Heartthrob

It's Saturday. My eyes opened early this morning. My brain fight off the rays of light creeping through my bedroom window as my body lurches from the warm embrace of my comforter. Today begins with a mission; one of compensated sacrifice. I drive in a lackluster fashion to the facility where this is to take place. Weary smiles and cordial "Good mornings" fill the air as I enter through the tinted doors. It's Saturday, no one wants to be working, no matter how noble the outcome of the effort. 

The process begins. A hundred questions which serve to check my medical history and clear my potential to donate. Mostly they serve to decay my brainwaves and numb my cognitive capacity. Next step, pain in the finger. A sharp click and they can take the blood sample necessary to approve me for the day. My life essence is calculated into a few numbers. Good. They fall within the normal average. I'm ready. 

Into the harvesting room. The chairs are large and comfortable. They have to be for what they expect. I'd be sitting for quite a while. An attendant greets me with as much warm as possible amidst the sterile environment of machines, lab coats, and latex gloves. Plastic fingers nimbly arrange the tubes and swiftly prep the injection site. I can't watch, I never can. It's not the sensation of pain that turns my head, but the overlying concept of actually allowing a metallic foreign object to pierce my flesh. Warriors are programed to make the avoidance of such an occurrence one of the highest priorities in life. But saving lives in this day and age necessitates my compromise here. 

The attendant's job is done. Strips of adhesive firmly yet gently keep the hollow shaft of the needle secure in my left arm's vein. This effectively immobilizes my arm for the next hour as the machine does its work. It beeps. My hand must continue to pump an imaginary ball of my own creation to assist the machine as it draws what it needs. Slowly the containers fill. The parts whirl and hum. The crimson liquid that causes me life is extracted, separated, and then replaced back where it belongs. All they've collected is the element of my blood that helps it remain fluid - plasma. The process repeats. I distract myself with a book, intermittently glancing at the progress of the mechanized vampire adjacent. I don't want to be here longer than I have to. 

I understand the need. I understand the compensation is more than alluring. I understand that lives are potentially saved. But I also understand my body's growing uneasiness and discomfort by this strange, alien environment. Cold, discomfort, pain, acknowledgment of fluid loss. My instincts are raging at me to rip out the needle and claw my way out of the facility precisely as I've seen my favorite adamantium infused super hero do in the comics and movies. But reason wins. Self-control prevails and I endure the full procedure. 

The job is done. The attendant replaces the needle with a gauze and more adhesive. "Hurry up!" I scream in my thoughts through gritted teeth. Weekend wishes are exchanged and I receive my payment for fluids rendered. It's an excellent haul for just an hour's worth of... work? I did nothing really except relegate my body for their uses. But my time is done. Before my work ever begins, I have contributed something and received my prize. 

Why do we do such things? It would be so convenient for me to hide behind the apparent nobility of the cause. Donating plasma saves lives. It helps the world. I'm a hero! But, to be honest, that thought wasn't my primary motivation. What drew me was the tantalizing potential to gain an extra $200 a month just for making regular donations. What an oportunity to augment my meager, albeit sutainable salary. The hope in my mind occured - I COULD reach financial security through a solid savings account even during turbulent economic times. I relished the thought of being able to weather any personal financial storm without having to rely on my parents or the bank bailing me out. Sadly, independence, not self-sacrificial life saving was on my mind the morning I signed up for this process. 

While my motives don't make me a hero, I don't believe that this self applied desire denigrates my character. The benefits of gaining extra monies far outweigh any possible criticisms for profitting from donating plasma. After all, no one would criticize me for selling a product to gain extra cash. A product that may or may not be a frivelous expendeture for some. Something that serves no purpose except to entertain and make me cash. No, this effort has the double benefit of helping someone in need who needs life sustaining plasma as well as giving me the convenience of making extra income without taking a second job. 

The pulse of life doesn't always need to be selfish or selfless. Sometimes both concepts are intermingled amidst the decisions in life. Not everything is "Right" or "Wrong" sometimes there are simply choices that are better than others. In this case, I think this is a far more preferred choice.

Those who get caught up in the ethical weight of every single decision have a tendancy to judge others based on how they weigh their own choices. See, I do so now, holding what I consider wisdom in making choices that don't seemt o clearly be on either side of the line of right and wrong and in explaining it to you all. But I do consider that there is a higher way of thinking and doing. I ask God for wisdom in all things, even the choices that don't necessarily have an eternal impact (although everything does, but considering the effect on eternity which colored socks I wear becomes wearisome in light of the day-to-day activities.). 

And so, I can walk boldly in the light of my choices because I have faith in the counsel I have received. My God will not steer me down a path that is not wise or acceptable. Any criticisms can then be taking with a true grain of salt and my perspective can remain secure, in all situations. I will endeavor to do what is best, when possible, and what's right when it's clear that there is a right or wrong. 

Just my thoughts today.