Jill was an extremely independent person by nature, and asking anyone for help was always her last resort. When she came to me asking for support, I didn't hesitate to say yes, and, even though I still don't quite understand why she was so scared to go through with it, I was there for her when she felt she needed someone. In all honesty, I feel slightly honoured that I was the one she chose to see her at her most helpless.
As I've said, Jill was always a very independent and private person, and the only people she ever showed signs of weakness to were...well, no one, really. She was used to dealing with her issues on her own, and would rarely share her experiences with anyone outside of her journal. Even her sister wasn't privy to Jill's traumas, and the two of them shared a bedroom for nineteen years.
A few of our friends had recently started giving blood on a regular basis, and, to be honest, they were a little bit smug about the entire process. It was as though those of us who were unwilling to donate were a little bit 'less than,' and those who did donate would look down upon us. It was a mixture of this passive-aggressive behaviour and Jill's own need to help others in need that finally convinced her that she should start giving blood, since she was a relatively healthy person and enjoyed the spiritual satisfaction of good deeds.
When the day came that Jill was heading down to donate her blood, she asked me if I could walk with her there, as she wasn't sure she knew where it was. I knew that this was an excuse, as her written directions clearly stated a superbly obvious location that we passed almost every morning on the way to school, but I also knew that she was nervous.
Jill had never been good with needles, something I recall from our elementary school days when we had vaccines, so I respectfully agreed to accompany her under the pretense that I was helping her find her way.
When we arrived, I followed her in, we found her forms, and I sat with her as we waited for her name to be called. When they did, she looked at me, expertly hiding her nervousness, and said "well, I guess this is it..." I cut her off saying "I'll watch your things." She smiled, thanked me, and went about her interview with the nurse.
When Jill was done with the nurse, the nurse started to lead her toward a cot for Jill to lay down on. On her way passed me, the nurse asked if Jill wanted me to come sit with her, and Jill's eyes darted around as the gears in her mind worked to find an answer that wouldn't make her sound desperately scared. "When I last had my blood taken," which, as an aside, was to determine whether or not I was anemic, "I ended up a little light-headed afterwards. If you need me to perfect your balance, I'm there." Jill nodded, thankful for another easy out, and I followed them toward the cot.
When Jill laid down on the cot, there were a few minutes where we were waiting for the nurse to get everything ready. I pulled up a chair and sat at Jill's feet, to which she looked at me, her eyes watering slightly, and asked "why are you way down there?"
Never before and never since have I seen her in such a moment of fear and desperation, and it really didn't suit who she presented herself as to other people.
I moved my seat up toward her head, and I sat with her as everything was hooked up. She closed her eyes tightly as the needle made its way toward her, and she gripped my hand from the moment that blood started draining out of her until the moment the needle was replaced by a bandage.
Now, Jill was a skinny girl, and even though she was mostly muscle, there still wasn't very much to her. Naturally, she thought she could stand fine, and, of course, collapsed right into my arms. I helped her over to the seating area, and she was too embarrassed to actually say anything, as she rarely got sick and never found herself depending on friends or family for anything other than a ride into town.
I regaled her with hilarious stories of my own personal pains, mostly how I got each of my scars (chicken pox, rocking out, sneeze-shaving, and cookies -- I know none of that makes sense to you, but those are the ways I got my scars) and I managed to make her laugh so hard that the orange juice she was drinking shot out of her nose. I may not always know the proper thing to say in an awkward situation, but I can usually diffuse the situation with my intense delightfulness.
We sat together, drinking juice and eating cookies, until she was feeling ready to leave, and then I walked her to her mother's workplace, said my goodbyes, and went on my way.
I know that there aren't a lot of people that Jill would have trusted to take her to the donation centre, as, if there were, she likely would have taken her sister, who could then have driven her home when everything was done. It meant a lot to me that she would trust me to see her at anything other than her best, and even though we had drifted apart as we got older, I'll never forget how much power this one experience had for the both of us as a bonding process.
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