I went to the local Blood Bank the other day to donate a pint of blood, something I do every eight weeks or so.  As much as I hate getting the same routine questions from the check-in nurse every time I go (“Have you ever had sex, even once, with a male since 1976?;  Have you ever used, or had sex with someone who used, internasal cocaine?” etc.) and as much as I hate getting impaled by the HUGE needle, I found myself looking forward to the visit, as, I came to realize, I always do.

So on this particular day I found myself at one of Honolulu's Blood Banks and as I laid there, reclining on the couch with the enormous needle sticking in my arm (and thinking "this can't be good for my veins!"), I was quietly observing the nurses going about their business of drawing blood from the several donors present.  Without exception, each and every nurse was smiling and friendly.  At least three separate nurses would check on me every couple of minutes to see how I was doing.  They smiled, they laughed and they constantly thanked me for coming in.  They gently teased me and laughed some more, all the while methodically and efficiently going about their business with the several donors.

When I was finished, I got up (at least two nurses surreptitiously watched me closely to make sure that I didn't faint) and headed to the little kitchen for some juice and cookies.  All the nurses smiled and said goodbye and thanked me again and again. 

I walked into the kitchen, which was staffed by two sweet little old ladies, volunteers, who greeted me with warm smiles and then they too thanked me for coming in.  They offered me a choice of several flavors of juice, asked me if I wanted a manapua or a donut.  I smiled, took a couple of those little white-powdered donuts that I love, but only allow myself to eat when I give blood (my reward to myself), and then jokingly complained that there were no chocolate chip cookies.  “I only come here for the chocolate chip cookies!  Where're the cookies?” I teased.  The ladies smiled and told me I came in too early.  The cookies wouldn't be delivered until later that morning. 

So I took my donuts and guava juice and sat down to enjoy my reward and peruse the paper.  As I was looking at the business section, one of the ladies came over with two little packages containing two chocolate chip cookies each and quietly slipped them to me as if we were making a drug deal.  “You found some!” I exclaimed in pure joy.  “Thank you”.  “Shhhhh!” she gently scolded me, “Don’t let anyone know”.  I don’t know if the cookies were from her private stash, or perhaps they were yesterday’s cookies, but wherever they came from, she made a special little effort to make me happy.

I left the blood bank feeling just a little light-headed but with a big smile and a warm feeling of …contentment?  Was that what I was feeling?  I felt like I had just spent a half an hour or so with a few very good friends.  I contemplated this feeling as I drove to my office to start my workday and had a mild epiphany -- I realized that I had just spent a wonderful 35 minutes or so with a few genuinely warm, friendly and caring people.  I realized that one of the driving forces that takes me to the Blood bank every eight weeks is ….to be paid attention to!  I go to spend a few genuine moments with real, compassionate human beings and to connect on a surprisingly intimate level.  I go to be with people who make me feel good about myself and about being alive.

The Rabbi Harold Kushner wrote about this in his wonderful book When All You’ve Ever Wanted Isn’t Enough.  Rabbi Kushner tells us to “Belong to People”.  Although I don’t think he was speaking specifically about being poked with a syringe, he wrote “Accept pain as part of your life.  Know that you have made a difference.  We need to belong intimately to a few people who are permanent elements in our lives.  Having a lot of casual acquaintances to talk sports or recipes with is no substitute…One human being cannot be completely and authentically human without ongoing relationships with a few people.  And they have to be people with whom we share our whole lives, not just a function of our time and ourselves.

In today’s world, where everyone is ensconced in his or her little private iPod, cell phone My Space, Second Life and chat room bubble, struggling just to get through the day, we find ourselves having to pay our therapist, our waiter, or our trainer or whoever, just so we can spend a few quality moment with someone who will talk to us as a live human being and take our lives seriously. 

For me, what’s a pint of blood for a few precious moments of being coddled and nurtured by pretty nurses and sweet little grandmothers?