Giving Back at the Blood Drive

Edmund Greg relieved himself for what seemed like the 57th time that morning, and was rather tired of it. He was drinking lots of water and was pissing his life away. Good thing blood drives were held infrequently.

Today was “Save a Life Day” at the office. Eligible cubicle dwellers were expected to participate in the local Red Cross Blood Drive. Edmund Greg didn’t much care to give blood, but it was the only civic thing he did.

Those who signed up were told to drink lots of water and eat beforehand. His appointment was just after lunch, and after enjoying his customary morning coffee, he downed a mug of water every hour, on the hour.

Didn’t take long for his urinations to become pale and clear, which meant he was fully hydrated. That should make his blood flow like water. The process should be quick and easy.

He strolled across the street to the parking lot filled with Red Cross vans. He arrived for his 12:30 appointment early to get the paperwork filled out. He answered the administrative nurse’s questions using new computers with touch screens. Very cool, he thought. He automatically answered queries about his age, height, and weight. He handed over his drivers’ license for verification.

The administrative nurse read his information, squinted, looked up at Edmund, squinted again, and asked, “Are you sure you really want to do this?”

“Sure,” he replied, “it’s the civic thing to do.”

“Very well,” said the admin. “Good for you.” Edmund thought it a bit odd, but said nothing.

The usual blood pressure and hemoglobin tests were conducted. He must have passed, because he was led into a van, and shown his gurney. He rolled up his right sleeve and laid down.

Another nurse applied disinfectant to his right arm and inserted a needle. He felt warm and tingly. “What’s that?” He asked, partially sitting up. “Don’t recall a hypo being part of this procedure before.”

“That’s because it’s brand new. This is one of the first groups to get it,” said the nurse. “It’s just to help you relax.”

Edmund shrugged. They must know what they were doing. He relaxed and laid back. Hmmm. He felt wonderfully dreamy.

The nurse came back, pushed a different needle into his arm, and attached a framework for a blood donor bag to his arm. She also attached what looked like a motor to the framework. “I didn’t know motors were part of this process,” he said.

“Nothing to worry about, sir,” replied the nurse. “It’s a pump.”

“A pump?! For what?”

“For the blood, of course. ”

“I don't recall the Red Cross ever using pumps.”

But the nurse had turned away already. He lay down, closed his eyes, and zoned out.

He felt some jostling on his right arm, and extra weight. They must be attaching an empty donor bag, he thought. The extra weight must be the motor. He lazily turned his head and dimly glanced down.

His eye popped wide when saw a bag already filled with blood! But not with oxygenated red-purple blood he was used to seeing in bags. This blood looked like it had oozed from a rotten tomato.

“Wait!” he objected. “You guys put a full bag on me.” He inclined his head toward his right arm, feeling weak and a bit dizzy.

“We know that,” the nurse replied. “We’re not TAKING your blood. We’re GIVING it to you.”

“GIVING me blood?” Edmund’s voice cracked and his vision starting growing hazy. On the verge of passing out, he cried out, “What’s going on?”

One of the administrative nurses heard the commotion and ambled over. “Not to worry, Mr. Greg. Everything is just fine. You are one of the first 'lucky' participants in our Giving Back Campaign. Some might get a bit panicky. That’s why we gave you that tranquilizer. Start the pump, nurse.”

The nurse paused and asked, “Didn’t you see the sign?”

“Yes.”

“Did you read what the sign said?”

“Sort of.”

“Did you read the paperwork you signed -- ALL of it?”

Edmund admitted he had not.

Shaking her head, the nurse flicked a switch on the pump. A stream of sick blue blood that didn’t belong in anyone’s body, let alone donated in the first place, was now gurgling merrily into Edmund’s arm. The plastic tube conveying the icky elixir looked like a varicose vein.

“The Red Cross is giving back? What are they giving back?” Edmund asked weakly.

“Bad blood. Donations that don’t pass our strict quality controls. We’ve been excoriated in the media for making mistakes in the past. Now we’re correcting our errors the very same day,” said the administrator.

“When a donation is made, if it doesn’t pass, we no longer destroy it. That requires HAZMAT, special handling, and costs far too much money. Now we’re putting it right back into circulation, so to speak,” the administrator smiled broadly at his little joke.

“We figure this message should get though loud and clear. People need to clean up their acts, and their own blood. OR ELSE. Just read the fine print next time, sir, BEFORE you sign your name.”

“This doesn’t look too toxic,” the nurse said encouragingly, “I’ve seen worse.”

“To make the process as random as we can, we made sure we have no idea whose blood you’re getting or why it failed our tests,” said the admin. "You are simply chosen at random to receive someone else's blood rather than to give your own."

"But that's not fair!" gasped Edmund.

"Fair? Who said anything about fair?" said the administrator.

Edmund slumped in upon himself like a sink hole, defeated.

Glancing down at Edmund's form, the admin said under his breath, "Bon appétit." He then turned softly on his heel and walked away.

Someone was rolling up his left sleeve. He felt liquid disinfectant being applied to that arm now. “Wait,” he protested again, this time much more faintly. “You guys already have a bag on my right arm.”

“We know that,” the nurse grinned tightly. “This is for the next bag.”