Visions of ice-cream bars

I have been hunkered down since March, taking only essential trips while fully masked such as to BLM Plaza in the District in early June to confront those silent, foreboding, anonymous soldiers in full combat gear in a line keeping the people away from the people's house.  Yesterday I traveled to INOVA Blood Donation Center in Annandale to donate whole blood.

A disconcerting sign greeted me upon arrival, telling me to leave immediately if, within the last 14 days: "You have traveled to an area with an outbreak of COVID-19. Currently the CDC has identified outbreaks in the following areas-All areas of all countries worldwide [including] cruise ships or riverboat travel anywhere in the world." I looked real hard at it to see if it was a Trump Tweet, it was so ridiculous. Yes, I ignored the warning sign and donated blood because I think I am not currently sick and perhaps sick or injured people currently could use a little O+ blood infusion (very sought after).

I had wanted to get into some kind of plasma therapy program because I think I might have had the coronavirus in February because I was as sick as I have ever been for two weeks with a cough-your-lungs-out respiratory illness but there is no antibody test I can get ("You only had the flu" said the doctor I talked to over the phone last month, who would have had to write me a prescription to get an antibody test but, she assured me, Kaiser doesn't do antibody test anyway) so I just donated whole blood.  Oh well, dumping a bag of whole blood in twenty minutes is a whole lot better for me anyway than spending 90-120 minutes hooked up to a a centrifuge machine that takes fluid out, whirls plasma out and returns the blood because it takes 6-8 units of blood (your body's entire volume) to get a unit of plasma.

After the donation, I went to the post-blooding refreshment center where I noted with pleasure that the center had added frozen ice cream bars to the water, juices and cookies that have always been provided.  I opened the freezer and identified the ice-cream bar I was going to enjoy but I left it in the freezer while I finished the orange juice I was drinking.  Meanwhile another old man like me shuffled in and stood socially distant from me between me and the freezer while he temporarily removed his mask (as I had) to drink his bottle of water.  Suddenly he erupted in a big, juicy cough into the crook of his elbow but without a mask on and I stared in horror at the freezer on the far side of him.  In it was the ice cream bar I had already identified as being to die for and which I really wanted since I haven't had ice cream in over 100 days.  I could, however, figuratively see an 8-foot square area of expelled droplets swarming around this man, directly between me and that freezer in this restricted indoor space.  Practically crying out in despair, I immediately executed a 180 degree turnaround and walked very fast out of the center.

The Century Mark

Last month I reached my lifetime goal of donating 100 units of blood during my lifetime, ironically enough on the tenth annual World Blood Donation Day (who knew?).  This is me happy that I'm submitting my tracked and scarred arms for a needle draw for the last time.

That's twelve and a half gallons of the red stuff.  I thought I could donate 101 times and then be able to say I donated over 100 times, or 104 times and say I donated 13 gallons, but 100 is a nice enough goal so I'm done.

I've been fortunate to be healthy enough to donate, so I should have made my blood available if it helped the greater good.  I'm a Democrat through and through and still look to the collective good and not the inner selfishness (needle pricks sting or even sometimes hurt so why do it for no personal gain?).

My blood is good blood, O+, able to be used for anyone except O- persons, their blood is the universal donar blood.  A friend of mine has the best blood joke, her blood is A+ and she likes to say, "I like to donate blood because when they test me, I always get an A+."

95%

I donated my 95th unit of whole blood today; I gave my first pint in 1982.  They like my blood because it's O+, which is secondary only to O-, which can be transfused into anyone.

In eight weeks I can donate my 96th unit, which will be my 12th gallon of blood.  Imagine 12 large chlorax containers filled with bright red fluid. 

The date is circled on my calendar, as I'm trying to get to one hundred, a little goal I set for myself.  I'm on track this year to donate six times, like I did last year and one other year. 

The absolute maximum amount you can donate in a year is seven times, but only if you donate right after the new year and right before the end of the year.  You literally have to carefully plan it out, and I've only done it once before.

Mission Accomplished

I set a goal this year of donating blood seven times. This is a little tricky to do since you have to wait eight weeks between each blood donation. Doing the math, 52 weeks divided by 8 weeks' deferral period each time, seems to indicate six donations per year. But if you get started early in the year and donate again each time as soon as you are eligible to, you can make it to seven donations in a calendar year.

Seven finger-pricks to test your blood's iron content, and seven needle inserts to take the blood, how fun. Actually, it's not bad. And you feel so smug about your goodness afterwards.

In 2007, I first donated blood on January 2d. I donated every eight weeks thereafter, culminating in my seventh donation earlier this month. I am proud of this effort.

For my next trick, I intend to donate blood 100 times in my lifetime. I am three quarters of the way there, currently working on my nine gallon pin (units of blood donated).

What's Inside of You?

Last week I gave blood for the 70th time. What this says about me is that I lead a dull life.

I have no tattoos or recent body piercings. I haven’t had extended stays in the UK or lived in the Channel Islands. I wasn’t born in Africa. I haven’t had sex with a prostitute or a man or recently with a woman who does wild and crazy things that I know about. (Sigh.) Boring.

The exclusionary rules for blood donation get longer and longer. As I read them each time I wonder who, exactly, is left that they can take blood from? Besides me I mean?

They asked if I had ever taken propecia. I didn’t know what that was. I was told it’s for BPH. Oh. Well, not yet anyways. It’s also used for baldness. Ohhh. Would blood banks be forced to close if I was a little more vain about my bald pate?

They asked if there was any Creutzfeldt-Jakob in my family. I didn’t know what to say. I hadn’t heard of any Creutzfeldt-Jakob in my family but then again, I don’t know every single one of my relatives.

A friend has A positive blood. She can’t give blood because, like just about every woman I know, she’s anemic. Or maybe she just tells me that when I ask if she wants to go to the donation center with me because she has a lot more fun than I do.

I guess her blood floats when they drop it into the little vial of clear liquid to check it for iron. Her blood apparently doesn’t have enough iron in it. She must not know about Fred Flintstone Vitamin pills with Iron.

My blood apparently has iron because it always sinks in the vial. The technician and I sit there and watch the drop of blood lazily glide to the bottom. It’s suspenseful, like watching the Titanic slowly slip beneath the surface.

Anyway, my friend tells me that except for the iron thing, she would love to go to the blood donation center with me. She says this is because she likes taking blood tests. She gets an A+ every time. She loves that story. She tells it better than I do.

I’m O positive, which means my blood can be given to every person with RH positive blood. The only blood better than mine is O negative, which can be given to anyone. So they like for me to donate. I get calls about every two months from organizations seeking my blood. There are two competing blood-collecting systems here in Northern Virginia, Inova and the American Red Cross, and this situation doubles my calls.

I want to donate blood 100 times. I’m seventy percent of the way there. Runners are obsessed with numbers, right? Triple digits is my number for blood donations. I just made it up, years ago before I was a runner. So you see, the obsession that eventually led to running has always been there.

I have eight pins designating gallon donations in my cufflink box atop my dresser. Four more gallon donation pins sit in my desk drawer, awaiting transfer to my cufflink box upon completion of my task. Will I stop when I get to one hundred? I don’t know, but probably not.