I donated whole blood every 56 days for decades before I had to stop. Back
then, it was legal for a child of at least 14 years in my country to donate.
They raised the age up to 16 while I was still 15, but they grandfathered me
into it, because I was so dedicated. It was a girl I liked in school who got
me into it. She was so pretty, she always wore this big black bow in her
hair, and I would have done anything for her. She organized a blood drive,
and I was one of the few kids who took her up on it, so we actually did
become friends. I thought my tactic was working until she confided in me
that she liked girls. We remained close, because I didn’t have a problem
with it, and by then, I was already heavily invested in the blood donation
thing. I scheduled classes around it, I scheduled my vacations around it. I
made sure everyone who ever needed me for anything knew that I wouldn’t be
able to help them on particular days. Over time, the donation process became
faster and more efficient, so it was easier to schedule other things, but I
still had to be careful. If I waited even one extra day for my next
appointment, I would feel like I was letting someone down. I felt compelled
to maximize my availability. I got to know the people at the clinic. They
could count on me to always show up with clean blood. I knew their names,
and even hung out with them outside of their work. Meanwhile, I was working
in a factory. Do you know those little wheels in the center of computer
mouses? You spin them, and it scrolls the elevator on the screen? Yeah, we
make those. My boss is literally the one who invented them. Before that, we
worked together to make other early computer parts, but she brought me on
when she started her own company.
That was when the clinic moved locations. They didn’t move for me. I had
inspired my boss to get involved in charity work. Donating a portion of our
building to a brand new state-of-the-art clinic was a great way to get the
word out about what we do. Everyone loves that kind of mouse, because it
makes using a machine so much easier, and we all but monopolized it. Anyway,
my life was good for a time. I was making great money, and never had to
waver in my commitment to giving blood. One day, in the middle of my
recovery cycle, the train I was on went off the rails. Dozens of people
died, and the rest of us were very badly injured. We needed blood. We needed a
lot of it. I remember thinking that this was going to screw up my
schedule for the rest of my life, but as it turned out, that was the least
of my problems. A few weeks later, I was doing fine, and eagerly awaiting
the day I could get back to giving back. I had a lot to make up for. A
lawyer showed up at my door to deliver me some bad news. Apparently, a mixup
at a different clinic resulted in the transfusion of blood from a gay man.
I’m like, “so the hell what?” Well, he explained that gay people transmitted
STDs, so they weren’t allowed to donate blood. Okay, the guy lied on his
form, but he didn’t even have a bloodborne disease! Now, you’ll remember
that my best friend was a lesbian, and we grew up in the subculture
together, because I was an ally. I had experimented a bit myself too, and I
didn’t absolutely hate it. I was pissed. I knew that this was a law, but
hadn’t thought much about it. I fought and protested, but nothing changed.
So many people could die because of an outdated discriminatory law. So I did
something foolish. I recorded myself having relations with a man, and sent
it to the president of the national organization that ran my clinic. He was
appalled, and decided to use his power to ban me for life.
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