It’s been nearly a decade since I last donated blood. It was in my high school gymnasium and, at the time, it was a great way to skip a quiz happening in my grade 11 biology class. The nurse, who resembled a Claymation bird from Chicken Run, tried multiple times to hit a vein to begin drawing blood. When she eventually hit red gold, I did my duty and left that day with a bottle of orange drink, a foil-wrapped package of cookies, and a rapidly growing bruise on my inner elbow.
This is not a point of pride for me but, ironically, it is a point that Calgary Pride week has me thinking about. My last experience donating comes to mind more this week than any other of the year. I haven’t been able to donate blood since then; I don’t have tattoos or use intravenous drugs, and I haven’t spent more than three months in the United Kingdom between 1980 and 1996. Instead, I had sex. With a man.
This article was written by Fraser Tripp and originally posted on vern. Please click HERE to read the full article.
