I know that feeling.

Ticked off?

Among the places I went during Lent...

I'd been to the doc last December for my excruciating bad back, which promptly stopped hurting using the magic of the instant "The car keeps making this noise" "What noise?" cure. I went not because I had given up not going to the doctor for Lent, but because it was time for my annual physical.

So, so far so good, but we're not out of the woods yet. As I write this I am going back to the doctor today, Monday, for the results of my blood test. He tested me for everything. I think I gave less blood on my last donation.

Of course, I shouldn't worry. I pray, right? They say if you worry, why pray? If you pray, why worry? But I worry. I've had bad results from blood tests before. They look for all sorts of things now, like high cholesterol and prostate cancer and liver damage and that ever-popular item, type 2 diabetes. Any of those terrify me.

One thing I'd specifically asked the doctor to do was test for Lyme. The ticks around here last fall were awful, and the dogs kept bringing them in, tick collars and pills regardless. I've been schlepping around outside since I got the house, much more so in the current Era of the Dog. (When I was an apartment boy and pet-free, I could huddle inside all day and not feel guilty.) So Lyme has been on my mind.

Or in it. As I wrote yesterday, I suspended the blog because I was completely burned out and discouraged, the worst depressive mood in a decade, and I know from friends who have had Lyme that it's one of its more insidious symptoms. Maybe...?

I have heard that the accuracy of Lyme tests is pretty poor, but the CDC says they're just jake beyond the early stages, barring complicating factors. So despite my nerves, I am eager to get my results. My appointment is for 10 a.m.; good thing that winter is over. My physical got delayed a week because of snow in March. Not like that's going to....

Crap.

Bright, sunshiny friggin' day.

Blarg.

Pardon me if I growl and spit.

Growl. Spit.

Thanks.

Sorry, but Wednesday was a beautiful sunny day and it kind of sucked. It sucked for various reasons, some mildly bad, some more bad; none awful, but all sucky. With your patience I shall briefly describe the reasons, in no particular order, in sections I shall label Trash, Blood, Dog, Envy, and Elvis.

TRASH
Yesterday was recycling day, which means bottles and cans and paper -- all things that are reusable and lightweight. Last Wednesday it snowed; no pickup. The two Wednesdays before that it was windy, and my crap blew all over the street and I had to go chase after it. Trash can blew over, cans and stuff everywhere. The week before that, same thing. Yesterday there was no snow, so of course there was wind, because it's winter and everything sucks. But I said Aha! I said. I will use my heavy trash can, the mighty can that I use for trash instead of the lightweight one I use for recycling. Contamination be damned! So later I was working in my office upstairs when I heard the thump outside... of the heavy can blowing over and my crap blowing all over the street. Which I had to chase after.

BLOOD
I had a bad experience over the weekend at a blood drive. I don't want to get into it here, as I filed a complaint and am expecting to hear back, but I thought I was treated pretty roughly for a guy who has been a steady donor for a long time and have previously endured poor treatment with little complaint. I've sat outside in the rain because the Bloodmobile had no room and no one thought to bring an extra tent for the people waiting; I've had phlebotomists so concerned with where they were going to drink after their shift that they lost track of me and my draw stopped after half a pint and they had to throw it out (after I'd been lying there quite some time in pain, and for nothing); I've started a drive and I've given at drives and I've invited friends to give blood with me and I've even subjected readers of this blog to entreaties to give, and I've never gotten any reward more than one coffee cup, one plastic bottle, and a bunch of Oreos. But I will not be treated like cattle. (These examples, by the way, are all about the New York Blood Center; I've also given through the Red Cross too and they've never been anything but nice.)

DOG
Once again, Tralfaz the big dog cannot sleep through the night, and wants to go pee at two or three in the morning. He is four years old; he is too young for Depends and too old for Pampers. The vet thought it was anxiety, and wanted us to dope him up, but we have been reluctant to do so. So one of us, often me, has been taking him out when all the world's asleep. Broken sleep is among the things for which I too have gotten too old. We're trying different things, but nothing has helped and so there's no end in sight.

