Recycle yourself!

I love giving blood. I think that if there was one perfect activity to do on a Saturday morning, it would be giving blood. Giving blood is like the most beautiful thing. It's a gift that you can give over and over again, and can save lives. What's the downside? It is, at it's essence, a way that we can truly connect with other people, to give blood from my body to your body? That's intimate. I don't exchange bodily fluids with anyone, so blood was my outlet. Key word: was.

I used to give blood on schedule, every eight weeks or twelve weeks, or whatever the length of time is that they require you to wait. I would happily talk to the volunteer at the cookie table as we watched the news, or I read a magazine. I think I usually drank juice and stayed away from the cookies, but seriously, now, I'd dig some of those trans-fat-filled cookies anytime. Yum. It's especially awesome to learn about how that person came to be a volunteer at the blood bank, or what they do with the rest of their time. It's strange how fascinated I am by the whole process, but I just am, no particular reason. No one has ever given me blood, if that's what you're thinking.

Three years ago, I gave it up. I had to call someone to get a ride home because I couldn't drive myself. I was too dizzy, and had to lie with my feet up, or my head up, or something up, in order to make the phlebotomists happy. It was a sad day. I'd known that it was coming; I knew I had more trouble than most people. I knew that I did it out of some deep unspoken need, rather than a real ability. So giving it up was really sad. I still miss it.

I still get to give blood every three months, but that blood just goes to a lab for testing, then probably gets dumped as medical waste. It doesn't save lives. It just saves my life, I suppose. I wish saving my own life thrilled me the way saving someone else's did. Saving my own life just feels like the right thing to do. It doesn't make me beam with joy or anything. It just gets me to another day. Oh joy.