Giving Blood A group of men walk into a Red Cross clinic to donate blood. They all start by reading a statistics sheet about how much blood is needed in the U.S. every day, and how injured people are anticipating their donations. The first man skims the sheet, but he can't stay concentrated. He is thinking about his new rims. He just bought them, they're sitting in his trunk, waiting to be put on his tires. That's it- he can't take it anymore- he has to go.... his rims are calling. So he leaves the clinic and goes to his car.
The second man leaves too. But this man read the paper carefully. Slowly. And then read it again. So much injury, so many deaths. The nation needs so much blood, and there are so few who give. He doesn't see how his small gift can make a difference. His burden gets the better of him, and he starts to feel nauseous. Already nauseous, and he hasn't even seen the needle.
The third man fills out his paperwork, goes through the screening process, chats with the health-care workers. He asks his buddies where they want to go for dinner after they donate. He talks about the football game with his nurse as his blood is being drawn. He is robust. This man hardly feels the loss of his blood- glad to give it to someone in need. Smiles and gets a bandage on his arm. Says "thanks" as he leaves. The fourth man decides to stay. He felt the same temptation as the second man... too much need. But he stays. He doesn't have quite as much fun as the man before him. He is already hurting with those who have been injured. His donation is a direct transaction of grief mixed with blood... the recipients take some of his blood, he takes some of their grief. The needle hurts this man. He goes light-headed. They run to bring the fan. Elevate his feet. "Do you want us to stop drawing?" They ask? "No." He keeps squeezing, pumping. The bag fills slowly. But the man knows his discomfort is only a minor price to pay to help. He finally meets his quota, and they withdraw the needle. They bandage him, but the man walks away unsatisfied. He doesn't want to leave. He turns around, asks "Can you take any more?" "No." They say. "That's enough for today." The man knows his body will soon recover, but someone else who was wounded many not. He wishes he could go back to the chair again, fill up ten bags, give them all his blood. But they would never allow it. So he leaves the clinic, waves to the man installing the new rims on his car... wonders how such a man can live with himself... then helps him finish putting on the rims.

Seems that I'm like the last guy, Dave.  ¶ 8:46 AM