ENVY
I was working on a book written by a guy who has become a millionaire cranking out volumes in a popular series. I think they're cute, but formulaic, and I've seen the quality plummet and the political correctness rise as his books go on. But what really bugs me is that he is so goddamn rich and popular now that he can put out garbage like this last book, which really was lousy, and he and the publisher know it will sell like crazy. And I imagine it must make other writers of quality fiction, writers who have slaved away in obscurity for years, sink into an impenetrable morass of envy, sin, and loathing. Not that I know anyone like that.

ELVIS
I had one of my all-time favorite sandwiches for lunch Wednesday, the peanut butter and banana sandwich. That would refresh the day! I always think of Elvis when I have one, although he liked his with bacon, too. Lately, though, I find that PBB causes me indigestion. (TMI follows!) Maybe the binding quality of the banana is duking it out with the laxative quality of the peanut butter, a free-for-all in my GI tract. It makes me wonder how Elvis ate the stuff he did. Then I remember that when Elvis was my age, he was dead. So that doesn't make me feel much better. As Lewis Grizzard once noted, Elvis Is Dead and I Don't Feel So Good Myself. And guess what? When Lew was my age he was dead, too.

While there were genuine reasons for my discontent, or at least proper targets, I know the bulk of my problems remains between my ears, not in my gut or anywhere else. If my character flaws were not running rampant, half these things wouldn't bother me. Sometimes I have a very hard time with gratitude. Sometimes I just can't let go of things.

Sometimes the best thing I can do is look at the nightstand clock and say, well, at least I didn't die or kill anyone today.

There was be blood.

I gave blood again. Must be a mania.

Just a pint. What the hell, the skeeters have already gotten about half that much off me.

As regular readers may recall, I am willing to give blood because it's a charitable act that doesn't cost this skinflint a nickel. In fact, they give you free cookies. Lorna Doones. Oreos. Oh, yeah.

This time I agreed to go when a friend asked me. It was a blood drive organized in memory of a young man who died in a car crash. Under the circumstances it was something I would normally want to do, but maybe wouldn't have signed up for, just in case. Something might come up. You know how it is.

I'm like a lot of people when I'm asked to do something.

I went through with it, even though I have a lot of work to do (thus all the retreads this past week from the old blog) (probably next week too). In fact, we had a power outage Friday that helped me get my work done not at all. It was the opposite of helpful. It cost me a couple of hours. So I was behind in my work. Still, when I say I'm going to do something I always aim to do it.

When I got to the blood drive yesterday they had brought in a couple of bloodmobiles, cramped buses that seat five bleeders at a time. It started to rain, so I got to sit in the rain while I waited to be called aboard. There were two intake rooms in the back of the bus, smaller than any bathroom you've ever been in. I was examined (blood pressure, iron test, paperwork, etc., all above board) by a phlebotomist who was a big guy like me; if someone had opened the door we'd have tumbled out like the end of the cabin scene in A Night at the Opera. 

The staff was good and the procedure easy. I'm glad I can do something like this, especially as a lot of people cannot these days. I'm not talking about rampant blood diseases or hepatitis. New York Blood Center says you cannot donate for a year if you got any piercings or tattoos (unless the tattoo was applied in New Jersey -- I guess they have higher standards in Jersey tattoo parlors). As we know, kids today, in addition to getting on my lawn, are all out there piercing and tattooing themselves all the time, until they all look like psychedelic porcupines. They'll never be able to donate blood. But I can.

If you can, consider looking for a blood drive in your area. Nice ol' ladies, including a grandma friend of mine who is fighting cancer, may need some of that blood. This is one charity that cannot spoil the recipients or be skimmed by fund-raisers. There's no substitute for human blood. Think about it.

I'm not asking you to make an appointment. I'll leave it up to you. I don't want to hear your scream when donation day arrives.

There, I bled it again.

We had a blood drive recently, and as you know, Fred is always first in line to sign up to drop a pint. Is it because, like with Henry Higgins, the milk of human kindness runs by the quart in every Fred vein, and thus is so much more valuable for the blood bank?

Or is it for the free snacks?

The world may never know.

Actually I didn't drop a pint, exactly; they sold me on being an apheresis donor. In a normal donation they drain a pint of blood from you; in an apheresis donation, they pull out a bunch of blood, separate it into plasma, platelets, and leukocytes, keep what they want and pump the rest back into the donor. This was specifically an automated double red blood cell donation, It is basically twice as useful as a regular whole blood donation. It supposedly takes half an hour, or can take up to two hours, and it's a little weird. We're used to sending fluids out, but only taking them in orally. Maybe it was my imagination, but I felt a little like a bike inner tube during the pump-back-in phases.

