Giving Blood Has Its Moments

I was lying on a couch, minding my own business. This person was looming over me, poking, prodding, demanding, demanding, demanding.

“What do you want from me?” I finally cried out. “Blood?” “Yes,” said the woman. “This is the Bloodmobile.”

“Oh,” I said. “Right.”

You can forgive me for being a little bit foggy about my whereabouts. My dipstick was about a pint low at the moment.

You see, I have this little problem when I give blood. The blood rushes away from my brain and causes me to become temporarily dense, although I almost always get better after a few months. Then I go and give blood again.

Actually, I enjoy giving blood. The only truly traumatic part of giving blood is filling out that questionnaire beforehand. Have you seen these questionnaires lately? They used to be fairly straightforward. You could pretty much breeze through these questions: Have you ever had kidney failure? No.

Have you ever had hepatitis? No.

Have you ever had a heart attack? No.

Are you currently dead? No.

These days, you would not believe some of the questions they ask. This questionnaire has questions that even the Army isn’t allowed to ask. I don’t even want to repeat the questions here, but they have to do with things like how friendly you are with intravenous drug users, and how friendly you are with various working professionals. Some of the questions are about how friendly you are with, basically, strangers you meet on the street.

To make this whole thing even less dignified, they also put you in a small closet with a nurse, who fixes you with a steely gaze and asks the same questions.

“Have you ever (been friendly) with (a working professional) of (any persuasion or species)?” Believe me, you don’t want to hesitate too long. You do not want to strike a thoughtful pose.

You do not want to say, “How the hell am I supposed to remember?” You do not want to say, “Not in the 48 contiguous states, no.”

You do not want to say, “Wait. I want to consult with my attorney.”

In this age of AIDS, the correct answer to most of these questions is “No.” They have to ask these questions, and if you can’t answer these questions without consulting your diary, maybe you should forget about giving blood.

However, if you can answer no to all of these, you get to lie on a couch for about 15 or 20 minutes while very nice people violate your veins for a good cause.

The couch is the best part of this. I wish I had a couch that was as comfortable at home. I could sit and watch TV in it, although I would prefer that some needle not be jabbing me in the arm at the time.

The needle is not really a problem. It hardly hurts at all. This doesn’t bother me as much as watching my warm, red blood flowing inexorably into a plastic bag. It’s my blood, and I feel a certain twinge of nostalgia for it, although maybe it is twinge of minor nausea.

I usually spend my time on the couch thinking profound thoughts such as: “It’s true. It does look thicker than water.”

Or, “This is the definitive proof: I am not a turnip.”

Or, “Hey! I am a red-blooded all-American boy.”

Then, after they’ve sucked enough of my essence out of me, they take the needle out and I get to my favorite part of the whole experience.

I am referring to the free donuts and orange juice. That’s why I give blood. Of course, I also do it to contribute something vital to one’s fellow human beings when they need it most.

But mostly, of course, I like the free donuts and orange juice. Just call me a humanitarian.

The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = Jim Kershner The Spokesman-Review