It was my birthday. My children were still very young - so young, in fact, that I had only recently stopped breastfeeding. Husband urged me to do something on my birthday that would make me happy.

I'm a mom and a nurse practitioner, which means that altruism, self-sacrifice, and caring for others is what makes me happy. I'm sure you're probably weaving a psychological profile on me as to why I find self-satisfaction in the doing for others. No need. I can explain.

Primarily, I'm an oldest. A firstborn. As a firstborn, I was the progenitor of assessing what my parents needed, the progenitor of skills developed enough to fulfill their will. My younger siblings would be adults before this skill plateaued among us.

Developmental ability doesn't matter to parents when you are knee deep in three kids under the age of 5 and you really, REALLY need a diaper. All that matters is 5 year old me is suddenly there, handing you that diaper. 

Boom. Instant hero. 

And lest you think this goes away as a firstborn ages, I need only point you in the direction of my siblings. Or my parents.

Still the best.

Secondly, I'm an Aries. Aries are compulsive. We are people people. We are industrious and driven. And we are independent. Translation? We will do anything and everything and never ask for anything in return. We are never the people that call you at two o'clock in the morning because we have a flat. We are never the people that ask you to help us move. We are never the people that borrow your garden hose.

I even take care of fake people.

So when Husband asked the firstborn, Aries, mom, nurse me what I wanted to do for my birthday, I was ready with an answer.

I wanted to donate Blood. And eat pizza.

I have an uncommon blood type. Being in healthcare, I can appreciate the need for my blood, and the benefits of my donating. Not just to others, but to me. Studies have indicated that donating blood may have long-ranging health benefits for the donor.

Plus, I saw on Oprah once how a man who loved chicken nuggets died, and the recipient of his heart developed a love for chicken nuggets. What if donating blood was like that? Tens of people, converted into an army of Pope-pourris, running around being people pleasing, ambitious, intense pseudo-firstborn Aries. That is so great, I think I may sit here a minute and enjoy the prospect.

Anyway, while I used to donate all the time, the years I had been pregnant and breastfeeding had stymied my plan for world domination via blood donation.  But on that birthday, I was no longer pregnant, no longer breastfeeding, and there was a blood drive right by my house.

So I did what every self-respecting firstborn Aries does.

I did everything wrong.

Me. Me. I did everything wrong. My firstborn Aries card should be revoked. We don't get things wrong. Wrong is for other people. Second borns. Leos, maybe. Not me.

The first thing I did wrong was failure to consider that four years of nearly nonstop pregnancy and breastfeeding had taken a toll on my body. Daughter had had extreme colic. To keep her calm, I'd had to avoid nuts, dairy, vegetables, caffeine, sugar, alcohol, berries, spices, Grape-Nuts, red meat, and soy. That was an awesome fourteen months of salt-free Saltines, Boost nutrient replacement shakes, and bland chicken. Thank God I'm English and therefore genetically programmed to think bland food is a delicacy.

I no sooner began to indulge in leafy greens and glasses of milk again when I got pregnant with Son. He was humongous, from the day of conception. To compensate for the nutrients he was motoring through, I would eat two bowls of cereal at a time, down a gallon of milk in a day and a half, eat my Mom's cooking.

It's not her fault. She's English too.

One day, Husband caught me leaning over the kitchen sink, shovelling down an entire pint of Ben & Jerry's. He was stunned. He'd never seen me eat like that. I'd never seen me eat like that. But I was so hungry, and that boy sure loves his ice cream.

So mistake #1: A severely depleted nutritional status. Mistake #2? I donated blood in the afternoon and had a glass of wine in the evening.

The American Red Cross specifically says to avoid alcohol for a day after you donate. But it was my birthday. We were watching Spartacus - the TV show, not the movie. Besides, I'm a firstborn. An Aries. We don't pass out.

So yeah, I passed out.

I mean, just look at me. Do I really have enough hemoglobin to go around?

After the spit of wine and hour of Spartacus, I went to bed, smug in my good deed. When Son woke in the middle of the night, Husband and I both went to fetch him.  It was as Husband was carrying Son to our room that I passed out on the steps behind him.

The next thing I knew, Husband was slapping my face, trying to revive me. I woke to see him crouched over me, Son still on his hip. Weak and out of breath from my syncopal event, I told Husband I needed to go to the hospital. I didn't have the energy to walk, so he'd have to call 911.

Aries can be a wee bit dramatic.

Husband, fortunately, is German and therefore practical to a fault. He reassured me that I did not need 911, and he wasn't going to call. I just needed to lay down, get my legs above my heart, and drink some water. He stretched me out in the hallway, covered me with a blanket, and checked my vital signs while I drank water. Little Son curled up with me.

The commotion was going on right outside of Daughter's room. She was alarmed to find me stretched out in the hallway like a Civil War soldier. While Husband did more rounds of blood pressure checks, Daughter refilled my water glass, over and over.

Firstborn.

Eventually, I felt well enough to climb the steps back to my bedroom. Son and Daughter slept with us, and I tried to ignore the fact that I had blatantly violated multiple rules of blood donation.



Dawn rolled around and Husband and I engaged in the futility of readying a toddler and preschooler for said preschooler's morning of education. As Husband diapered wee Son, Son occupied himself with his newest skill: full sentences.

"Da-ye? Why you hit Mommy?"

Daughter, not to be undone, coolly informed me at this moment that she had heard the whole hullabaloo outside of her bedroom and wanted to know why Daddy had hit me then refused to call 911.

They were, of course, referring to the gentle slaps Husband had rightfully used to rouse me from my faint, and then our ardent discussion as to the need for emergency services.

Husband pleaded with me to explain our nocturnal adventure to Daughter's preschool, to avoid any Social Service or police welfare checks. Lest she repeat any of what she had just said.

Last week, my church had a blood drive. I desperately wanted to donate. But Husband cautioned me. And the lady at church cautioned me. And Daughter, though many years later and not understanding why, asked me to beg off.

So I skipped it. But if you can, go do it for me. I'll make you cookies and give you milk. We can even watch Spartacus. See, I'm a mom and a nurse and firstborn and an Aries. We take care of people.

And if you're a second born Leo, you're probably used to people taking care of you.