Today I went to give blood at the San Diego Blood Bank. Actually, they came to me, or at least to my work.
I made sure I had a hamburger yesterday so I wouldn't be anemic (I've never been anemic, but you never know). My iron was shockingly high for a woman--at least that's what Shirley, the nurse helping me, said. You have to be 12.5 to donate. I was 16.5. Whatever that means.
And then Shirley started asking me about my international travel in the past three years. Apparently when I was on my oasis trip in Egypt last year, we drove through an area (I think we actually stopped) that has a known risk of malaria. So she said I couldn't donate. I said "Ever?" and said, no, I could actually donate after it had been a year.
We returned from Egypt on February 21, 2009. Today is February 3, 2010. So on February 22, or in 19 days I can donate blood again. Apparently I'm still a carrier for malaria. Of course I don't want to donate blood and make a sick person worse. And I don't want to donate blood to have them reject it (while it's in me, at least I can use it). Nonetheless, you'd sort of think by now I'd have some symptoms of malaria. Or someone I come in contact with a lot would.
If anyone was going to catch malaria from me, it would be my sister. She catches everything. And she hasn't had malaria. (touch wood)
Being rejected sucks. Even if it's for a good reason. Like malaria. But it's making me feel pretty grumpy. So I'm issuing out a warning: don't tick me off for the next 19 days, or I might breath on you! Or something! How do you even catch malaria, anyway?