I was screaming and kicking. It took four of them to hold me down. People were yelling at me to hold still. They forced me on a table. They held down my arms and legs. Somebody stretched across my shoulders, my legs and my waist. I was strapped on a board. It was hard. I was so scared. They still had to hold me down. I cried and moved my head back and forth. I screamed, "NO, STOP!"

They put a strap around my arm and pushed a needle into my arm. I hate needles. I was so scared. My parents didn't stop them. They helped hold me down. They kept telling me it would be all right, that it would be over in a minute, It was not all right. I was so alone.

When they were done, they got off of me and took off the straps. They smiled. "You can get down now," they said, it was okay what they did. What had I done to make them hate me? I wouldn't do that to them.

This is what it is like to draw blood from a person who does not want to give it. It is invasive, punitive and traumatic. Do the means justify the end? And do you think that such a "patient" is ever going to willingly give blood under these circumstances?

The patient is not the problem here. The problem lies in a system that routinely dehumanizes a person to conduct a procedure. There is a better way.

How PWP Started