Brain Dump

On September 12, 2001, I decided I'd donate blood, like so many. Living across the country from NYC, not many opportunities were available for me help in any significant way. I learned that on September 10, 2001, I was banned, for life, from ever donating blood again.

What grave sin had I committed?

I'd lived in England, for 3 months, before 1989.

Remember Mad Cow Disease? No test exists. No vaccine. No treatment. It lives in your system, undetectable, until something - they don't know what- activates it. However, they won't be able to tell you what it is until the final stages.

I may or may not have it. There's no way to know. I could have lived my life fretting. What would be the point? If I die of Mad Cow Disease, then I won't die of dementia or cancer or something else.

We are all going to die. I know the idyll is to die peacefully in your sleep. That luxury isn't afforded most people. The majority of us will die of a disease or accident. For some, the process will be long and painful. For others it will be blessedly quick.

If I'd been born a few years earlier, before the wide use of penicillin, which didn't happen until the late 50s, I would have died of a kidney infection as a child, exactly like my great grandfather and great uncle. I've struggled with kidney infections all my life. It puts me in the high risk area. I've worked hard to learn how to manage my health and haven't had an infection in a long time.

So, pardon me if I don't join in the fear fest. I don't have to participate in the pity-poor-me-I-might-die party. More importantly, no one can make me.

I've seen this latest panic bring out courage and compassion, but I've also seen it bring out the monster in people I thought were very different. What kind of person wishes death on someone who doesn't agree with them?