Starting The Day In The Afternoon

I had slept like a log and had woken up at the regular time; but was still fatigued.

It made me wonder if something had gone on at plasma place the day before when they stopped my donation about a third of the way through.

Of course, the blame was directed towards me. 

At the point when the machine paused, and perhaps gave some indication of something being out of balance, I had jut taken my glasses off and rubbed my eyes. 

This was mostly because, in my effort to ride my bike to the place against what was probably a 30 mile per hour wind, which was inexplicably right in my face all along the 2 miles when I was heading due east, but which then seemed to shift direction to be right in my face again after I had made the almost 90 degree turn to be headed southward, I had broken just enough of a sweat so that whatever dust and carbon monoxide from car exhaust that had stuck to the sweat on my forehead ran down into my eyes, which produced an irritation, if not quite a stinging.

After I wiped my eyes, I was immediately asked by one of the attending nurses if I was feeling alright.

I explained the sweat in the eyes and then added that I didn't really want to see the Boys To Men video which was what was on the TV at the time. The TV's there are always tuned to "Black" entertainment channels, and after mentioning on this blog that I really had no idea who Will Smith was, the time he infamously slapped Chris Rock during the Oscar ceremony, I had since been well familiarized with his work, as the BET channel that plays at that particular Octapharma location is apparently running a Will Smith movie marathon.

But, after I mentioned that I had taken my glasses off to rub my eyes because of the sweat, and added that I had seen the Boys To Men video "a million times" since it came out in 1994, or so, this only seemed to make matters worse.

The nurses stopped my machine, and started to take direction from the head nurse about what to write on the paperwork, with the words "patient reaction" being bandied about.

"Do you still feel bad?" asked one of them, who ignored me as I tried to say that I had never felt bad, and in fact I felt better than at other times.

They started to put ice bags on my chest and behind my neck, which I think was all for the benefit of the cameras in the place.

The head nurse told me that they were going to have to have "a talk" with me after they unplugged me, and before I left. I heard one of them say to another "He does this every time..." which I could only take to mean that what I did "every time" so far has been to have to race there on my bike, arriving just minutes before they closed, and to in effect make them stay there until around a half hour after closing time. Still, I have never been the last person to leave because my plasma flows faster than some of the other people who might have gotten there earlier than me, but who were still hooked up to machines by the time I was done.

The other thing might be that, at some point during the donation, I close my eyes, but this is done out of putting myself in a meditative state, and I continue to pump the fist of the arm that the needle is stuck in, to show that I haven't fallen asleep (or died, which is probably their chief concern).

The are trained to react to certain signs, like a patient closing his eyes, and to automatically count them as strikes against the person. Someone who has his eyes closed, but who is still squeezing the foam rubber ball that they give you, is probably not asleep, but it is the cancel culture mentality that affords them a "gottcha" moment. Despite the fact that a rational person could see that you haven't fallen asleep; your eyes closed (and you are a white man; one of only 2 out of 24 patients there) and so; they can unplug you and send you off without paying you; and maybe that will teach you to not show up at the last minute and make them have to work right up to the end of their shift.

So, I left there, and saw that there was still just 22 cents on my plasma card, and that, had I not had 2 bucks in my pocket for the bus ride back home, I would have put myself in a messed up situation.

I texted a message to Octapharma, through their "contact us" section on the app, where people could post questions. Something to the effect of "The Gretna, Louisiana location just took 250 ml of my plasma, then unplugged me after THEY insisted that I wasn't feeling well, and I wasn't compensated at all for it. Is this legal?"

The last interrogative was in order to make a question out of it, since it was a "do you have any questions?" form.

15 minutes later, I checked, and there was 45 dollars (and the 22 cents) on the card.

They never actually pulled me into some office to have that little talk with me, but were rather asking me a battery of questions, like "Did you eat?"

To that, I answered that I had actually been stuffing my face with all kinds of foods, and I was even up 4 pounds when I had weighed in before that donation. Taking the tack that I had answered entirely differently, the nurse had countered with "Yeah, that's it..." as if the fact that I had eaten a bunch of high protein foods (a whole pound of almond butter with fresh broccoli crowns) as instructed in their literature, had been the wrong thing to do.

