I have now completed the whole platelet-giving process outlined in the previous post. It went pretty well, and I got to watch my A Few Good Men DVD for about the 2,184,375th time while the blood-and-platelet-pumping-and-separating-and-pumping-back-in machine was doing its thing. (I'm very glad I brought my own movie rather than picking one from their library, because the other two donors were watching Legally Blonde and Anger Management, and if those are good representatives of their selection, yikes.)
I said it went "pretty well." Actually, it went really well for about 45-50 minutes. Then it started getting a little painful. Not excruciating, but not comfy. The nurse figured out what was going on -- she said the needle had "infiltrated," which of course, to someone with zero knowledge of medical terminology except what I've learned on Scrubs, is not a very comforting word. Then she explained what she meant by that, and the gist of it is that it was my fault. I moved my arm a little too much, and the needle slipped away from the vein and was pumping blood into non-vein areas... which means, basically, there's going to be bruising. I'm supposed to ice my arm for a day or so to minimize the black-and-blueness.
Once they disconnected me from the pump, they put an icepack on my arm and brought me a muffin and orange juice. The muffin was top-notch but, being that I was still lying down, there was no place for the crumbs to go but my shirt. I feel this was a pretty good illustration of the notion that muffins are really more of a sitting-down-at-a-table food.