This morning I tried to give away something that is in high demand, is known as a precious gift, and is synonymous with life itself. It seems outrageous that there were no takers. Right? Well, not really. Especially when the very thing you are trying to give away is only pretending to be that priceless commodity. I was trying to give away some of myself. Literally. Let me explain.
I've been donating or attempting to donate my bodily fluids since I was a much younger man. Okay, I admit that some of those attempts were self serving. Perhaps there's a pattern because I never had any takers back in those days either! I digress.
The specific fluid in my body that I tried to give away this morning is one that many people actually want and need. I am referring to my plasma. That yellowy liquid that shares space in our veins and arteries with our blood is a life saver for so many who are sick or injured. As you can imagine, the need is endless. I've been trying to do my little bit to help by donating frequently. The tally of my donations for my plasma, my rare B negative whole blood, and the couple of times I gave platelets is now at 105.
Surely I've given a few gallons of myself over the years to Canadian Blood Services and to its predecessor, the Canadian Red Cross. I understand that in the States donors are actually paid for their blood donations. I figure I've been more than adequately compensated by the awesome people I have met at the various centres throughout Canada, as well as for the number of oatmeal cookies that I have eaten during the rest periods that are mandatory following every donation. The last thing needed is an anaemic donor rushing out the door and causing a traffic accident, thereby suddenly requiring the very blood that was just donated. Wouldn't that be ironic or is it? (Ever since Alanis Morissette wrote that song I'm not sure if I know the true meaning of the word "ironic".)
This happened to be the first time that I was ever rejected as a donor. I've always gotten through the screening process that is the envy of anything I've ever witnessed or tried during my 20+ year career as a cop. Use cocaine in the last six months? No. Had sex with a man, even once? No. Lived in Africa? No. Been to prison? No. Pregnant? No .......... and so on and so on. You get the message. Today I never even made it to the interrogation. All it took was a simple pin prick of my finger and the jig was up. The little pretest on my blood determined that there wasn't really that much premium test flowing through my veins today. My blood was more like Crisco shortening. What was up with that?
I didn't have to think too hard. The signs have been posted on the walls at the clinic since I started going there and the advice was in those pesky pamphlets in black and white. Donors are always reminded to drink lots of water and to eat healthily prior to donating. Now this is good advice at any time and for everyone. It seems that some of us need a kick in the pants to understand that these words actually mean what they say. It seems my Swiss Chalet chicken and rib combo supper (with fries) would not fall in the realm of healthy eating. Who knew? Also, the brownie and cookie batter I licked from the bowls just after my daughter put her creations in the oven probably aren't on the plasma donor A-list. Suffice to say, the fresh from the oven final products weren't a good choice either. At least I washed them down with skim milk.
The staff at the clinic are wonderful people. After all of the years I have been going there to donate, they are more like friends than vampires. They cheerfully sent me on my way this morning with some heartfelt advice. Apparently, oatmeal is an excellent short term antidote for having so much fat in the bloodstream. The only question I had for them was "Do oatmeal cookies count?" Apparently not.
