Antibodies

For months now, I had been screaming for a way out of this writer’s block I’m having. Unfortunately, it took a deep cut on the index finger of my right hand to counter my block. Although it was an accident, certain events led to this cut…as I felt a quick but sharp friction against my finger, I knew the cut would be an experience. As I watched the blood drip from my finger, all I could see was an image of me hooked to the i.v, and the four pints of blood that commenced. The tears rolled down my eyes, not because I was in pain, but because it made me feel ungrateful. I was watching Jane Doe’s blood waste down the drain of my faucet. I imagined the trouble the doctors went through in order to find the least blood with transfusion mismatch for me. Days of constant and intensified monitoring, to make sure that I was still present, countless amount of pain shots that knock me out of my consciousness, making everything a blur. I thought about what good this blood could do to that victim with the gun shot wound, that motorcyclist with head trauma, that poor old lady assaulted and robbed by gang members…most especially, I thought about what good this blood could do to the next sickle cell patient that would lie in this same bed, re-enacting my predicament. My heart sank and so did ounces of blood gushing down my palm. Although not enough to cause nausea, I felt light headed and dizzy, reciting apologies to those donors and receivers, the imagery of my eccentric red blood cells escaping my embodiment weakened me…I was better off drinking a glass of cyanide. Like a traitor, I was ashamed to report my accident to anyone, like my life depended on air, I felt like I had just deprived them.Then, I thought about those other set of people who ran around all day and work their bodies’ 20more times than the average Joe...those people who ranged from road side constructors, to miners and the likes of those Real World vs. Road Rules hot buds. I think about those people who have the energy to last for almost a century without having a splinter their entire lives. Having heard of multiple cases of lost lives due to the absence of blood or shortage of donors, my heart skipped beats as I watched my blood sink and sink... I saw my blood lose its deep red richness and become barely pink. My tears rolled uncontrollably as my friends lost the drive to console me. I then thought of someone who would understand my sentiments, but bothering her would only worsen matters as she told me a few days earlier that my need for blood scared her. All I could do was watch the blood flow. As I shut the tap and wrapped a thick quadruple –folded napkin around my index, I crossed my middle over it in hope that the bleeding would seize. Although I don’t bleed anymore, I just want to thank Jane and John Doe for their thoughtfulness. For their unconditional and selfless act…for tolerating the needles and drinking the milk to replenish their donation…I want to thank every blood donor out there for taking others into consideration and most especially, for saving my life…THANK YOU.