KarMel Scholarship 2008

Personal Story

“The Needle”

By Andrew Reed

Desciption of Submission: “Essay about my attemps to give blood and the denial because of my gay sexual-orientation.” - Andrew

I never would have thought that being denied the opportunity to have a large needle pierce my arm would make me so upset. This fall my high school participated in a blood drive because America’s supply of blood is always too low. I had signed up a week early because I simply couldn’t wait. I was finally seventeen and able to donate my blood with my parents approval. On the day of the drive, there was nothing else on my mind. As every period passed, as I got closer and closer to 3:05, my appointed time, I became more and more excited. I wanted to know what the experience would be like, and, most of all, I wanted to make a contribution and help save a life.

The school day ended and I rushed to the room full of reclining chairs and coolers. I saw nurses busily running around with plastic bags of maroon, attending to and sucking the blood of the students and faculty. They were like vampires at a large slumber party. I was asked to present the consent forms with my parents’ signatures and to fill out a questionnaire. The questions were odd and almost always not applicable: I hadn’t traveled to Cambodia or Afghanistan in the previous twelve months, I am not nor have ever been a heroin addict, and I certainly weigh more than 110 pounds. However, I was struck by a certain question: whether or not I had had male-to-male sexual contact since 1977. I am homosexual and indeed have had said relations. I was nervous about the response of the nurse who would look over my questionnaire, but as a health concern, I felt morally responsible to be completely honest. I marked that I had, and hoped that the worst possible outcome would be some follow-up questions regarding my health, probably my HIV status.

I was called over by a nurse who indicated that I follow her behind a blue screen with an ominous sign on it proclaiming, “This is not an HIV testing site.” I felt more and more anxious, terrified, in fact, of being denied. She sat me down and looked over my questionnaire. Her pen went down the list of answers, circling all of them, I suppose to signify that they were correct, but then she got to it. When she looked over that wretched question, she paused and bent down to pick up her manual, which indicated that something was very wrong.

“I am sorry but it says here that you are permanently deferred”

My fears had been realized. I asked her why it made the slightest difference whom I choose to love. I, and people like me, have “increased risk” of HIV/AIDS. She explained that the Federal Food and Drug Administration regulates of the nations blood supply, and how she also felt it was unjust—I felt no consolation. My blood, the essence of my earthly existence, was rejected. I had never directly felt the pain of institutionalized discrimination so heavily. I am responsible and monogamous, yet I am subject to a generalization made by a bureaucratic agency, ignorant of the diversity of people within the gay community.

I know the history of the AIDS epidemic and the role of homosexual men: I know that AIDS was once referred to as the “Gay Disease;” I have seen the picket signs that say “AIDS CURES FAGS.” My sexual orientation is not reflective of my physical health. Men and women of African descent are more susceptible to sickle-cell anemia, and perhaps Gay men as a whole have an increased percent of HIV-positive individuals, but one cannot judge based on either. The former presents no effect in one’s eligibility to donate blood, to save a life, whereas the latter is crucial and unyielding. I have always maintained a commitment to social justice and equity, and although I had hidden my sexuality for years and years, I never felt truly repressed until that moment.

I rushed home, melancholy and defeated. I had a mandatory sulk-and-cry period, and then went straight to work. I vowed that someday I will be able to give blood and so will every healthy gay man in America. The FDA’s outdated and patronizing frequently asked questions page on their website provided no adequately supported reason why the policy existed nor why they deemed it non-discriminatory, but rather, it accused HIV tests to not be accurate enough and it fallaciously argued ad verecundiam in comparing its policy to that of the European Union. The feeble attempt to justify the prejudice of the institution instilled fury and passion within me—passion to change. My immediate reaction to the FAQs was to search for articles pertaining to the policy, and to start getting in touch with the American Civil Liberties Union. I spent countless hours reading about scholars’, journalists’, and politicians’ reactions. I research European Union laws, which are currently being repealed. I read about the similar dissent in South Africa, and the accuracy of modern HIV tests. The United States Government remains passive, static, and uninterested: how would supporting gay people win elections? While compiling information and building my case, it became very clear that there are people all across this country who strongly believe in this cause, yet there is no action, and no awareness.

I have gained a strong commitment to this particular struggle, but more than that, I have come to understand that one must act, not simply think that something should be done. The “someone else” in the back of your mind probably does not exist, and even if they do, they cannot do it alone. Now I see that the beauty found in defining oneself is only seen through one’s actions and impact on the world. The early existentialist, Miguel de Unamuno asserted that the most important thing in this world is not to simply believe but to act, —hacer buenas obras—to do good deeds. To strive for that change we want most is to truly be responsible. The fact that I was told that I would never see my blood taken out of me and put in a cooler, was devastating, but empassioned me to take action and, consequently discover the value of action, and the power of the individual.

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