In the weeks leading up to Wahlert’s annual fall blood drive on Nov. 3, 2014, I kept telling myself that I wasn’t nervous to donate for my first time, and I would never be nervous. I’m a tough person, I thought to myself. This will be no big deal.

On my exterior, I tried to emote an attitude of calm, cool, and collected. But on the inside, I was anything but.

Worst case scenarios which had little chance of happening kept flooding my head. What if the tube thingy comes out of my arm and blood spews everywhere and I faint and can’t see so I walk in front of a bus and die?!

I knew this would (probably) never happen to me, or anyone in the world for that matter, so my nerves were strangely calmed by my twisted sense of imagination.

Beyond any apprehension that I may have had about donating blood, I knew it was a worthwhile cause. A single donation has the potential to save the lives of three people. It sort of surprised me that just an hour or so of slight discomfort on my part could benefit others so profoundly. I was also curious to see what blood type I am, but that motivation was more out of self-gratification.

I followed every guideline to make sure that my donation process went as smoothly as possible: eating a big breakfast, drinking (what seemed like) gallons of water, and getting a full night’s sleep. But on that Monday morning, I was still insanely nervous.

The one hour long delay that occurred because of computer troubles also contributed to my anxiety about donating. I just wanted to get the ordeal over and done with, as quickly and easily as possible.

As I headed into the gym at my designated time, I was welcomed by the smiling faces of volunteers contrasting against the rather nervous faces of those actually donating. I reluctantly went through the pre-donation process, answering the nurse’s questions and passing (somewhat sadly) the iron test (Had I not passed, I would have had an excuse to avoid the giant needle!). Then it was time to get to the actual donating.

The nurse that was assigned to me (bless her!) successfully found my vein and got the process rolling, the whole time calming my worries, which were clearly seen on my face. She had to shift the needle around a little to find my “sweet spot,” and this minor discomfort was the most pain I felt in the whole process. But a few minutes in, my blood sort of decided to quit pumping, and my arm formed a lovely bruise.

“That means it’s time to stop,” the nurse said, hastily removing the needle from my arm. I had only filled up about a fourth of the bag, but that’s all I could do for my first donation. The nurse said my blood couldn’t be used for patients, but could be used for testing purposes. I spent the next few minutes recovering from my minimal blood loss and was quickly on my way back to class.

Even though I had my doubts before and during donating, I have no regrets looking back on the experience. I, by no means, enjoyed the actual experience, but my motivation behind it encourages me to try it again.

Donating gave me the feeling that I was actually making a difference, even though I could only donate a measly fourth of a pint. I highly encourage everyone to consider donating. I know the whole thing seems a little scary, but its benefits far outweigh the short time of discomfort.

Ask me if I’ll be donating next time, and I will (grudgingly) answer, “Of course.”