Blood Money

It’s 5 AM, and my alarms going off. I pop out of bed and head to the kitchen, where I gobble down a granola bar and drink a glass of water. Now that I’m hydrated and have food in my system, I can start driving to my appointment. It’s time for my first of two weekly Plasma Donations.

My friends the one who put me onto this. He called me one day and told me about this place that pays you to donate your blood. Apparently, this corporation uses your Plasma to make medicine and pays you a small fee for your donation. He said it was easy to get approved and mentioned he makes $100-$200 a week donating. Since I was dead broke and jobless, I went to take my physical and get started. It seemed like a good side hustle till I got back on my feet.

The donation center is about 15 minutes from my house, so it’s a short drive. Plus, I go early in the morning when there’s no traffic on the road. As much as I don’t like to admit it, I go early, hoping I don’t run into anyone I know. I also put on my prescription glasses, which I don’t usually wear, to look inconspicuous. Being seen donating Plasma does not exude success.

When I arrive at the facility, I walk to a terminal and fill out a brief questionnaire. Every time I come to donate, I have to do this. The company wants to ensure I’m still healthy, haven’t got any STDS, and am fully aware of the risks that come with donating Plasma. I answer all the questions honestly, but it’s hard to imagine people admitting something that will prevent them from making their donation. They test your blood every time, so they’d find out anyway, but it’s kinda obvious how you need to answer to move to the next step.

After I finish my questions, I take a seat in the lobby & wait to be called up front. A few minutes pass, and a lady yells “Daniel” across the room. I walk up to the counter, where a nurse greets me and starts my Pre-Screening tests (There are two of them, and I have to pass both to donate.)

The first thing the nurse does is get a reading of my Protein levels. I stick out my finger, and she pokes me with a device that gives me a small cut. Then, she gives my finger a light squeeze and fills a tube with my blood. After that, she drops it into a machine that analyzes it.

While she waits for my results, she checks my Blood Pressure. I always dread this test because my blood pressure occasionally comes back high. If it’s not in an acceptable range, they make you wait 15 minutes and retake the test. If it’s still high, they send you home and make you return another day. It ends up being a huge waste of time & you leave without the money you desperately needed.

I do my best to stay calm while the nurse places the cuff around my arm. She tells me to “Relax & Breath in” and starts the test. The cuff loosens up in less than a minute, and she tells me to head to the back. I passed both tests and can begin my donation – Thank God.

I stroll over to the donation floor, which is filled with rows of chairs. Before getting seated, I glance at everyone in the midst of their donation. I see a bunch of minorities who look homeless or close to it. There’s a mix of young & old people in the room. To my surprise, almost as many women are donating as men. It’s a sad sight, but poverty doesn’t discriminate against genders.

A nurse walks up to me and asks what arm I’d like to use for my donation. I always choose my left arm because the vein on my right arm is too small to extract blood from. One time, they tried to use it, and the process took way longer than usual and left a gigantic bruise on my arm. It was a nightmare experience, and I never used my right arm again after that.

I sit down, and the nurse applies some disinfectant to my vein. While rubbing it in, she gives me a big smile & asks how I’m doing. I respond, “Fine,” even though I’m so broke that I’m donating my blood for some chump change. It’s ironic that the employees are over-the-top cheery when what’s happening is so dark.

After cleaning my vein, the nurse pulls the lid off a sterile needle and sticks me. Most of the time, my blood flows into the plasma machine right away. Every now and then, though, nothing comes out, and they have to wiggle the needle around until they find a solid connection to my vein. Some staff members can never stick me in the right location, so I always request proven nurses if they’re available.

Once I’m up and running, the waiting game begins. I make a squeezing gesture with my hand to help my blood flow faster and speed up the process. You start at 0% and have to wait until the machine reaches 100%. If you disconnect early for any reason, you won’t receive the full payment amount. While I’m waiting for my donation to finish, I watch YouTube Videos or listen to Music. The process is painless and requires no real effort on my end.

When the machine hits 100%, the final stage of the donation begins. The device returns your red blood cells to you and keeps your Plasma in a separate bag. This part of the donation makes you feel chilly, but it’s over quickly. The nurse then took the needle out of my vein, wrapped a bandage around my arm, and sent me on my way. Even though I know my donation will help save someone’s life, a piece of my dignity has been lost.

I just pimped myself out and gave this billion-dollar corporation a pint of my blood for a $40 gift card.

In addition to the shame I feel, the donation leaves a bruise on my vein. It kinda looks like I was using heroin. I used to be a drug addict, so I hate going around with this suspicious-looking mark on my arm. Especially since I always brag about being clean. Nobody’s ever questioned me about it, but it does make me self-conscious. Having a needle mark on your vein is never a good look.

The Donation Center can only use your plasma if you make two donations in the same week, so I’ll need to return in a few days. They give you more money for your second donation, but in reality, they’re paying you pennies for your blood and selling it for a hefty profit. It’s not anywhere close to a fair trade.

When you’re a beggar, you can’t be a chooser, so for right now I have to accept what they give me. I gotta get out of this position soon, though. I don’t want to be doing this forever. Some people here look like they’ve been doing this for years and will probably donate their Plasma until they die. This place reeks of poverty & exploitation, and once I’m back working…

I ain’t ever trading my blood for money again.