Seems I need my blood more than Sweden does. Well, for now anyway. Proud and eager for my first blood donation I got sent home without a badge of bleeding.
Unlike many eager-to-bleed, non-Swedes I’m already approved to be a blood donor by the Swedish powers that be (in the blood business that is). I guess my Swedish is up to snuff to be admitted to the club which is apparently rather exclusive. Exclusive in that it excludes many non-Swedes based on Swedish language proficiency (or lack thereof –this is where I would get to taunt those poor souls with the chant “My Swedish is better than yours is, nah nah-nah nah, nah-nah.” )
Joking aside (though maybe still in a taunting jest) there are so many irate non-Swedes indignant about being denied the opportunity to donate blood (And having been sent home untapped I can understand a bit where they’re coming from.)
But I can also see where the blood donation organization is coming from. There is a real need to be able to communicate with donors to check on their medical condition. Most certainly 98% of the staff can do that in English, but then any misunderstandings would be on the part of the blood donation staff.
I’m disappointed I couldn’t ask more about the unwanted eager donors whose Swedish language skills are perhaps not first rate yet bleed the same red as any Viking-descended Swede. I was kind of hoping for something juicy to blog about (pun definitely intended.)
The actual reason I was turned away this time was because I have back pain. I never knew that I need my own blood to overcome and compensate for that shortcoming. They welcome me back the next time the blood bus is taking on passengers –for the ride of giving life –provided I am fitter than the fiddle I am today.
At least I got to keep my Triss Lotto. I didn’t win anything, but imagine my taunting dance had I won it big on that one.