ANNUALLY, on June 14, the world observes World Blood Donor Day, a day dedicated to recognising the selfless individuals who roll up their sleeves and donate blood to save the lives of people they will probably never meet.
For many years, I appreciated blood donors from a distance. I understood that blood donations saved lives, but perhaps like many people, I never truly understood what that meant on a personal level.
This year, however, I found myself on the receiving end of that extraordinary act of kindness, and this experience humbled me significantly.
I became one of the countless patients whose lives were changed by the generosity of an anonymous blood donor.
And it all began with what I thought was just a heavy period.
Earlier this year, I fulfilled a lifelong dream by performing the Hajj. Before leaving for the pilgrimage, I consulted my gynaecologist and was prescribed medication to temporarily stop my menstrual cycle. Fortunately, everything went according to plan throughout my time in the Holy Land.
After returning from Hajj, I stopped taking the medication. My family and I spent a few days in Kuala Lumpur before returning home to Kuching. At the time, I felt perfectly fine.
And then, everything changed.
One morning, my sister suggested that we visit Bukit Bintang. While riding in the car, I felt completely normal. My period was light and seemed manageable.
The moment I stepped out of the vehicle in front of a shopping mall, however, I realised something was terribly wrong. Within minutes, I was experiencing severe bleeding.
What initially seemed like a minor inconvenience later became an emergency.
My sister rushed to a nearby pharmacy and I decided to go back to the hotel. I spent the rest of the day confined to the hotel room, making repeated trips to the bathroom every twenty to thirty minutes.
Hoping to regain control of the situation, I restarted the medication. Unfortunately, the damage had already been done. I had already lost a significant amount of blood and the bleeding continued and so did the exhaustion.
It was so bad that at one point, I fainted while heading to the bathroom.
Although the medication managed to stabilise the situation enough for me to return to Kuching, the heavy bleeding resumed shortly afterwards. By Sunday, I was barely functioning. I was exhausted, dizzy and weak. Just going from the bed to the bathroom felt like climbing a mountain. Every movement drained what little energy I had left.
Even simple tasks became difficult. That Sunday, I spent most of the day sleeping because my body simply had nothing more to give. Yet, like many stubborn people, I convinced myself that I could push through it. I told myself it would get better. I told myself I just needed more rest.
I was wrong.
On Monday, my husband finally insisted that I see a doctor. A simple blood test revealed that my haemoglobin level had fallen to 7.2 g/dL, significantly below the normal range for women. I was sent home with iron supplements and a referral letter for hospital admission should my condition worsen.
The following day, I returned to the clinic for a follow-up appointment in the evening and another blood test was performed.
This time, my haemoglobin had dropped even further. It was now 6.5 g/dL. At that point, a blood transfusion was no longer an option; it had become a necessity. My husband and I went to the hospital the very next day.
Looking back now, I realise how close I had come to a potentially life-threatening situation.
When we arrived at KPJ Kuching Specialist Hospital, the seriousness of my condition was immediately recognised. A staff member at the registration counter took one look at me and remarked on how pale I appeared. Within moments, I was placed in a wheelchair and brought directly to the Emergency Department.
The contrast between how I felt and how I had been behaving was striking. I had spent days convincing myself that I was merely tired. In reality, my body was desperately struggling to function with dangerously low haemoglobin levels. The medical team quickly began assessments, blood tests and treatment. I was admitted to the ward that same evening.
Finally, the doctor informed me that I would require two pints of blood.
I remember looking at my hands and noticing how pale they had become. There was almost no colour left in them.
That night, I received my first blood transfusion. As the blood flowed into my body, I found myself thinking about the person on the other end of that donation process. Somewhere, at some point, a stranger had taken time out of his/her day to donate blood. He/she had no idea who would eventually receive it. He/she did not know my name. He/she did not know my story. He/she certainly could not have known that his/her donation would one day help a woman recovering from Hajj who was lying in a hospital bed in Kuching.
Yet, in an act of selflessness, he/she donated and I was receiving the treatment I desperately needed.
The transfusion lasted approximately four hours, during which the nurses monitored me closely throughout the night. Thankfully, everything went smoothly.
By the time it was completed, I could already feel a difference. The overwhelming weakness had begun to ease. My heart was no longer racing constantly. My head no longer felt light and I felt slightly stronger.
The next morning, after further examinations, my gynaecologist confirmed that a six-centimetre fibroid in my uterus was the cause of the severe bleeding.
Although I had known about the fibroid previously, the situation had now become impossible to ignore. The doctor recommended treatment to shrink the fibroid before discussing eventual surgery. However, before I returned to the ward, she looked at me and decided that I needed another pint of blood. And so, I received a second transfusion. Once again, that precious gift from an anonymous donor flowed into my veins.
Two bags of blood. Two chances to recover. Two reminders that someone, somewhere, had chosen to help a stranger.
As I rested in the ward, I found myself reflecting on something deeply ironic. I have always wanted to be a blood donor.
In 2019, one of my closest friends needed blood. I wanted desperately to help. Unfortunately, when I arrived to donate, I was on my menstrual cycle and was unable to proceed. I left feeling disappointed that I could not contribute.
Then, in 2022, my late mother required blood. Once again, I stepped forward intending to donate. This time, however, routine screening revealed that I was mildly anaemic. So, I was not eligible to donate.
Both times, I remember feeling frustrated and helpless. Both times, I had wanted to donate blood for people I loved. Both times, circumstances prevented me from doing so.
For years, that disappointment stayed with me.
Yet life has a remarkable way of teaching us lessons from unexpected directions.
Ironically, this year, I became the person who needed help.
I became the recipient. I became the person whose recovery depended on blood donated by someone I would never meet.
This experience completely changed my perspective.
We often talk about blood donation in terms of statistics. We talk of the units collected, the patients treated and national blood supply levels. While these numbers are important, they can sometimes make us forget the human stories behind them.
Every bag of blood eventually belongs to a person.
A mother. A father. A child. A cancer patient. A trauma victim. A woman experiencing severe bleeding, someone like me.
For that person, blood is not merely a medical product. For us, it is hope. It is time. It is another opportunity to return home to their loved ones.
When I think about it, I am very fortunate. I had a supportive husband who refused to let me ignore my symptoms. I had doctors, nurses and hospital staff who acted quickly without prejudice. I had family members and friends who visited, prayed and offered encouragement.
Most importantly, I had access to donated blood when I needed it.
However, not everyone is as fortunate. Blood cannot be manufactured in a laboratory. It cannot be purchased off a shelf.
The only source is another human being willing to give a small portion of themselves to help someone else survive. That is why World Blood Donor Day matters. It reminds us that behind every successful surgery, every emergency transfusion and every recovering patient is a donor whose generosity made that outcome possible.
Today, as I continue my recovery and prepare for the next stage of treatment, I carry immense gratitude in my heart.
I may never know the identity of the person whose blood flowed through my veins during those difficult days in the hospital. I may never meet them, but I will never forget what they gave me.
To the blood donor who donated blood type A+, thank you. I do not know your name, your age or your background. But because of your kindness, I was given the chance to regain my strength and continue my journey in life. Your donation reached someone who truly needed it. It reached me.
And to everyone who is healthy and eligible to donate blood, I hope my story encourages you to consider becoming a donor. One donation may seem like a small act. But to the person receiving it, it could mean everything. It could mean another birthday, another family gathering, another chance to fulfil a dream, another opportunity to simply go home, or a chance to get pregnant after years of marriage and trying.
This World Blood Donor Day, remember that somewhere, someone is waiting for the gift that only you can give. Please donate blood because one day, your blood may save a life you never expected to touch.
