The sickest baby in Canberra and a stranger's gift

We realised he was the sickest baby in Canberra because the nurses would not leave his side. It was, quite literally, around-the-clock care.

One of the tubes that did make sense to our shocked, sleep-deprived brains was connected to a bag of blood.

You don't imagine your parenting journey beginning with multiple organ failure and blood transfusions, but there we were; praying that the gift from a stranger would help save our boy.

When you walk into a Red Cross blood or plasma centre, there's a whiteboard asking you to share your reason for donating.

People write about the times they've needed a donation. Or the times a loved one has. Some people say they do it just because they can.

I hadn't written my reason down before this week, but that stricken baby, who miraculously survived and thrived, is mine.

On my donation days, together we ride the bus to the city. He heads off to school as I head to my familiar routine, and he's really been none the wiser about my "why" (until reading and approving this piece).

This week I hit a milestone of 100 donations. It was a proud moment, and the staff made it feel special. They gave me a certificate, a block of choccy and a pin, which I vowed to wear all day. They took my photo to add to a gallery of people marking milestones. Against my habit, I even accepted the offer of a milkshake to celebrate.

It was a surprisingly moving experience, some of those old emotions coming back as I shared my son's story with a nurse who'd tactfully asked why I chose to donate.

To be honest though, as compelling as my starting reason was, I haven't always been consistent.

Maybe it was the business of parenting. Maybe it was working a hectic job out in Fyshwick. To some regret, my donations in my boy's early years came only in fits and starts.

Now, with a city office and a plasma centre a couple of hundred metres away, I try to be there as often as the rules allow.

In truth, this "good deed" can feel quite indulgent. Every fortnight before work I get a solid block of "me time" in a comfy chair. I read or watch something on my phone with no one disturbing me. I can't respond to emails because my typing hand is attached to the arm with the good vein.

Best of all, they insist I stay for a party pie and a sausage roll afterwards.

While I know I'm doing something good, this comes without the sacrifice of anything but time.

And so, I'm motivated to keep going. I'm already roughly calculating how soon I can hit 150 then 200 donations.

By then, I hope I can be joined in the next seat to me by "my reason" - the one-time sickest bub in Canberra, now my lanky mate who's taller than me.

Simply spending some quiet time hooked up to a machine beside Dad might start out as his.