"You see the little man in the upper right corner of the screen?" asked the phlebotomist, handing me a plastic bike handle wrapped in paper towels.

"Yeah."

"When the arrow is coming out of him, squeeze every five seconds. When the arrow is heading into him, stop squeezing."

"Like the world's worst video game."

"Yeah."

As I say, it was a bit strange, but I found myself less light-headed than I sometimes do from a whole blood donation, and I felt like I recovered faster. Time permitting, I would donate that way again.

I'd also note that this form of donation is more exclusive, which appeals to me; not just any mere slob can drop a double like that. The Red Cross says only type O, A-, or B- donors can donate with this method. So it's another opportunity to fluff up my ego thanks to something over which I have no control. We creative types always enjoy that.

The bloodletting.

Once again it was time to go drop a pound. After all, a pint's a pound the whole world 'round, right?

Yeaaahhh, bro, maxin' and chillaxin' at the blood drive, boyyyeeee.

It's like a high-end spa, you know. People take you to your lounge chair, check on how you're doing, escort you to where they serve you food and drink... and all it costs you is some life's blood (literally).

I'm a longtime bleeder, as I've written before, and I recommend it. It's great for us tightwads, who can commit an act of charity without spending money. And people need the stuff -- there's no artificial blood. I've been hearing about the promise of plastic blood since I was a kid. It actually may come true soon -- but not yet, and even then the stuff in development is not going to replace all need for human blood.

Meanwhile, people need blood for all kinds of reasons, not just because they thought motorcycle helmets are for wimps or they thought it would be multitasking to shave while chain-sawing firewood. More than 41,000 blood donations are used a day, says the American Red Cross, and it's needed by people with cancer, sickle cell disease, and all sorts of other medical problems not related to stupidity.

And it doesn't hurt a bit!

AAAIIIIIEEEEEEE!!!!!!

No, really, it only hurts a little. Man up, babypants!

So that's what I did, and I hope you will too if you can. Yes, you will feel better about yourself, and yes, the Recording Angel may add your pint to the good side of the scales and wipe out a pound of your miserable sins. But most of all you will help someone by doing something the person really and literally cannot do for himself---get healthy blood when he needs it.

Blood! BLOOOOOOODDD!!!!

Pardon me for the lateness of the blog post. I was down at the church, bleeding.

Blood drive today, and I'm a big fan of anything good I can do that doesn't cost me money.

A lot of people who are eligible to give blood don't for spurious reasons: They don't think they're eligible and haven't bothered to find out; they don't think it's important ("those science geeks prolly invented some plastic blood or somethin' by now"); they are afraid it will hurt; they think it will take a lot of time; they're scared of needles and the other accouterments connected to collecting bodily life fluids.

Not scary at all! Maybe a little.

Anyway, while it's true that there are a lot of things that will render you ineligible, things like tattoos and piercings will not if it's been more than a year. Yes, some of these things have a statute of limitations. Here's a list from the American Red Cross.* 

There is no plastic blood, pig blood, clone blood, e-blood, or anything else than can replace human blood donations. And you never know how much good will come of a good act. One Australian gentleman, James Harrison, because of his dedication to donating his blood and his rare antibody to Rhesus disease, has personally saved more than two million babies. What, you don't want to save two million babies? Selfish, I say!

As for the pain, yeah, it hurts. It's not just a pinch like they say; it's a big frigging needle. Man the hell up, pansy. And it takes less than an hour, unless there's a backup (usually because they're giving away shirts or something) or unless you volunteer for double red blood cell donation or apheresis donations.

And then you get free cookies and juice. And smiles. 

* Which reminds me of an idiotic moment when I was running a blood drive at an office for which I worked. I was instructed to ask people to donate, but if they said they could not for medical reasons, I was to let it drop and never ask why. I asked a buddy of mine and she said no, she wasn't eligible, and I said, "Oh, what's wrong?" or something like that. Moron! Turned out she had just found out she was pregnant. Still, I'll be dead five years before I stop kicking myself for that.