That time has come again, right on schedule. I am an avid blood donor. Every eight weeks I walk down to the Pheresis department and let them poke holes in me until they've had their fill. And they do so love my blood. O positive, and of an excellent year.
As is always the case, I have spent the remainder of the day hungry, cold, and snappish. I've had a lot to eat, have zero patience, and feel steady a resignation towards enduring this latest bout of post-bloodloss grumpiness, making free to tell all I meet that I have given blood and am not to be messed with today. In short, by donating blood with such regularity, I have built a menstrual cycle into my life.
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1 comment:
I''m not familiar with this subject but interesed.
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