly that God is real and that he cares and answers prayer. We believe that the same power that raised Jesus from the dead - celebrated so recently this Easter - is available to be at work in the lives of those who trust in Jesus and live for Him. So please and thank you, keep us in your prayers.