At the time, relieving, yet stressful. We were trying to make a go of starting a window cleaning business in the dead of Winter in Lancaster, PA in the mid 70’s. My wife and I had lost our possessions in a house fire, and so we had to live elsewhere. A friend offered to train me for window cleaning. But, as December approached, I was let go because it was cold in New Hampshire. I thought PA would be a good territory to break into. I was wrong.

We were sharing one can of tomato soup a day, my wife and I, with what little money we had attempting to pay for rent and formula for our infant son. We lived across the hall from drug dealers, drug users, and an illegal immigrant also trying to survive. The place, BPC, offered $6 for the first donation of a week, and $10 for the second donation in the same week, as memory serves. Cash. No questions asked about who you were, and no AIDS epidemic at that time, either.

Going in the first time, I thought I could tough it out, but I almost passed out at the size of the needle they used just to draw for my blood type and to check for the common diseases of the time. If you passed out, you were permanently rejected, so I did NOT want that. I made myself sound a LOT more ‘with it’ than I really was, and barely became accepted.  The place itself was clean, but had that peculiar smell of hospital clean. It was also very cold, as warmth apparently wasn’t good for the blood. They only had so long to get it out of you, spin it, extract fom it, and put it back into you before your own blood would be too spoiled.

The needles they used were the largest I had ever seen for a person. Thankfully, I had large veins, so I didn’t have to get stuck repeatedly very often. Hurt. At lot. But once they found good veins, they would look for the little scar. It became a bigger scar, and then had a twin on your other arm. The scars would soon build up, and it wasn’t so painful. All you had to do was just endure, and it was a piece of cake, seemingly.

 However, you had to sign you name at the cutoff junction, in two places. If you didn’t pay attention, it could cost you your life, literally. It would take a while while you laid there to drain you, and then the bag with your whole blood would be disconnected at the signatures, while you waited. Usually, I needed a blanket. After about 20 minutes, the technicians would come back and ask you to verify the signature on the much emptier bag. If it didn’t match, and you were infused with someone else’s blood, if they were of an improper type, you be dead. So it was a serious thing, to verify a signature.

While the blood remains were going back in, mixed with some saline, it was freaking cold. The bag had been spun in a centrifuge allowing the facilility to pull out the components they needed, in a cold room. So, when it came back, it was cold. So, your arm would feel pretty lousy, as it flowed back in. Then they’d take you off, and make you lay there for an additional five or ten minutes, before they’d let you go. Mall music. You could not escape the mall music. Supposed to relax you. Irritating. Eventually, at the front desk, there would be the place for a signature, and your cash would be handed to you.

I went there, week after week, happy for my $16 a week cash. I went there with college students, drug addicts, street drunks, and the other destitute salt of the Earth. Just like me, doing the best they could, in a cold, cold world. I would go to the store, though, buy a few cans of soup with some baby formula, put a little gas in the car, and we would be thankful for something to eat at all. 

Eventually, it wore my wife and I down a lot emotionally … it just isn’t the world God intended when God made Adam and Eve.