They asked me if I had walked there, as walking a great distance through the heat can dehydrate a person and make it harder to extract plasma from them. "I rode my bike, 3 miles against a strong breeze; feeling pretty strong, as a matter of fact..."

"Yeah, that's it...you must be dehydrated..."

Then there was something made of the fact that I had taken my glasses off because I hadn't been interested in the Boyz To Men video, "when Boyz To Men wasn't even on," said one of them; perhaps trying to posit that I had become delirious. It had actually been the particular song that has the lyrics: "Boyz To Men, are back again; doing that little east coast swing..." one that mentions their own band name so many times that I remember thinking, back in 1993, that it must be a jingle for a commercial for Boyz To Men.

That was back in the era when artists were under the impression that "name recognition" was paramount in MTV videos. That was when you would see Jody Watley dancing and lip syncing her song in front of a huge billboard sized lettered display of "Jody Watley" behind her; or when Janet Jackson had the name "Janet" flashing here and there a couple dozen times during her songs.

That whole thing may have started in the 1960's when a band, whose name you might not have previously known, hit the airwaves singing: "Hey, hey, we're the Monkeys! and went on to tell you that they were "just too busy singing; for putting anybody down," and once again, don't forget: "We're the Monkeys!"

So, the self referential song that began with "Boyz To Men, are back again; doing that little east coast swing," I saw as just another version of the "We are Devo" approach to self promotion; and so I was familiar with it. Even though "...and Boyz To Men wasn't even on..." according to the one nurse, who was probably 3 years old when "that little east coast swing" was sweeping the nation.

So, "yeah...that's it;" unplug him, and send him away with no money.

I'll probably never know if it was my "question," sent to Octapharma that caused them to put the 45 bucks on my card, an hour after the fact. Maybe my mentioning the 250 ml, along with the word "legal?" tipped them off at corporate that I might be smarter than the average "patient" that goes to the Berman Highway location, and the might have concluded (quite correctly, actually) that if they just gave me the 45 bucks, I would shut up and go away. Then the nurses wouldn't have to call into evidence the video of them placing ice bags on my chest and behind my neck, all while asking me if I felt "better yet?" while any lip reader watching the footage would see me saying things like: "I never said I didn't feel well; I've been eating well, and drinking plenty of fluids and in fact felt pretty strong when I was pedaling against a stiff wind..."

I suppose I learned a bit about my own mind and the continued importance of my pursuing a more spiritual existence. I was having fantasy's of opening the door of the place and lobbing live hand grenades in the place, yelling: "He does this every time!"

Or, at the very least, going there and announcing loudly: "Plasmaphersis has been outlawed almost everywhere else in the world, due to 'health concerns' and has been linked to kidney damage!! They prey upon to low income people in order to manufacture expensive drugs for the rich!"

All those thoughts were banished at the sight of the $45.22 on my card.

I had been sucking it up and telling myself that this was the universe trying to tell me to go back to busking as my sole source of income, and that I would probably go out that night and make 90 bucks, as I saw Octapharma shrinking in my rear view mirror.

I got Harold some food and then wound up getting a 10 dollar sack of what turned out to be excellent weed, and which will last me 4 or 5 days.

This will keep me from drinking over those 4 or 5 days, saving me double the amount I spent on it.

I'm starting to think that the best approach an addict can take is to choose his substances wisely. So many addicts I talk to have similar stories about how they used to be a hopeless heroin junkie, or would spend their entire monthly check on a 4 day sleepless crack binge, or would be up for a whole week at a time on crystal meth, with the concurrent weight loss, psychological episodes, legal troubles, broken relationships, etc. "But now I just smoke me a little weed, play my guitar, watch a little TV and I'm eating a really healthy diet..."

If you are going to assume that the addict is going to find something to be addicted to, and that some things are healthier than others, then it stands to reason that, rather than fooling himself into thinking that he is just going to give it all up, no nothing, and then failing that in the worst way: "I was on the trolley and this guy go on and sat next to me and he had some heroin; and I know I shouldn't have, I know that now, and I had been doing so good; I went 3 days without even a drop of alcohol; I even switched to light cigarettes...but it was a moment of weakness, and..." type of thing.