Friday, 15 May 2009


There's nothing too graphic in the following, but the squeamish (especially about certain parts of the functioning of the female reproductive system) may want to look away.

A couple of months ago my closest colleage, Marc, mentioned that he'd been to the bloodbank to donate (actually he does plasma, which you can give more often). He's quite proud that his results to the tests they do (bloodpressure, iron level) are always the same. It reminded me that I, too, have been thinking about becoming a donor for quite some time. There are a few reasons why I haven't, being too busy to think up excuses why I shouldn't drag my depressed ass out of the house and do something for someone else being the main one for quite some time.

I also used to get quite anaemic around 'that time of the month' when I was younger and I'd seen the same with my mother, who was driven to give up in frustration because they would always invite her at the wrong times and then wouldn't let her reschedule, but made her wait until the next appointment. Which, if you're a bit more regular than I am, would mean you still couldn't donate!

Anyway, my body seems to have settled down in my old age and I'm a bit more stable 'up there' too, so when he mentioned it, I filled in the online application form and waited for a response. After a couple of weeks an information package arrived, without much new information, but saying they'd be in touch. (The only thing I wasn't sure of is which medication I was allowed to take.)

So when Marc said yesterday that he'd donated again (apparently he makes it into a race, such a man thing to do) I told him I still hadn't heard anything and I should probably get in touch. Of course I forgot to get on it immediately, but lo and behold! this morning I received a telephone call and I now have an appointment for the medical on Tuesday. (Because my anti-depressants are not a problem.)

I almost feel like a good citizen now.

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