Denied

I remember a discussion in one of my medical anthropology classes in grad school about blood drives, and the introduction of the bar-coded "Use my blood" and "Don't use my blood" stickers that a donor can place on his or her vial. Because, you know, if your workplace has a blood drive, and you've checked the "Yes, I've traded sex for drugs in the last 12 months" box, in many cases it could be easier to donate the pint of blood and have them dump it than to try to explain to your co-workers why you're being a selfish bastard and not participating in the blood drive.

I actually remember how much of a production a former boss made out of the fact that he couldn't donate at an onsite blood drive, because he'd just spent time in Costa Rica. He probably told every single one of the 200 people working in the organization why he was denied.

And today, I sort of understand why he felt so compelled to do so. There's a blood drive at our YMCA today, and I hopped over to renew our membership and donate a pint, which I hadn't done in ages, largely because it's sort of inconvenient. But really, right across the street, so no excuses. I filled out my questionnaire, got my temperature taken, had my finger pricked and my pulse checked, made small talk with the nurse, who has three dogs and no kids and is happy as a clam. Then she took my blood pressure, furrowed her brow, and tried again. And then she called someone else over to try AGAIN.

"Low?" she said.
"I don't know; sometimes it's a little low."
"No, I remember you, it's low." I have no idea why she'd remember me; I've never donated at this site before, even in this county, but okay, maybe. I wasn't gonna argue.

I tried to think about work, about global warming, anything I could to stress myself out, but there it was: 88 over 55. No go. I had to sign a form saying I understood why I was denied, and off I went, no bright-colored tourniquet on my arm, no "I gave blood today!" sticker, no Lorna Doones and apple juice.

And I felt like telling everyone I passed on my way out, even though none of them gave me even a passing glance: "Low blood pressure! I swear! No sex for drugs, really, I promise."