This weekend marked the beginning of my crusade to be the world's greatest person. The first step in this process Saturday morning was making sure my hair looked top notch. The second step was to do something selfless to help others (and maybe even hurt me - for an added touch of selflessness). The obvious choice here is to save a little boy from the jaws of a crocodile, but since it looks like I missed my chance - I decided to do the next best thing and donate blood.
My blood type is O negative and referred to as "universal." This is just another in a long line of things that make me a genetic specimen (no wisdom teeth / 20/15 vision / deep, dark and engaging eyes). Now I know from past donations that my blood type is particularly important because it can be used by anyone (anyone that wants a little bourbon in their blood. Am I right fellas? *hi-five!). Anyway, as I soon found out - I should have taken my chances with the crocodile.
Upon my arrival I was asked if I had an appointment... to give blood. I assumed they did not turn people away that are trying to give blood so I was forthcoming and honest when I looked the security guard in the eye and said, "no" (Why does the red cross need a security guard, anyway? Who is trying to case the red cross?). Apparently if you do not have the foresight to make an appointment you have to wait to do your good deed - as the red cross volunteers move like the employees at the DMV.
Eventually I am moved into a cubicle and the cardboard curtain is slammed... or scooted behind me. As I am waiting I realize I am sitting the the larger, more comfortable chair in front of the computer that is certainly reserved for the red cross volunteer and not for some do-gooder that thinks he deserves the big chair. I adjust to the more appropriate seat and start to feel like I am awaiting a meeting with my probation officer. Finally a woman sticks her head around the curtain and says, "Are you the one that had Hodgkins?" to which I reply, "I hope not..." She gives me a confused look and moves to the next cubicle and asked the same question. The man in that cube responds, "yes." It occurs to me that since I could hear his answer, he could probably hear mine. So far my attempt at being a good person has backfired.
A short time later a woman scurries into my cube and takes her seat in the big chair. She asks me my height and weight. I tell her and she gives me the inevitable, "You are tall." I ask if that means they are going to try and take more of my blood. She assures me I will be treated without prejudice.
I glance over her head at a chart on the wall. The chart lists blood types and the types of blood they can use in a transfusion. I swell with pride as I look at O negative. Check marks across the board. Then I notice something worth inquiring about.
"Wait... so if I'm O negative, I can give blood to anyone, but I can only get blood from another O negative person?"
"Yeah"
"Well that sucks."
"Yeah I guess it does."
Despite my administrators poor bedside manner and my own disappointment, I resist the urge to throw a tantrum and leave and proceed with the donation. I'm a real giver. Next step - the prick. Not that kind of prick. the finger prick. Ok not that kind of prick either. You are impossible to talk to sometimes.
So as my volunteer prepares to prick my finger (ed. note - tee hee), She lines her sterile equipment on the desk in front of me. She asks for my middle finger and I give it to her. No I literally flip her the bird. I thought it was funny - she looked at me as if to say - "That's original." I guess I am not the first person to do that.
She proceeds to stick my middle finger with a needle and draw blood. She puts the blood on a disk and sticks it in a machine on the desk. She waits for the results and as they pop up she says, "Oh... hold on a second."
She then gets up and walks out. She comes back with her superior. If you have ever been in a medical facility and someone looks at the results of your test... looks confused... gets up - walks out and returns with their supervisor... it sucks. At this point I have convinced myself that that machine tests life expectancy and they are trying to find a nice way to tell me I have 30 seconds to live.
The supervisor looks at the machine's results and says, "yeah, it's a little high." At this point I can't take any more and just want the bad news. "What's high?" I ask. She replies, "Your iron is a little high. It just means you can't give double red cells. You can still donate." Now I had no intention of donating more than the rest of the population, so this does not concern me.
I don't know what iron does, but it sounds pretty tough. So I ask the next logical question:
"High iron in my blood, huh? Does that mean I'm a super hero?"
"No, it means you are at risk for prostate cancer."
I feel this is an inappropriate time to request an exam so I decide to try and learn more about how this may have happened.
"Do you eat alot of meat?" She asks.
"Look at me, lady. The closest I come to a vegetarian meal is a steak wrapped in bacon with steamed hot dogs."
"Well that's probably how your iron got so high."
She then proceeds to take my blood pressure and tells me that it is good. I ask which is more important, iron or blood pressure. She tells me that blood pressure has to do with my heart so it is more important. I tell her she hurt my prostate's feelings.
Now before anyone donates blood they are subjected to a series of questions that... in all honesty I can't imagine admitting to even if they were true. The administrator leaves the cubicle as the questions are answered on the computer.
Q: Have you had sex with a prostitute in the past year?
A: What's today's date?
Q: Have you taken any illegal drugs intravenously in the past year?
A: Is Crack legal yet?
Ect...
When I am done the administrator walks back into my cube and proceeds to review my answers. As she is reviewing them, she pauses again and asks me if I have been outside of America or Canada in the past year. I already answered this on the test, so I assure her I have been to Mexico. She clicks a button and asks me what city. I tell her Playa del Carmen and she clicks another button. Then she asks if I visited Tulum while I was there. I tell her yes and I have the t-shirt to prove it. Then she drops the bombshell on me.
"You are being deferred until June of this year."
"What do you mean 'deferred'?"
"You can't give blood today. You have to wait until it has been a year since you were at Tulum. Here is a coupon for a free Sonic hamburger for your good intentions."
"Wait - why can't I give blood?"
"Because Tulum is a risk for Malaria."
"Well that wasn't in the brochure... Could that be where I picked up all of my extra iron?"
"Could be... sign here."
I sign a piece of paper that states a understand I cannot give blood. I walk out ashamed, rejected and embarrassed.
So there it is. My attempt at saving a life or two was ransacked by America's beard. Not to mention I went swimming in an underground cave in a place where malaria is as common as refried beans. Thanks, Mexico. Cancer patients all over America thank you too.
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