Vasovagal Syncope

I wanted to be a nurse
Until I fainted when I lost a tooth.
That tiny drop of blood on my gums
Did me in.

In high school, I was having blood drawn
And woke up on the floor. Irate, the nurse said,
“Why didn’t you tell me you would faint?”
I didn’t know.
Since then, I always make sure I’m prone around needles.

I gave blood once in college.
I had thought that a nurse would siphon off
The quantity in a quick procedure.
No. Twenty minutes of gradual pulsing my hand
I managed to lie there, lifeblood flowing out,
But I left white, in shock, and never did that again.

(For years I kept my weight just under the limit
So I would have no guilt. Donation?
Impossible! Sorry, don’t weigh enough.)

This fainting thing frustrated me, though.
I handle farm and family traumas with
Presence of mind, mopping up blood,
Examining wounds to see the extent of the damage.

I felt betrayed that my self-control vanishes
When the needle punctures my skin.

Recently I learned that this is called
Vasovagal syncope. It is, apparently, genetic.
I’ve passed it to at least one son, who has
Fainted twice (thus far).

It’s the body’s protest against something it dislikes.
I will never be perfect at giving blood,
But there’s nothing I can do about it.
One less failure to fret over.
I act unconsciously.