Several weeks ago, my world was shaken when trying to do something positive. I’ve always wanted to be a blood donor. I felt if I could make something for free that will help someone else, I’d give it. Heck, I’ve given clean urine to a friend so I have no quarrels with giving blood. To my embarrassment, I’ve only given once. The only reason it’s been like that is because of the unnecessary gashing they give to one’s finger. I asked many times to test the blood of my wrist or even the back of my hand, but to no avail.
I finally made the decision to suck it up and head over. After some pleading ad the rejection of my bride, I was proudly rocking the band-aid on my left ring finger. This is the male’s version of giving birth, I have no doubt.
The questionnaire was the only thing I had issues with during the whole process. The ?’s were interesting to say the least. Then came the moment: I was asked if I have ever, “lived in (an) Africa(n country) for a year or longer?” without a second thought, I selected yes. Being of Nigerian descent, my mother moved back after I was born and we lived for a year.
Needless to say, this was the biggest issue. They told me I couldn’t donate because I lived in an African country for a year post 1977. ’77!
Just recalling the situation has me bitter all over again. Gonna have givens this here… For now.