It’s another glorious day for plasma collection. Densely packed evergreens at the top of the hill behind 235 are painted black against a kaleidoscope bursting above the rising sun, and the autumn air meets my lungs like a forest spring; refreshing, crisp, and sweet with the scent of receding chlorophyll, fungi, lake effect air, and when the breeze is just right, Cheerios. Gratitude envelops the steam of my exhale, evaporating into the morning breeze, and hoping I am not the only witness to this display of glory, with bowed head step back inside.
Each morning is the same routine. Center walk, scrutinizing the janitorial staff’s results like a shieldmaiden inspecting her clan, ensuring temperature controlled supplies are stored within acceptable range, checking “the hatch”, entering the numbers, delving into the -38 degree freezer for an immigrant song, reporting on the previous day’s plunder of liquid gold, writing today’s “Sprechen Sie?” on the board, then out to the front door to greet my team with a flash of upper canines and unctuous positivism; with caffeine as my sword and sunshine as my shield, I’m ready to face the day. Rasta mom. Rainbow RN. My Ukrainian goddess counterpart. The Swan. Anger. Best friend. The Joker. Whether received with a smile or a complaint, all are blessed as I call them friend, and they enter into our shared domain for the day.
I had once overheard our donors once compared to cattle – lining up in the feed bin, do whatever it takes to keep them fat and happy, only to get slaughtered. They pulse through the center like cells on a heartbeat. Check In. Vital Signs. Hematocrit. Total Protein. Physical. Venipuncture. Cue Dracula. Revert. Disconnect. Departure. Come back in two and let’s do it again. Thum, thump. Thum, thump. Thum, thump. Every motive varying, some philanthropic and eager to share their stories, others desperate enough for disconnect to threaten wetting themselves, and still others deliberately let their bladders loose for a quick payday.
On this day, nearly a quarter of our machines have been on the lockdown for mutiny. The goddess spends the entire morning in the dungeon flogging and ripping the offenders from weigher arm to centrifuge, discerning blasphemies, and absolving them with tender touch and methodical detail. Emerging with a quick puff to her bangs and eyes like cerulean Scandanavian lakes, she reinstates another reformed sinner back into service to the vampire king, claiming victory.
Rhythm starts: defer this, remove deferral on that, counsel, pout, metrics, schedule, counsel, muscle, dance, donuts, eclairs, open, close, counsel and another EMF. Unbelieveable.
I find humor, I find music. I find rhythm. I find spoofs of songs and hugs and tears, joy in my low pulse and blood pressure, and in the song of PCS2s starting in the quiet of the morning, each with its own frequency depending on the power supply type. I see every coworker as a marvel to behold, beauty in their own madness. And in their eyes, I see my own. I find myself being triggered in the correct ways, and honing my skills and intent.
There is healing in learning something completely new. There is a reminder of how you can do anything if you set your mind to it. That there is power in being forgiving of yourself for having made a mistake and immediately accepting and embracing the lesson. There is satisfaction in finding transferable knowledge and skills. When there is a void to the information, or an unknown skill, you can use the absence of knowledge as a template and resist to create an answer or new skill. Like finding shapes in the clouds, and also seeing the shapes in the sky-shadow between.
The day ends, sun setting over the parking lot. Inhale. Exhale. Feeling my body. Is that my heart? Thum-thump, thum-thump. Have I checked my own vital signs?
159 lbs. 108/62. 58 bpm. 97.5 degrees.
An ounce of perception
A pound of obscure
Process information
At half-speed
A pound of obscure
Process information
At half-speed
Pause
Rewind, replay
Warm memory chip
Random sample
Hold the one you need
Rewind, replay
Warm memory chip
Random sample
Hold the one you need
Leave out the fiction
The fact is
This friction
Will only be worn by persistence
The fact is
This friction
Will only be worn by persistence
Leave out conditions
Courageous convictions
Will drag the dream into existence
Courageous convictions
Will drag the dream into existence
– Vital Signs, Rush
The spaces in between
Two minds and all the places they’ve been
The spaces in between
I try to put my finger on it.
-Bloodstream, Stateless
A Walk In Neverland 