Blood

Last night I made a delivery for the American Red Cross, which entails picking up thirty-pound boxes full of blood and delivering them to a lab in the hospital. It's one of the things I do in my job that makes me feel like I've done something really great: I've taken a part in saving a person's life—unless that person dies—and in that case, I will never know. So possibly I do nothing.

The whole time I was making the delivery, I had a random thought—an irrational fear of mine. What if I got in a horrific accident and the blood burst from the box and got all over me. Of course, this would have to be a bad enough accident to crush my car and the thick, protective box containing the blood from the Red Cross—in which case I would probably die on impact—but I would die amidst someone else's AB+ blood. Gross!

I'm going to have to leave blogging to watch Desperate Housewives. I have my priorities.