At work this evening, I was absent-mindedly picking at my hangnails. Yes, it's a disgusting habit, but judge not lest I find out YOUR disgusting habits and laugh at you. There was a little bit of blood, which I soaked up with a gross greasy napkin and forgot all about as I watched the X-files.
But during the commercial breaks, I thought about blood.
In high school, in my junior year, everybody was taken out of their regular gym classes for a little lecture about donating blood. Since I was a kid, I'd always heard how wonderful it was to give blood, and how the American Red Cross helped so many people with even a half-a-teaspoon of blood, and whatever... Naturally, I was sort of nervous about giving blood for the first time, but I was pretty determined to give to a good cause. Besides, I was pretty psyched about those cookies they give you afterwards.
But I found out I couldn't give blood. After an hour and a half of watching inspirational videos that guilt-tripped us into wanting desperately to peel open a vein in the name of all that's good and righteous, I couldn't donate blood.
Why?
I didn't fit the requirements. First, I was exactly two pounds underweight according to their specifications, and just a tiny bit under their desired blood pressure. Well, hell, that was easily taken care of. By the next year, I'd gained my two pounds, and eaten breakfast that morning, and was just freaking right. But I still didn't fit the requirements...
The American Red Cross Blood Donation Record (form F6627E 2/97):
Question 5.7 (females only): In the last twelve months have you had sex, even once, with a male who has had sex with another male since 1977?
What the fuck kind of a damned question is that? Everybody knows males don't have sex with each other!
Uh... anyway...
So, no, I didn't meet their requirements.
And as a matter of fact, I still don't. Probably I never will. I'm tainted. I'm filthy. My blood is hazardous waste. The substance coursing through my veins might as well be peanut butter for all the good it will do the Red Cross.
Before I was dating Norman, I met my previous sexual partner in the fucking Broome County Health Department. We'd made STD-screening appointments on the same day, by some chance. Both of us were declared healthy and pure, and both of us were given antibiotics, just in case, because the health department is neurotic and apparently gives antibiotics to everyone. So, within a few days, or a few weeks, or whatever, I happened to have sex with this guy. Protected sex. However, because he happened to be bisexual, I'm tainted.
Because my male sexual partner before THAT happened to have had sex with men, because my male sexual partner before THAT happened to have had sex with men, and because my sexual partner before THAT happened to have once given a kid a blowjob during a marching band trip even though he wasn't gay... I am tainted.
I'm currently looking at my finger, which is sort of gross-looking and scabbed from me picking at it. I've been tested for HIV I think four times now; definitely at least three. Negative each time. Now, there would be no reason for me to GET tested in the first place if I hadn't engaged in somewhat-risky behavior, and I'll be the first to admit it's DAMN STUPID to be sleeping with somebody who isn't monogamous with you, nor honest with you about anything, but I've been there, and I've done that, and I got tested, and I'm all good. No chlamydia, no HIV, no gross things filled with pus on my genitals. I'm all good.
But yet... I'm not.
Now, I can hear you asking already: Helena, why can't you sleep with STRAIGHT GUYS?
Well... because I don't KNOW any, except Aaron and my little brother, neither of whom is going to be my sexual partner ANYTIME SOON? Because I work in a damned coffeehouse and straight guys younger than my dad are sort of a rare commodity in those parts? Because there's something alluring about guys with nice eyes, and it seems like ALL guys with nice eyes have had sexual experiences with other men? Because the people I've connected to -- REALLY connected to, intimately enough to become a physical relationship -- have been gay or some varient thereof? I do not go to gay bars to pick up men. I do not go out of my way to "convert" gay men to straight ones. I do not find gay and bisexual men, as such, to be more physically attractive than straight men, as such. I just happen to know a lot of queer people, and I DON'T happen to know a lot of straight people, and in that situation, my choices have always been a little limited.
(Now don't DARE ask me why queer men would be sleeping with me, anyway, because I'll not dignify that with an answer...)
And so, I'm tainted. Within the last twelve months, I've been tainted four times over.
(If I close my eyes hard enough, I can hear of of those four humming, "tainted love, woh-oh-oh-oh..." I guess now would be an appropriate time to giggle...)
I'm looking at my finger again. My gross bloody finger, which is probably simply crawling with queer-man germs.
Funny, how falling in love, and acting on that love in a physical way, even safely and responsibly, can knock out my chances for helping somebody. After all that hype about people needing blood all the time, and car accident victims, and... well, hell, people need transfusions ALL the damn time... But I can't provide it, because I'm dirty. Within the last twelve months, have I had sex with a man who's had sex with a man since 1977? Sure. And I'm not planning on giving up a nice, loving, and passionate relationship so that I can, in twelve months, get a needle jammed into my arm and do something good for the world, which appears to be going to hell anyway.
Heh.
I have to get up early tomorrow for work. Don't worry; I'll be wearing bandaids.
~Helena*