So I am about to donate blood at my job. I asked the Red Cross if I double sweat and tears, would I still have to give blood and they said yes.

I have never given blood just for the sake of giving it. I have asked that it be taken from me on occasion at the doctor’s office. I liked it when the doctor only told me about my cholesterol count and iron levels. Now, that I am adult male, they always want to ask me – “do you want an HIV test?” Honestly – no. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. Besides for a long time in my life, the chances of me catching HIV were about as likely as a virgin becoming pregnant. All I am saying is that if I tested positive I would have probably founded a religion (my initials are JC).

Anyway, about a year ago, give or take some months because my job and life have an intense monotony that makes differentiating anything but years difficult to do, I was at the doctor’s and he asked if I wanted to test for HIV. I said – ehhh, ok. I have had this test 3 times before. 0 for 3. Much like terrorists according to George Bush, HIV only needs to get it right once. So the doctor takes my blood and tells me to call in a few days to make an appointment to come in (it is kind of like a really morbid Oscar ceremony).

So the night before I call I receive a letter in the mail. Hmmmmmm – it is my blood test results with blank spots for the HIV results. There is also a letter saying that I NEED to make an appointment to discuss my results.

Point one – doctor never said anything about a letter.

Point two – the two people you should probably not tell this news to are a) your girlfriend and b) your mother. And then your father will assume you got someone pregnant because you are speaking in hushed tones about test results.

So I went to the doctor’s office the next morning for a walk-in. I did not know if it was all in my mind, but all I felt was dread. I mean, sure AIDS for the Magic Johnsons of the world is like finding out you have diabetes, but for guys without world class trainers, doctors and millions of dollars for medicines, it seems worse. And I know that bull about it NOT being a death sentence. Well, since it takes 15 years to kill someone on death row, I guess the death penalty is not a death sentence either.

So I finally get into an office where I wait (my doctor was out that day so another doctor was to discuss my results with me). I see a stack of blood tests sitting face up. Then a nurse walks in with one sheet of blood tests right outside the examining room. And she places it face down. At this point my girlfriend at the time calls me and I say in my calmest voice – I DON’T FUCKING KNOW YET (actually I was much calmer because of the stress I had already cause, but that read funnier).

So then the doctor comes in, picks up the face down sheet as I suspected and says, “How are you.”

Why don’t you let me know – I got a letter in the mail and I think it was from the AIDS Publisher’s Clearing House. Ed McMahon walked into my house and congratulated me.

She replies, “Oh everything is fine with your tests – we are supposed to tell you about the letter. Your doctor didn’t?”

No he did not, but thanks for the good news. Phew! One of the most stressful days of my life.

So on that note I am off to give blood. There’s no reason to be stressed. Red Cross only calls you if there’s a problem. So no news is good news. Except 6 months ago they called my co-worker by accident. It took him a day or two to talk to someone and then they told him – “Oh, that was an accident.”

And my office plays horror movies during the blood drive. That’s right as I am wondering if I am the next Tommy Morrison I really want to see people cutting their limbs off in Saw. The only thing more inappropriate would be a prison movie or And the Band Played On. Although that would be funny.

Well, off to help my fellow man. Oh there will be blood.