As far as my goal was concerned, I failed. For the sixth time I was unable to give blood. Once there was the detail about forgetting my license. Are they afraid I will donate someone else's blood? I did see that trick pulled in an episode of White Collar once, but it's too complicated for me. Last summer the air conditioning was down and they couldn't proceed. One day the Red Cross had cancelled the drive for low turnout, but I did not get that news. A couple of times it was my own low hemoglobin count, which was disheartening. I have upped my spinach. 

Today was an entirely unexpected reason. The staff were set up in one half of a gym, with balls thumping loudly in the other half. An hour past my appointment I asked at the desk how much longer it would be. He said that the noise was making it hard to hear diastolic beats, and it was leaving patients too anxious to bleed. Or something like that. We all went home. 

And yet. I had enjoyed passing the time talking with other would be phlebotomizers. One woman is on the cusp of her ninetieth birthday and has given steadily since she was eighteen. She took a brief break to battle breast cancer. Lame excuse, I know. She mentioned that we were in her gym and she takes classes every week. She encouraged me to join. 

"I feel better when I do it," she promised. 

Another woman expressed the fun of pickleball, and though I know she is older than I am she looks younger. She told me about her children and grandchildren, and it was at least as enjoyable as being stuck by a sharp needle. 

Perhaps I could rebrand my to do list. Rather than crossing out "donate blood" as an unfulfilled item, I could write "have a couple of good conversations". That I can in good conscience check off. 

Love,