When searching for a way to characterize some of the most defining characteristics of oneself, it wouldn't be unfamiliar to say, "it's in my blood". I myself have used this phrase plenty times with little to no thought. But a fateful turn of event set me upon a journey of blood related self-discovery that led to a 1 in 8 billion discovery.
Now like most of you, I was born. While I couldn't necessarily confirm this, for the vast majority of my life I had no reason to question it. Now for those of you who know me personally, there are many words you would use when describing me to someone. Valiant advocate for trains, avid supporter of Weird Al Yankovic, aspiring Zamboni driver to name a few. But the one that instantly comes to the minds of the masses when they think of me is that of health care hero. Let the record show, I would never refer to myself as this, as I am incredibly modest, devilishly handsome, and ridiculously humble. But many people are saying this.
Anyway, I am often described as a health care hero due to my frequent blood donation habits. For those of you who are familiar with the blood donation process it's incredibly easy, usually pretty quick, and often comes with a cookie. It can get you out of class, and then you get to brandish your sick bandage and let everyone who asks about it know what a better person you are than them. The hardest part of blood donation without a doubt is the fact that once you donate, you'll have to expect roughly 4 calls a week asking you to schedule a new appointment. It doesn't matter if you've moved to another state or told them you already donated, they'll hunt you down with the tenacity of Liam Neeson on the search for his missing child.
When you donate blood, you take a survey that makes sure your blood is safe for donation. Normally it's a speed run for me as the only needles I share are used for sewing. One of the most straightforward questions is that of "what is your blood type". Now I am proud of a lot of things that others aren't, one of which is my A+ blood. A+ just feels like something to feel good about. I donated blood twice stating each time that this was my blood type. But like Blind Melon sang in their cover of the Schoolhouse Rock classic, three is a magic number. My third donation was business as usually. I walked into the blood bank and was greeted by a litany of Russian nurses. They handed me a cheap pair of Halloween themed socks and turned me into a human Capri-Sun. But I noticed afterwards as the recruitment cycle began, I was receiving calls and emails asking for my O+ positive blood. Those silly Russians made a clerical error, I thought to myself. But the thought lingered in the back of my mind. Blood type, like astronomical signs, is the main scientific factor in determining someone's personality and characteristics. Had I been living my life a lie?
In this case I did what any adult-sized child does when they have an intense mental dilemma. I called my parents. Surely, they would confirm that I was an A+ man. Sure enough, that's what they did but I wasn't satiated. The next course of action was to check the data. While they were semi-confident there was no document. So, I find the patient portal at my doctor's office and read my files. No blood type listed, so I figured I'd give them a call. Not only did they not have my blood type, but there were also no medical records of me before the age of 14. At this point the lid is off the panic button. It has yet to be pushed but I'm thinking about it. Friends walked by smiling, enjoying the beautiful day, expected for me to have some witty positive remark. They were met by a man drowning in confusion and conspiracy theories. The closing remark of the pediatrician was to contact the hospital which I was born at, as surely, they would have it. After roughly 40 minutes on the phone, I was informed they would send my medical records by mail in 30 days and that was the only way I had access. At this point I was delusional. I frantically implored my nursing student friends to make it all make sense. They as sympathetically as possible (holding back laughter) let me know that my blood type cannot change. So, at this point I'm a man with no blood type, or at least a changing one. All I could do was wait for the postman to drop off the one piece of paper that could give me clarity.
The envelope comes. It was as cinematic as possible. It was as if I had been flipping passed bills and magazines and got the decision letter from my dream school. I threw the rest of the mail to the side and opened it hurriedly but carefully. Pulling out the think clump of paper, optimism flowed. At last, my long nightmare was over. I would have an identity again. I would be able to learn this and all other types of information in this bulky packet detailing the beautiful moment which I entered the world. I build up the courage to read it and what do I see. Not only does the hospital not know my blood type, but they also have NO RECORD OF MY BIRTH. The paper floated to the ground in slow motion. I was never born.
So where do we go from here. I'm sure there will be many fan theories about this scenario which you can feel free to follow up with the comments. Is there a hit out on me? Was I designed in a lab to mature into a superhero? Who knows. In the meantime, consider this a PSA to go donate blood. It seriously is an easy way to make a huge difference. And if someone finds they have the same magical changing blood to me, you get a free Bok Gang sticker.
Stay Classy, Bok Gang
-The Founder
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