No more shooting up with the Red Cross

When I was 17, the Red Cross held a blood drive at my high school. A bunch of my friends had signed up to donate, and, not to be outdone, I too put my name on the list. That single act of "don't wanna look like a pansy-ism" has resulted in many subsequent donations, and an oh so attractive cluster of needle point scars over the one vein in my arm that is occasionally visible enough to tap. I figure, since my body can efficiently replace the lost blood, then there's no reason for me to hoard it. On the other end of the spectrum, is Scott. His mantra is that he needs his blood. All of it. In the nearly 5 years that I have known him, I have tried many times to convince him to accompany me to a blood drive and donate. My success rate in that endeavor has been an astounding 0%. Apparently I was going about it all wrong. Last Sunday the blood drive coordinator from our ward was recruiting donors for the latest extravaganza, and he approached Scott about donating. For some odd reason, when confronted with the fact that I had already signed up, Scott mysterious told the coordinator he would do it too. Apparently "don't wanna look like a pansy-ism" isn't only a high school malady...you just need the proper motivation for it to come out. The blood drive was yesterday, and though I was informed that my blood pressure was lower than normal (but slightly higher than that of a corpse), my donation went off without a hitch. When it was Scott's turn, I was sure to hover and provide moral support. I cracked lame jokes while the technician inserted the needle, and I reassured him that the worst part was over. After exactly two minutes, Scott mumbled that he wasn't feeling so hot. A staffer came over and started to put the back of his chair down to ease the feeling. She told him to uncross his legs and cough, but there was no response from him. The color completely drained from his face, his eyes rolled back into his head, and he was gone. After yelling his name no fewer than 7 times without any response, the staffer called for reinforcements and quickly set about removing the needle and doing what she could to help Scott regain consciousness. It was quite the flurry of excitement. Scott finally came around after several seconds of radio silence, and was presented with his golden ticket response for any future donor coordinators trying to put the squeeze on him: Donor Reaction. The staffer checked the box on Scott's form, asked him some questions to make sure he was feeling better, instructed him to stay put for another 15 minutes, and then rest an additional 15 minutes at the snack table. We spent the requisite amount of time hanging out and laughing it up with other donors in attendance, all of whom I'm sure were glad the center of attention was not any of them. We had to ditch Scott's car at the stake center because he was obviously in no position to drive, and on the way home, he informed me that while he had seen a light, he didn't go towards it. Though I'm pretty sure no one had ever died while giving blood, I was reassured nonetheless.