Part IV – The Conclusion
December 31, 2010
When I pulled up today for my second donation of plasma, it was 6:37am. There were at least 10 people standing on the sidewalk in front of the building, cautiously behind the bushes that line the fence on the side of the entrance. A dangerous place to stand, I found out last week. After seeing many of those people wait nearly two hours, only to be sent home because they were too early, I just couldn’t risk it. I opted to wait in my car, away from anything that could be remotely considered company property.
Dutifully, I wait till the regulated 7 am “stand in line time.” I walked to the door, and to my horror, there were already more than 25 people ahead of me. I refused to leave though, because $30 does come in handy and since my first donation was not useable, I wanted this one to count. Judging by the line, the personalities inside and the small penance I am to be paid for my valuable plasma, I won’t be back.
People ahead of me are urged to stand in a single file line. They were resistant, almost deaf to the security guards feeble requests. Reluctant to merge the blob into a single file line, for fear of loosing one’s spot, I suppose. Behind me, within minutes, 50 people made up the line. These folks were orderly. Impatience marks the face of those whose bodies cross the parking lot line, toward, where else, MAWIB (Milwaukee Area Workforce Investment Board). Perhaps many of these folks could be considered for jobs, so that donation of plasma, would be regulated to those who could not work. If that were the case, I would be ineligible too! Scratch that.
Inside, nothing new. I am a bit of a vet this time. It will definitely be a while for me though, as it is 8:29am and they are only on number 7 of the first sheet of 25 people. I am 10 on the second sheet. Those who make up the third and fourth sheets of 25 people each, are urged to go home and return at about 11:00 am. No one moved. A second urging, and three or four folks opted to leave until there numbers come up. And in the noisy lobby, you can easily miss your name being called.
Unlike when you donating blood, during a work blood drive, no one is offering cookies, juice or any relaxing supports. It feels a little like jail, not that I have any direct experience there, but yes, like the lock up. No one really likes you and you are indeed a number. You are regulated, monitored, and overseen.
“Donate plasma, save lives”. That mantra made it attractive for me to donate, in the first place.
Now, I begin to wonder about the person’s life, I might save. I wondered what kind of life threatening illness, my plasma would remedy. That really is what brought me back. This sort of liquid prostitution drains you of all energy, friendliness, patience and compassion. It kind of sours you. People are generously rude, contemptuous and callous. You aren’t treated as a valuable life saver, but rather a pesky pest, for which a pesticide would be a tease.
I have more questions than answers, how much do they sell my plasma for to the hospital, person or facility that is in need? I mean how much is it really worth? Are other plasma donation centers friendlier than this one, easier to access and more compassionate? How do I know they really put all of my red blood cells back into me?
It used to be that the term going slumming, was in vogue. But if you area already in the slums, how can that be a fun field trip? Seeing how the other half lives was an interesting view. Waiting in these long lines, sitting in these hard plastic chairs, and bathing in the B.O. of others less fortunate, is a wake up call. I just don’t know as of yet, what I am called to wake up to.
At 10:55am, though I have been weighed and all, I have not began the blood letting process yet.
I inquired, and lost my seat immediately after I got to my feet, and I was told that because I had acrylic nails, they had to call and verify if id donated anywhere else, since a week ago. The attendant said it was standard procedures and the “FDA” made them do that for people with acrylic nails. I assured him I had these nails, last week, when I donated and, in fact the only line I had stood in since my first donation was the Honey Baked Ham line in Scottsdale Arizona where id spent the last week on vacation. (My mother lives there and sent for me, for those of you who wondered, how I could afford to have a vacation). That was a long line too but much friendlier, despite the fact that most people gave up at least $50 for some sugar shellacked swine.
I asked if I could furnish them with a copy of my plane ticket that verified that I wasn’t even in town. They said that wouldn’t matter. Calling the other 5 local locations was the only acceptable method of cross checking.
11:10am and no one told me this would be the case, when they scanned my fingers earlier. I had to ask what the hold up was, and then I was told.
“Donate Plasma; Earn Money, Save a Life.” What a crock of doody. The early bird, in this case was choked to death by the worm! What an experience. This is absurd. Its 11:15am and one nice man just said, they’d received the last phone call, verifying that I’d not been a customer at any other location since my first donation. I knew that. Sad, my word was not bond in this case.
Honestly, I don’t think I will return. While I continue to struggle, I have other options. There are many folks who just do not. In the end, I hope my plasma gets used and I pray that the folks I met “get big,” and find many new opportunities in the new year. As for me, I will stick to not getting stuck, when times are hard. Donating may save lives, but it sure does not save an ounce of time.
