Several years ago, when I got over the fear of needles, on a whim, I donated blood. I’m a liar— I’ve never gotten over my fear of needles. It all started with that where I haven’t traveled to. You might want to sit down for this one…

Enter Punta Cana

“Belgium…Antigua…France. Wait, do we have to do this in alphabetical order?”

Up until this point, I hadn’t really thought much about the implications of this question. I was upfront with my answers, almost amused by how many countries I could list.

“Cuba, uh, Colombia…Panama. Dominican Republic.”

“Hold on…Dominican Republic? What part?,” the nurse asked.

“Well, Santo Domingo, Punta Cana, Puerto…”

“Let me check the list…” (nurse begins anxiously combing through a computerized database.)

I’d seen that look before. That look told me that I was about to receive news I didn’t want to hear. What was she possibly looking up and what would she say? I sat awkwardly in my seat.

“So, I’m sorry, but you won’t be able to give blood today, Shannon.”

“What? Why?”