Be The Match, Part 2: The Physical Exam

This is the second part of a series I’m writing documenting my experiences donating stem cells through Be The Match. Click here to read the other parts of the series. Enjoy!


“I’ll tell you, it’s a good thing it’s the women who give birth,” she said with a chuckle.

I couldn’t see the nurse’s face when she made the comment because my eyes were still closed. I felt myself manage a smile but couldn’t quite muster words at that point. It wouldn’t have made much of a difference if my eyes had been open; she had been wearing a mask over her mouth since I had met her approximately a half hour earlier. Still, I pictured a good-natured grin and a twinkle in her eye as she checked my blood pressure again and replaced the ice packs on my forehead and neck. Her tone was pleasant as she coaxed me back to consciousness, without a hint of sarcasm or judgment.

I, on the other hand, felt ashamed, embarrassed and humiliated, as though I was the star of a Southwest Airlines commercial.1 It was one thing that I hadn’t drunk any water prior to the appointment and that my veins were less than cooperative as a result. It was bad enough that I had to admit that I usually pass out anytime I get blood drawn without lying down. It was the worst that, even after lying down for the draw and making it through without too much issue, I started feeling dizzy while we discussed the option of using a central line for the actual collection instead of the usual needle in each arm.

Usually, when a person donates peripheral blood stem cells (PBSC), he or she takes a drug for five days to stimulate production of stem cells. You can read more about the procedure here but the idea is that on the fifth day, doctors collect the stem cells using a process called apheresis: they take the donor’s blood out through a needle in one arm, filter out the stem cells and put the blood back through a needle in the other arm. For me, though, since my veins are tiny, the doctors discussed using a central line, meaning a larger needle through a larger vein in my collarbone.

I had known about these steps in advance. The Be The Match staff were extremely helpful in explaining the process to me from start to finish. I’d participated in multiple phone conversations with my representative at Be The Match and had read through a sizable information packet about donating. I knew that I would have to come in for a physical exam – including a blood test – to make absolutely sure I was a suitable donor. I knew about the option of a central line if the veins didn’t cooperate properly and what that meant for me in terms of planning for a longer day and additional physical involvement.

But still, even with all of that advance knowledge, there I was: a generally healthy, full-grown adult, an athlete with a perfect heart rate2 and blood pressure, a man, getting dizzy and nauseous from just a conversation. My potential recipient was enduring a literal life-threatening disease and I had started seeing spots at the mention of a bigger needle.

The doctors all told me that I wasn’t their first donor who fainted. Each person, in fact, told me they knew someone who also fainted after getting blood drawn, and they reassured me that my swoon was much more likely caused by the blood they had taken out and the fact that I was dehydrated, as opposed to the conversation about the central line. I, of course, remained skeptical, but it was nice to hear their encouragement.

Also, for the record, I didn’t faint entirely; as opposed to going completely under, I was able to stay at the surface. I heard everything the medical staff said during those few minutes, from calling my name to recounting what had happened to informing other doctors who had rushed in to help. Even when my eyes were closed, I was able to answer most of their questions. Yes, I was still feeling dizzy and nauseous. Yes, I was covered in sweat. No, I didn’t feel like I was going to vomit. Yes, this has happened before. No, it’s never happened if I’ve already been lying down.

Yes, sure you can take a picture of me to send to my wife (they didn’t).

No, I’m sure she’s not worried enough already (that one was sarcasm and she definitely was).

A few minutes later, after my energy had returned and my coloring had shifted back from Casper the Friendly Ghost to Aaron the Mostly Conscious Prospective Donor, the medical staff and I tried the conversation again. We talked about the need for a central line and the fact that the doctors would need to strategize a bit to prevent me from passing out again during the actual collection. The doctor who conducted my physical exam told me how admirable my involvement in the process was, particularly since I was donating anonymously. She added, however, that the collection procedure was significant and that the day would be even longer with the use of a central line. She wanted to make sure I knew what I was getting into and that I was still on board to donate, despite my apparent syncope habit.

“Look, you guys do what you need to do,” I answered without any hesitation.

“I’m in.”


Please visit Be The Match to find out more about their mission, their program and the people they have helped. I hope you’ll also consider joining the Be The Match Registry so that you can potentially help save someone’s life. 

Also, just in case you were wondering, I haven’t partnered with Be The Match in any official capacity for this post, aside from my being on their donor list. I wasn’t compensated at all, nor will I be for any future posts or my involvement in the program. If you’d like to read the next installment in the series, here is Part 3.


1. “Wanna get away?”
2. No fewer than four different people asked me if I was an athlete after seeing my heart rate.

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