In which I try to interview a city councillor and spend 5 hours in the hospital instead

Continuing the series on my Increasingly Dangerous Tuesday Activities:

I woke up Tuesday morning and realized I had absolutely no pressing engagements of any kind, so I decided to donate blood. Blood donation can be somewhat of an all-day affair for me, so I try to save it for a day when my schedule is completely clear. 10 minutes after I made my appointment at CBS for noon, I got a call from Harvey Smith, whom I've been hounding all week to give me an interview about eco-friendly house renovations, saying that I could come and interview him at 2pm that day.


The last time I gave blood was almost exactly a year ago, on the day that my sister was busy giving birth to my nephew. After wolfing down some cookies and juice I decided to go visit my sister in the hospital, and nearly passed out in her hospital room. Luckily, I think she was too preoccupied to notice. Taking into account this past blood donation experience, I knew that I could donate blood and then cycle over to city hall directly afterwards and everything would be fine.

So I dressed myself in what I thought was an appropriate Interviewing a City Councilor on the Hottest Day of the Year outfit (white shirt, floral skirt, and 2 1/2 inch high heeled shoes--and yes, this is an important part of the story), and zoomed off to the blood clinic.

They had to test my iron levels twice, because the first time it was 'one point too low'. I knew that having borderline anemic iron levels on the day of a blood donation could cause absolutely no problems for me and so, when the second jab produced iron levels that were 'just high enough', I let them proceed as usual. Everything went off without a hitch, and by 1:23 pm I was cycling from the William Street clinic to the Exchange District in high heels and a skirt on the hottest day of the year.

I got to the exchange district at the exact moment that the temperature hit an all-time high, chained my bike up at Fringe Fest central with the misguided notion that I was going to see a fringe show later that day, and proceeded to slowly collapse on the ground in a near-faint. Concerned passers by stopped to ask me if I was alright and I assured them that I was and waved them away. I had to interview Harvey Smith in 25 minutes and no way was a little bit of unconsciousness going to stop me from doing just that.

After 3 minutes of sitting in my pastel floral skirt on a dirty sidewalk in the exchange, I decided I was well enough to continue, and attempted to cross the street. As I ventured out into the street, I could feel the blackness creep up on me, and decided it was a good idea to lean against the construction barrier to my right. Five seconds later I was being shaken awake by a construction worker who was encouraging me to get out of the street.

I found myself once again sitting on a dirty sidewalk in the exchange district. People kept on looking at my face and telling me I'd need stitches for that and I kept on trying to explain to them that it was actually my knees that were the problem. It was only when the bystanders were explaining what had happened to the paramedics that I found out I had fallen face-first into the construction barrier I had been leaning against and had a sizeable gash on my chin.

I continued to doubt the severity of my injuries, even as I begrudgingly called Harvey Smith and canceled our interview, climbed onto the ambulance stretcher, let them pump 1.5 litres of saline solution into me, and had them tell me once again that I would need stitches for my face. Then they orchestrated a truly marvelous test of my motor skills by sticking tubes in my wrists left arm and taping it down, wrapping the fingers of my right hand in bandaids, putting a heart rate monitor on my right fingertip and a wrapping a blood pressure gauge around my right arm, and then telling me to retrieve my manitoba medical card from the black hole that is my purse. Fun was had by all.

It was only when the doctor was gluing my face back together with liquid stitches (my favourite kind!) and asked for some tweezers to 'put the chin-fat back in the right place' that I realized how deep the gash was. Then they glued my chin back together and now it just looks like I'm growing a little blood goatee. Then they sent me home, and, since no one was available to drive me, I walked home in my not-so-pastel skirt and not-so-white shirt and still incredibly 2 1/2-inch high heels. By the time I was on my street I was sick of my left shoe and took it off, so then I was walking home in one high-heeled shoe, with dirt all up my shins, with a bloody knee, wearing a hospital bracelet, with a wad of gauze taped over my recently-removed IV wound, with a little dribble of dried blood on my hand from said IV insertion, and a blood goatee on my chin.