Plasma Harvest

Blog 385:

I look back and squirm
A ritual leaves in me a bitter taste
I’m sorry, I no longer can’t
I can’t do needles
I can’t do blood
Needles and blood …
I just can’t do both anymore
 
Many moons ago, before the ritual
I swooned at a paper cut-
Something about the skin opening, I think
The peeling, slicing, piercing
Then annual health checks came
And I could not avoid the drill
I truly despise that one dreadful room
But I drag my feet and brave the ordeal
I comply with the mandated lab trip
There … a med technician puts a fingertip to my wrists
She inspects and touches my lifeblood tubes
“Make a fist!” she orders gently
And as soon as the veins turn supple
She inserts a sharp, blood-drawing needle
I watch and feel the warm red liquid roll out
First, just spurts, though soon …
Then plasma flows freely into dispensing glass tubes
 
A rush of heat overtakes me
I begin to feel ill, but remain there till dismissed
Across the room from where I sit
The sound of blood churning chills me
I can’t help but look at the long plastic ribbons of blood
Coursing from bodies to machines
The drama creates a sight of people being farmed
“Dialysis was worse!” I whisper to myself
Blood everywhere I look
To the right, to the left, out in the open
Blood oozes where blood isn’t supposed to be
Deep and dark … almost purple
 
The med tech’s voice intrudes and dominates all sounds
“All done here; test results in a day or so,” she declares
I get up and search for a bathroom
I throw cold water on my face
I take two steps and my ears close up
My vision pinholes
I feel my own heartbeat
My blood warms up again
Then I pass out and enter an oblivious state!