Giving blood just sucks the life out of you...
...but only temporarily.
Before I left the college today, I stopped off to give a pint of blood to someone who can make better use of it. I have been doing this off and on since I was 16 or 17, more regularly of late in a world where I seem surrounded by opportunities to donate (and motivated by pleading emails from the blood bank).
Consequently, giving blood has become so routine for me I often quickly forget that I’m missing some of that iron-rich stuff that makes all sorts of daily activities possible. Once I gave blood in the morning and then tried to swim a mile in the afternoon, another time I hit the gym (and it hit back). You are warned not to do anything strenuous for 12 hours-and I forget.
LIke this afternoon: I was trying to figure out why I was feeling so tired as I revised a lecture (not really heavy lifting, but it did involve thick books)-oh yeah, I’m down a pint. I guess it gives me an excuse to take a nap-if only I didn’t have this lecture to revise.....
Giving blood can also force a sort of unexpected existential crisis. In filling out the questionnaire to see if you are qualified to give blood, you, the successful donor, discover how boring and mundane a life you really lead.
No, I haven’t traveled anywhere in the last three years. Nope, have never lived abroad for an extended period of time.
Nada on the body piercings in the last 12 months? Tattoos. Uh, no.
Am I an IV druggy? No. Do I sleep with them? No.
How about hookers? What? Are you, or have you ever been, a prostitute? (It actually says something like “received money in exchange for sex.”) Would I be driving an 11-year-old car if that were the case?
How about hiring hookers? I have an 11-year-old car, do you think I can afford a hooker?
The good news is, boredom has its reward: you are qualified to have someone stick a needle in your arm and drain away a bit of your life (naps are optional and only for those not in need of revising lectures).
And, once its done, after you have the requisite cookies and juice, they’ll send you off with a heartfelt thanks, but you know what they are thinking:
“That dude has a real boring life.”
But then they look around at the empty donor cots and add the kicker:
“I hope it stays that way until next time.”
Before I left the college today, I stopped off to give a pint of blood to someone who can make better use of it. I have been doing this off and on since I was 16 or 17, more regularly of late in a world where I seem surrounded by opportunities to donate (and motivated by pleading emails from the blood bank).
Consequently, giving blood has become so routine for me I often quickly forget that I’m missing some of that iron-rich stuff that makes all sorts of daily activities possible. Once I gave blood in the morning and then tried to swim a mile in the afternoon, another time I hit the gym (and it hit back). You are warned not to do anything strenuous for 12 hours-and I forget.
LIke this afternoon: I was trying to figure out why I was feeling so tired as I revised a lecture (not really heavy lifting, but it did involve thick books)-oh yeah, I’m down a pint. I guess it gives me an excuse to take a nap-if only I didn’t have this lecture to revise.....
Giving blood can also force a sort of unexpected existential crisis. In filling out the questionnaire to see if you are qualified to give blood, you, the successful donor, discover how boring and mundane a life you really lead.
No, I haven’t traveled anywhere in the last three years. Nope, have never lived abroad for an extended period of time.
Nada on the body piercings in the last 12 months? Tattoos. Uh, no.
Am I an IV druggy? No. Do I sleep with them? No.
How about hookers? What? Are you, or have you ever been, a prostitute? (It actually says something like “received money in exchange for sex.”) Would I be driving an 11-year-old car if that were the case?
How about hiring hookers? I have an 11-year-old car, do you think I can afford a hooker?
The good news is, boredom has its reward: you are qualified to have someone stick a needle in your arm and drain away a bit of your life (naps are optional and only for those not in need of revising lectures).
And, once its done, after you have the requisite cookies and juice, they’ll send you off with a heartfelt thanks, but you know what they are thinking:
“That dude has a real boring life.”
But then they look around at the empty donor cots and add the kicker:
“I hope it stays that way until next time.”