By Red Cross volunteer Allison Skoglind

Before becoming a volunteer with the American Red Cross, I had never donated blood. A rare hereditary blood disorder called protein S deficiency runs in my family. The condition causes blood to clot more easily and can lead to life-threatening cases of deep vein thrombosis and pulmonary embolism. My family has experienced both.

Because of potential health risks, people with protein S deficiency are typically unable to donate blood. Even without a clear diagnosis, I avoided the idea of donating. Maybe it was the fear of needles. Maybe it was the fear of finding out my own diagnosis. Either way, I was afraid.

I started volunteering with the Red Cross last September after my father’s passing left me with a grief so profound it felt breathless. The piercing pain and astonishing beauty often found me during fleeting moments of daily life: the mention of a Bill Murray movie, a Phil Collins song at the grocery store, a miraculous Green Bay Packers play. Hi, Dad.

By volunteering, I believed I could begin healing my personal loss by creating hope for others experiencing their own. I could help someone else. I could listen to someone else. I could give to someone else. There was a certain salvation in that, and I grasped it with both hands.

As I began working there, I quickly learned powerful facts about the ongoing need for blood donations:

• Every two seconds, someone in the U.S. needs blood or platelets.

• The Red Cross provides about 40% of our nation’s blood supply.

• A single blood donation can help save up to three lives.

When the Red Cross announced an emergency blood shortage in January, I knew it was time to roll up my sleeves. First, I visited a hematologist and tested negative for protein S deficiency. When I told my boyfriend about my plans to donate, he simply said, “Let’s go.”

On an average Wednesday afternoon in Portland, Oregon, we walked into Rose City Park Presbyterian Church, signed in and waited to be called.

A few minutes later, I was lying face-up on a reclining chair while my phlebotomist, Jack, calmly described the donation preparations, procedures and aftercare instructions, easing my nerves. I extended my arm, turned my gaze away and took a deep breath.

As my blood flowed into the collection bag beside me, I began to think about the people who might receive it. Would they be an accident victim? A premature baby? A cancer patient? I tried to visualize the moment when my donation might make the difference between life and death.

I also imagined how it would feel to receive a blood donation, to be the one clinging to life and desperately needing more blood to survive. I pictured a donor, a stranger I would never meet, offering their own blood simply to keep someone like me alive.

I finally understood. This wasn’t just a blood donation; it was an act of love. This is a love story.

This love is the heart of the American Red Cross. I knew this before donating. But working behind the scenes, I understood it only generally, like noticing the sky is blue without considering the billowing clouds, melodious birds or glittering stars that give it depth and wonder. That changed after my donation. There, in that church basement, I saw the stars.

Love can look like many things. Sometimes it looks like a bouquet of flowers, a box of chocolates or a cozy dinner reservation. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, it looks like a boyfriend cracking jokes with his phlebotomist, catching your eye and smiling — the kind of boyfriend who doesn’t hesitate to say, “Let’s go.”

Are you ready to start your own love story? Visit RedCrossBlood.org to find a blood drive near you and schedule your appointment today.