It’s a chilling thought: what if, in a moment of crisis, the most basic lifelines—fresh water or lifesaving blood—simply aren’t there? In the high country of Idaho, getting snowed in for a few days isn’t just a possibility, it’s a routine winter hazard. And while many Idahoans are accustomed to prepping for blizzards with a well-stocked pantry, experts warn that the most essential supply—clean water—can be dangerously easy to overlook. As one Idaho writer recently emphasized, “You’ll die of thirst long before starvation.” It’s a sobering reminder that, even in a world brimming with prepping guides, the core essentials can slip through the cracks.
But it’s not just water that’s in precarious supply. Across the United States, a different kind of emergency is brewing: a national blood shortage that’s pushing hospitals, first responders, and patients to the edge. According to a Slate report, the U.S. blood supply system is “strained at best and startlingly close to crisis at worst.” The problem isn’t new, but it’s growing more acute as natural disasters, demographic shifts, and evolving medical practices converge to test the limits of our patchwork donation network.
For Amber Kirkpatrick, a mother of three in North Carolina, the fragility of this system became terrifyingly real just before Thanksgiving in 2023. Only two weeks after giving birth, Kirkpatrick began hemorrhaging while driving home from her mother’s house. “I got out, and it was completely covering everything in the parking lot, all in the car,” she recalled to Slate. She managed to make it home, but collapsed in her driveway, bleeding out as her husband frantically dialed 911. What saved her life wasn’t just the skill of paramedics, but a new blood-transfusion program her county’s EMS had launched only a year earlier. Medics began transfusing blood right there in her driveway, keeping her alive until she could reach the hospital. “I was losing blood as fast as they could give it to me,” Kirkpatrick remembered. After emergency surgery, she returned home to her healthy newborn son—a testament to the power of preparation and the critical role of blood donors.
Yet, as Kirkpatrick’s story shows, even the best systems are only as strong as their supply chains. A year later, Hurricane Helene battered western North Carolina, knocking out power at blood centers and canceling blood drives. The American Red Cross reported that more than 2,500 blood donations went uncollected in the region—an ominous statistic for anyone who might need a transfusion in the aftermath of a disaster.
It’s a scenario that plays out in different forms across the country. Whether it’s a snowstorm in Idaho or a hurricane in North Carolina, emergencies have a way of exposing just how thin our safety nets really are. In Idaho, that means thinking hard about water storage. If you’re lucky enough to live near a spring or have a well, you’re in good shape. Otherwise, “there are methods for storing water long-term and keeping it clean,” the Idaho writer advised. The first priority is always drinking water, but hygiene matters too—“keeping yourself reasonably clean will also ensure good health.”
Medical supplies are another sticking point. Stocking up on over-the-counter remedies is simple enough, but prescription medications can be a different beast entirely. “It’s sometimes a fight to get a prescription refilled,” the Idahoan noted, urging readers to talk with their doctors in advance to secure backup supplies. It’s a reminder that, when roads close or pharmacies run dry, a little forethought can make all the difference.
Blood, meanwhile, is a resource that can’t be stockpiled in advance by individuals. The U.S. blood supply system relies on a delicate balance of volunteer donors, logistical coordination, and a bit of luck. According to the latest National Blood Collection and Utilization Survey, about 11 million units of blood were collected in 2023, with 10.3 million used—a slim surplus that offers little cushion in the event of a mass-casualty event or a sudden dip in donations.
And those dips are happening more often. Donations from people aged 19 to 24 plummeted by 32 percent between 2019 and 2021, while donations from those over 65 surged by 41 percent. The average donor age has climbed from 44 in 2013 to 51 in 2023, according to Blood Centers of America. Even though 62 percent of the U.S. population is eligible to donate, only about 3 percent actually does. The result? Blood inventories are often measured in days, not weeks, and the system teeters on the edge of crisis with every storm, flu outbreak, or pandemic.
In response, hospitals and EMS agencies are innovating. Prehospital blood transfusion programs—where paramedics carry and administer blood before patients reach the hospital—have exploded in recent years. The first such program in the U.S. launched in 2016; by 2018, there were fewer than 10. Today, nearly 300 EMS agencies offer this lifesaving service. Studies suggest that if prehospital blood were universally available, more than 20,000 lives could be saved over four years. Yet, as Dr. Andre Cap, a former Army hematologist, told Slate, “We are not delivering the blood to the people who need it the most, who are dying at our doorsteps. And so when we say blood supply and demand are matched or in equilibrium, you’re ignoring this massive demand that we’re just pretending isn’t there. That’s a colossal problem.”
Mass-casualty events lay bare the system’s vulnerabilities. The 2017 Las Vegas shooting required 278 units of blood, more than many hospitals have on hand. After the 2023 shooting in Lewiston, Maine, the Red Cross rushed 175 units to local hospitals, triggering an urgent plea for donors. A 2022 analysis found that most major U.S. cities would struggle to provide enough plasma or platelets after even a relatively small disaster, let alone a large-scale event.
Experts are exploring creative solutions, such as “walking blood banks,” a strategy borrowed from the military that identifies and prescreens local donors who can give blood at a moment’s notice. In theory, this could provide immediate access to whole blood in remote or disaster-stricken areas. But regulatory, ethical, and logistical challenges remain—federal law prohibits transfusing blood that hasn’t been rigorously tested for infections like HIV and hepatitis C, and public opinion on relaxing these rules is largely untested.
For now, the system depends on the continued goodwill of donors and the ingenuity of medical professionals. As John Hagins, CEO of a Midwestern community blood center, told Slate, “We manage a scarce resource. We still have not found the right way to have a national dialogue about the importance of donating blood.” Despite efforts to recruit more volunteers—emergency blood drives, gift card incentives, and calls for a “national call to action”—the gap persists.
Back in Idaho, the lesson is simple: whether it’s water, medicine, or blood, preparation and community support are the keys to survival. For Amber Kirkpatrick, the experience has inspired her to sponsor a blood drive at a community event once she gets her doctor’s clearance—she wants to give back, and maybe even donate herself. In a world where the next emergency is always just around the corner, the value of being ready—and of looking out for one another—has never been clearer.
