Bloody Needles

A recent trip to the place of my birth led to a profuse amount of blood letting and cheesy nibbles. Yes, it was back to Southampton General Hospital for the first time in 31 years for a trip down pre-memory lane and a visit to the Blood Donor Centre. Being an existing and regular bleeder (the blue card's on its way) I got an invitation to an open evening in order to coerce me into giving up my precious platelets.

I helped myself to the array of snacky treats on offer as I mingled with the exclusively male clientele. It seems that the platelets of some women who have produced babies can give recipients a freaky & fatal lung disease. See, babies are evil, I have been vindicated by facts! I met a small, doe-eyed, platelet-recieving, diseased child while I was there. I assume this was supposed to persuade me that this was a good thing, oh how little they know me.

As we were shown the huge, humming, platelet-skimming machines, the bloke in charge imparted all sorts of useful information. Apparently eating fish & chips makes your blood go all frothy, hormone treatment makes your plasma green and Aspirin kills your poor, defenceless platelets, but Ibuprofen only maims them.

The nurses were all tiptoeing round the issue and sheepishly adding to every sentence, "if that's what you'd like to do, no pressure." Well, there should be pressure. Sod politeness. Only a tiny percentage of the population gives blood. Why ask for it? Just demand it, like a tax. Put it on your payslip: Income Tax 22%, National Insurance 11%, Blood 3 pints a year. Finally, acceptance was granted, the usual squirmy questions were answered, measurements were taken, veins were opened and I went on my merry way a few fluid ounces lighter.

Find your next & nearest blood donor session here, and while you're at it you can sign up to donate your bone marrow here and your organs here. Hurry.