Bloody biscuits

They’re walking the streets, they’re all over the TV and littered throughout my social feeds. With needles hanging from their arms like a badges of honour and biscuit crumbs spread across their proud smile … I’m sick of blood donors.

I can’t put my finger on it exactly but I know it has a lot to do with the whole I gave blood, I’m a hero mentality. If not this it’s the you should give too, they give you a biscuit statement.

Celebrating an anniversary, my wife and I saw The Martian last night and the pre movie advertising was dominated by a Red Cross ad overflowing with celebrity chefs raving excessively about the biscuit given post blood donation. The audience ate it up, people turned and commented whispering to each other the time and date if their next donation. Me, on the other hand, I clutched gently at my forearm and asked why?

Why discriminate? Why don’t you want me? Why must you rub it in my face? Why won’t you accept my blood?

This distaste hasn’t mustered overnight though has been a slow burning fire. It began with a letter.

Dear Luke,
Thank you for your donation … We regret to inform you that your blood is useless, you wasted your time and ours*.
*an exaggerated version of the original

I’d lived in England for twelve months in 1989/90, that was enough to discount the blood, that seems to be doing an OK  job of keeping me alive, from being donated. This is really why I’m sick of those needle and crumb decorated hero’s.

I’m jealous. I’m hurt. I have blood.

I’ve read the t&c’s and researched the reasons but I’d really like a mad cows screening test. If you can’t do that Red Cross, at least acknowledge it in your advertising – as sad as it is, we can’t all be heroes.

If you’ve been told your blood isn’t worthy join the conversation on Twitter with #TakeMyBlood