They're After My Blood

Today, I went to the blood donation session at the local community centre so I'm now feeling all weak and anaemic. Still, I did get a cup of cocoa and a chocolate biscuit for my troubles. It's just as well because I bloody hate needles. I hate waiting for them to shove the thing in my arm and close my eyes at the relevant moment. They even ask if I'd like an anaesthetic. Well, lets see - do I want one needle stuck in my arm or two? It's a simple choice really.

I'm not quite sure how I got in to regular donations. I've been told that one is meant to have a sense of well-being and feel good about oneself. This is to with the feeling that one has altruistically helped one's fellow man. There may be something to this. Many people will give up great amounts of their time to help the local community so lying on my back for half an hour whilst someone sticks pointy metal objects into my arm doesn't seem such a great sacrifice.

I think, more importantly, that being fit and well enough to donate is reason enough to do it. We need regular blood supplies and it's much better that these come from a reliable voluntary source rather than a paid-for service which is likely to attract some people with a less than desirable life-style. Even so, the blood transfusion services are very picky. They have to be, but I do wonder whether the blanket ban on gay people donating is actually in everyone's interest. Some people in the gay community do put themselves at higher risk of blood born illnesses but that's not to say there aren't a significant number of straight people that do the same.

Anyway, I think I know why I keep on giving blood regularly - those nagging reminder letters really do work.