Bionic Extensions

 

So, yesterday I donated blood for the first time in my life. I wasn’t scared, because people do it all the time, and the worst thing that happens is that they sometimes pass out. Plus, it’s a really great cause and I figure in case I don’t achieve something in my life, at least there’s a chance that my blood will be used to save someone who will.

I will say this, though, the process of giving blood gives one plenty of time to think about everything that could possibly go wrong. First, they have you sit and wait to be registered. Then, they take you to an enclosed little area where you sit and wait for a nurse to do tests on you. All in all, this process takes up a good hour, and especially since I’m one of those people who has no games on my phone, my mind wanders off into all sorts of horribly improbable scenarios. Like…what if I’m getting my blood drawn and there’s a power outage so they accidentally let me bleed out?  …or what if the lights go off and the nurse misses my arm and hits an eye or my neck or something? …Or worse yet, what if all this blood actually goes to feed a giant alien trying to take over the Earth and the nurses are actually cultists who worship him? Seriously though, I had a lot time to think.

Well, I guess being totally honest, they did give me something to occupy my time: their donor info packets, filled with wonderful information about all the different disclaimers they have. For instance “If you have a 101 degree fever in the next 36 hours… If you cannot walk, drive, stand, sit, or breathe in the next two weeks… Or if you find that you have a flesh-eating virus in the next 4 hours and 8 minutes… please contact your local blood bank immediately.” So, in a way, this actually did nothing to remedy my wild fantasies about everything that could go wrong. I just kind of decided not to think about it.

Instead, I decided to take their survey so they could determine whether my blood was good enough for them. My rule of thumb was: if I don’t know what it is, then I’ve probably never had it. For anyone who wants to cheat on the blood donor exam, most of the answers are no. I’m sure if you guess no on everything you’ll get like a 90%, which is probably enough to have them let you give blood. The survey had to make sure I don’t do illegal drugs, and that I don’t take exotic pharmaceuticals. Also, they had to make sure I wasn’t engaging in a so-called “high-risk” behavior for HIV. However, for some reason I wasn’t allowed to answer this section until a nurse was present, which like I said before, took like an hour. So, by the time they actually arrived, I was so bored that part of me wanted to mess with them to see how far I could go and still be able to give blood.

“Have you provided sex for money at any time in your life?”

“Ummm... not with official currency.”

“Have you engaged in male to male sex, even once, since 1977?”

“Ummm… 1977? Oh good, my last time was ’76.”

Just a side note: I don’t get the point of isolating gay sex as a risk factor, because presumably, someone could get HIV from any type of sex. Apparently, if I had male on male sex until 1977 when I underwent a sex change, and I continued to have sex with the exact same people, I would be eligible to give blood. But if I’ve been in a monogamous gay relationship since 1977, where both participants frequently test HIV negative, I would not be eligible. To me, this makes no sense, but then again, I’m no expert.

I didn’t mess with them though. Instead, I answered all the questions honestly and they decided, yes, my blood would be fabulous for their purposes. So, next I had to sign the consent form, which basically says that I agree that they can do pretty much whatever they want with my blood: store it, freeze it, use it in movies, feed it to vampires, etc., etc. So, I signed it and everyone was very happy. And they checked my blood pressure and iron levels and all that good stuff, and they finally gave me permission to bleed.

And after that I was ready! Well, not quite… first they had to feed me pretzels and water. Then I had to make my way over to the table, and I had to wait for the guy to get over to me. So actually, I wasn’t ready at all, and I had even more time to dream up awful blood drive-related catastrophes.

Yet, they did eventually reach me, and the man who was to draw my blood seemed very professional. However, my arm was apparently a particular challenge for him, because he immediately groaned when I showed it to him. “Your veins are small,” he said, and he tried to look at my other arm, but that produced the same reaction. Then, apparently desiring a second opinion, he called over another nurse and told her the same thing.

“Oh, no their not,” she replied in a very motherly tone, glancing at me, as if she thought I might have taken offense to his comment or something.

I don’t think nurses realize this, but it is a little strange when people give you compliments about your blood or veins, even when those people spend a lot time learning about those things. For example, when they finally got me hooked up to the blood machine, someone said, “Whew, it’s comin’ out fast… Nice!”

And so I was just like, “Thanks?”

Honestly, I can’t see why that is supposed to be a compliment, because in a zombie apocalypse, I’d probably be the first one to die if I bleed the fastest. Then again, I have small veins so maybe it offsets.

While I was hooked up, I asked the guy how my blood was getting into the bag. After all, it couldn’t be gravity. The sack was suspended from a hook with the blood flowing into it from underneath.

“Oh yeah,” he said, “That’s your blood pressure doin’ that. Your heart’s pumping the blood into the bag.”

For some reason, this made me feel a lot weirder about the whole thing, and I couldn’t quite figure out why. But then it hit me. I thought: “In this moment… I’m actually a cyborg.” My blood is pumping into a machine. Granted, that machine’s purpose is to take my blood, but still. In a cardiovascular sense, it was part of my body.

So, I had that to think about as I left the bed, made my way over to the snack table, and got a bite to eat. And sitting there, I couldn’t help but consider the transferrable nature of time. I had just given up an hour and a half of my time, but potentially, I had saved someone else a lot more. And really, who am I to complain about the waiting, the questionnaires, or even the nurses’ odd compliments? Because I have my healthy blood pressure and iron content. I’m HIV negative, and I don’t take medications for hypertension, anemia, or clotting. In other words, I’m fortunate to be on this end of the blood drive. Those who aren’t so lucky, those who truly need my blood, really benefit from the afternoon I spent here. Surely, that’s a worthwhile use of my time, even if it does make me really sore afterwards.