My Blood, One Man's Sweat, A Generation of Tears

Tuesday 15th December 2009, 4pm, Encore Hotel Swimming Pool Terrace - Siem Reap

I've never given blood before, I've had a blood test for health reasons but never been the type of person who regularly donates or even stops to investigate when the travelling donor vans park themselves outside local church halls at home. It had just never crossed my mind, other people will do it, why should I?

Today I gave blood for the first time, at the Angkor Children's Hospital in Siem Reap. The companion and I sat in the waiting room nervously giggling about my decision while I waited for the doctor - having never been a donor before I had chosen to do it for the first time in Cambodia, in a hospital full of HIV patients, where I couldn't speak the same language as the person sticking the drip in my arm. Sure, it doesn't sound wise on paper, but I'm confident there was no risk to my health, everything was clean and sterile and they took good care of me, I even got a free hospital t-shirt to say thank you and a can of Coca-Cola so that I didn't pass out! So what prompted this? Why today and here of all places did I suddenly decide to become a blood donor?

There is an exhibition and information office that we visited prior to the impromptu hospital stop-off called the Centre for Friends Without A Border (www.fwab.org). Friends Without a Border is a charity that was established in 1996 by a Japanese photographer who on a trip to Angkor to take pictures of the temples, was so moved by the plight of the millions of Cambodian children orphaned by the Khmer Rouge's genocide, that he not only saw the need for this hospital, but acted upon it. In the 1970's when Pol Pot's regime brutally murdered 2 million Cambodians it was the educated that were targeted first - of 4000 doctors in Cambodia before the atrocities, only 40 survived. Access to medication, education and vaccination was impossible, HIV and Aids rates soared and the country was left with the devastating statistics it still carries today: 50% of the population are under the age of 15 and 1 out of 7 children die before the age of 5 from largely preventable and treatable diseases.

This hospital, conceived, mobilised and fought for by the photographer Kenro Izu, has provided 600,000 free pediatric treatments and 12,000 surgeries since it's opening in 1999. It is passionately and actively committed to the training of new doctors and nurses, the education of it's rural communities, the development of hygiene and nutrition standards in the surrounding villages and to the prevention of HIV. The first sentence of it's mission statement reads, 'Every child has the right to a healthy and loving life.' If it will help, even in a very small and almost inconsequential way, I wanted any child in need who visits that hospital to have a right to my blood.

I'd go back every day this week and hold out my vein willingly if they'd let me. The doctor told me that it was policy to only fill one bag with blood from each donor, so despite my insistence that I was fine they wouldn't have taken more. So many people have put their sweat and tears into building and maintaining this godsend of an institute, my blood contribution felt meagre in comparison. It was fantastic to see the exhibition (where Izu's photography is displayed) and the hospital itself though; concrete manifestations of unbreakable human compassion and spirit in the face of unthinkable adversity - truly humbling.

After donating, the doctor did a couple of tests and told me that I am blood type O negative which is apparently the rarest variety, and that I also have very high levels of haemoglobin (11 points above average whatever that means) which is also a good thing so I'm told - all in all I'm an ideal donor. I was delighted by this news, and have taken it as a sign that I made a great decision. I will now be donating everywhere I go as frequently as I'm allowed - I'm converted. The hospital told me that they will send a letter to my home address letting me know that everything is OK (or not?!) with my health so I'll have to tell my designated post-opener and ever-worried Mother about this. I'm not looking forward to this conversation, it will inevitably result in panic station, heart palpitation central for her - she doesn't quite trust me to look after myself I think. The companion (who diligently and loyally sat with me despite feeling a bit queasy about the bag of blood hanging from my arm) took a photo of me on the hospital bed and then joked that we should take another photo of a dusty roadside shed, send it to my Mum and attach the caption... and this is where I let someone put a needle in my arm. I can hear the impending chat now: "Oh for goodness sake Grace! Why on earth did you do that?"

Yes, Mum. For Goodness' sake.