Bad Blood

So,  off I went today to donate blood. I'm O-negative and a fondness for red meat or spinach or whatever gives me iron rich blood.  The only time I was ever turned down for a donation was when I didn't quite tip the scales at 110.  Those day are gone, long gone forever.

I answered all the questions and had good answers I thought, except perhaps for one question:  have you had any needle pricks?  Truth be told I've had a bunch.  Our sweet, fat tortoise cat Thisbe is diabetic and gets insulin twice a day.  Bear in mind this is the same expensive insulin that humans take, except of course, Thisbe gets very small doses.  With small thin sharp needles.

This post is written by a person, me, with poor small muscle coordination.  It's always been that way.  Don't ask.  I don't stuff dates.  I sure as hell don't stuff cherry tomatoes.  Knitting?  Nope.  Crocheting?  Surely you just.  A bit of embroidery was my height of needlework?  No jewelry repair.  I can sew on a button, O.K.?  I am challenged if the fingers need to be agile or dexterous. 

The upshot of this is that I stick myself from time to time with Thisbe's needles.  Usually putting the cap back on to dispose of in the needle jar.  Since I've been skewering myself for as long as I've been skewering the cat, with no ill effects, I thought I would be home free with the blood people.  Not. 

Banned for a year.  Now the chances of my not sticking myself for a whole year are remote.  Banned for life.  All that good rich blood.  Alas, Thisbe.