If you ever need pocket change for drinks or smoke, you can donate your plasma for cash at OctaPharma. The secret to donating plasma was doing it every other day, twice a week, each month, until our arms scarred by the puncture of the 17 gauge needle.
On Mondays and Wednesdays, the lines got long, so we would often leave school early to get a head start. They pay up to $30 per donation (depending on body weight) which was barely worth the shame and suffering. You had to answer the same litany of questions every time: probing questions about our sexual history and use of drugs.
“From 1977 to present, have you ever had sex with another man, even once?”
Well, I answered no to that question two days ago, and I’ve been too busy to even think about sex.
If you’re able to tolerate the interrogation and donate at least 6 times a month, you’ll get a $25 bonus. If you manage to donate twice a week for 4 weeks, you get another $30. And that was enough to buy a 2 Liter bottle of gin. Rick easily made $200 a month and he sat on the lounge chair listening to music and playing video games. He knew had to study, but this experience was cathartic. The apheresis machine, which separates blood from plasma, beeps frequently like an annoying smoke detector.
Donating plasma made you sleepy, and it also triggered your hunger. Plasma nurses walked by every now and then giving you a tap to wake you up.
“Remember we’re saving lives today, not just here but for the rest of the world,” one nurse proclaimed, trying his best to lift up or moods.
The US is one of the few countries where it’s legal to pay for plasma donations. That’s why our country provides 70% of the world’s supply. And in times of COVID, donating plasma is even more critical.
So every Monday, Rick, Destiny, and I would roll up our sleeves and make our contribution to humanity. Jada wanted to donate, but she didn’t have a social security card.
