Customer Service at the Blood Drive

Just in time for Hallowe'en, my thoughts on blood drives:

I read a lot of business books. The authors that make me impatient are the ones who describe the perfect, seamless customer service experience they crave. They want hotels to remember that they like dark, not milk, chocolate mints on their pillows. Or local wine shops to keep a database of their customers who enjoy zinfandels, so they can send out a special mailing when they get a new shipment.

What narcissists, I think. Of course we would all appreciate special treatment. I wish the salespeople at Nordstrom would call me whenever they got shipments of comfortable size 12 shoes. In reality, even if they call me, I will still only buy shoes a few times a year. If my total spend on shoes per year is only a few hundred dollars, it is not worth the salesperson’s time to call me. It would be unrealistic and selfish of me to ask them to keep me at the top of their minds.

People who get that kind of personalized service should be prepared to pay well for it. Since I’m not so prepared, all I ask is that the lumpencustomer not be treated too badly.

In one area, though, I really think that customer service could be improved: blood drives. I have heard that blood is worth $200/unit by the time it gets to the hospital. So why can't we treat donors a little better? Here are my narcissistic demands for blood drives:

Take donors’ time seriously. I learned a long time ago that there is no use making an appointment for a blood drive. If you show up at your appointed hour, but there is a long line, you queue up with everyone else.

Similarly, don’t encourage women to donate blood every 56 days. Blood banks know that women have hematocrits lower than men’s, lower, on average, than the donation threshold. It obviously takes me longer than 56 days to rebuild my iron level to the threshold, because 50% of the time my blood is rejected for a low hematocrit. Donating every 56 days may be appropriate for men—the statistical donor is a college-educated man between 30 and 50—but for women it may not be appropriate. So tailor the donor appeals accordingly.

Here’s a radical idea: give me the finger-stick when I walk in the door. Let me flash my donor card and offer me the option to test my hematocrit before I do all the paperwork. If I fail the iron level again, at least I haven’t lost too much time.

(On the other hand, when I attended blood drives with babysitters, I didn’t care if I failed or not. Free babysitting when your kids are young is free babysitting. I could still eat the cookies, even if I couldn’t donate that day.)

If the donor says he or she has special blood, be prepared to act on that claim. The NY-NJ Blood Center randomly tested my blood once. They determined that I have special proteins in my blood, and that I am CMV-negative. This means that my blood can be transfused to newborns.

“Hey!” my husband said. “I have special blood, too! In Chicago my blood used to be packed into tiny bags to be given to babies.” Every time we go to a blood drive together now, he tells the intake workers that. Yet somehow his blood has not been tested on the East Coast. He’s disappointed that his blood is no longer “special.”

Now, just because I donate blood regularly does not mean I love pain. I’m old enough to remember when the phlebotomists shook the needles to get rid of the excess citric acid on the tips. Now, they just jab it in. Ow! That Country Time lemonade stuff really hurts! I know it’s supposed to prevent clots or something, but how much can my blood clot in the 15 minutes I’m allowed on the gurney? So shake it off, or don’t be dismayed when your donor numbers drop.

On the positive side, I am pleased to say that finally the Mayo Clinic has adopted my idea of telling donors how many calories they lose when they donate a unit of blood. Every nursing mother knows that she expends about 500 calories a day nursing Baby. Why, instead of giving a thin-lipped smile, couldn’t they have told us before now that each pint of blood is about 650 calories? That’s a hefty slice of cheesecake!

Speaking of sweets, when you go to a really good blood drive—usually these are organized by churches—the juice table features plenty of homemade cookies. Not much says, “We appreciate your donation today,” better than cookies lovingly baked in someone else’s kitchen.

And here’s to the stalwart Red Cross volunteer who made me sit with my knees squarely under the table. If I fainted, she wanted me to pass out into the plate of cookies so she wouldn’t have to pick me off the floor.

Happy Hallowe'en!