Dan Aykroyd in a still from the 1983 film “Trading Places.”With news of war and natural disasters flooding our screens, it’s easy to feel overwhelmed—or worse, helpless—in the short, cold days following the holiday season. Well, here’s one way to help: Donate blood. According to the Red Cross, the U.S. is facing an emergency blood shortage as it experiences the lowest number of donors in two decades.
“Over the last 20 years, the number of people donating blood through the Red Cross has fallen by about 40%,” the American Red Cross said in a Jan. 7 press release. “When fewer people donate blood, even small disruptions to blood donations—such as the nearly 7,000-unit shortfall in blood donations the Red Cross experienced between Christmas and New Year’s Day alone—can have a huge impact on the availability of blood products and dramatic consequences for those in need of emergency blood transfusion.”
This is not your average blood drive. It’s a matter of life and death for thousands, especially with winter storms sweeping across the country. So don’t wait. Make an appointment today to give blood or platelets by visiting RedCrossBlood.org or calling 1-800-RED CROSS (1-800-733-2767).
For further motivation, read my piece below about the wonderful people I encountered—including one inebriated and one sober Santa—while donating blood for the first time on a cold December day in Brooklyn. — MJ
By Michael Judge
NEW YORK — The subway ride to the Brooklyn blood center was like most others on a late December day—cold, loud, and hurried—except for what appeared to be an inebriated Santa near the rear of the car. This was no mall Santa but a cherub-faced bum with a shock of white hair and beads of whiskey in his beard. Not feeling very “Christmasy,” I imagined a disillusioned Claus closing down an arctic bar and sleeping through his one-night-a-year job.
Perhaps that’s why I decided to give blood in the first place. It was the “giving season,” but I wasn’t really in the giving mood. When a colleague told me that New York was suffering from a severe blood shortage, I saw a chance to cleanse my soul by donating a pint or two of my own.
Having never given blood before, I had little idea what to expect. That morning on the N train I envisioned a run-down donor center in a run-down Brooklyn neighborhood. This act of generosity, I thought to myself, would surely kindle the much-talked-about Christmas Spirit in my heart, if not my veins.
Surprisingly, it worked. Rising from the Lawrence Street station, I found myself in the heart of Brooklyn’s historic downtown district—bookstores, restaurants and bars decked out with red and white lights, wreathes and holly for the season. There was even a sober Saint Nick, polyester outfit and all, ringing a bell before a corner toy store. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” he crooned, with a decidedly Puerto Rican accent. “Maaaarrrryyy Chreeestmaaas!” This was Brooklyn at its best.
Just a few months ago my wife and I moved back to Brooklyn after a 2 1/2-year stint overseas. So I knew how New York’s most-populous borough went all out for the holidays, and had missed it. But it wasn’t the flickering lights, neon menorahs and fake Santas that tripped my holiday trigger this year—it was the people I met that Friday afternoon at the New York Blood Center’s Brooklyn branch.
It was clear from the beginning that this was a brand-new facility. The walls were light pink and lined with colorful paintings and drawings from local artists. The waiting room was decorated with a miniature tree and a plastic menorah with blue lights. Beyond the waiting room there were eight oversized donor beds (all bright pink), each accompanied by a miniature white television that swung down in front of the donor like a dentist’s lamp. Sadly, all the beds were empty.
I soon discovered that the worst blood shortages take place over the holidays, when regular donors are away or can’t find the time to give. Across the country the blood supply reaches dangerously low levels as donations decrease. In New York, for example, hospitals usually have about a five-day supply of blood for patients who need transfusions and other life-saving procedures. This holiday season, however, it has dwindled to less than a two-day supply.
All this was explained to me by Emmanuel, the young, African-American attendant who helped me fill out the blood center’s registration form for first-time donors. Emmanuel’s a big kid with short dreadlocks and a dream of someday becoming a doctor. But he’s also a budding entrepreneur: “I’m working on my business plan right now,” he explained. “Once the plan is finished, I want to get a small-business loan and open up a store that features local artwork, fashion, and the like. But eventually I’d like to be a doctor.”
It didn’t take long for Emmanuel to talk me into donating platelets instead of whole blood. While whole blood is always in great demand, the need for two components of whole blood—plasma and platelets—is even greater. Plasma is used to treat clotting disorders, burns and shock. Platelets, which are essential to normal blood clotting, can be wiped out during treatment for cancer, leukemia, aplastic anemia, and other diseases.
Plasma and platelets can be separated from whole blood after donation, but a process called apheresis—extracting the wanted components and returning the rest of the blood to the donor—is far more efficient. Indeed, an apheresis session provides up to 10 times the amount of platelets that come from one whole-blood donation.
Lana was the name of the woman who conducted the apheresis. A middle-aged Ukrainian women with short red hair and funky blue glasses, she told me how “brave” I was for volunteering to donate platelets on my first visit. Lana knows a lot about bravery. In 1979 she fled the Soviet Union to give her children a better life. She and her husband managed to put their kids through school, and now their son is a pharmacist in Manhattan. “You can do anything in this country if you work hard,” she said. “Anything.”
As Lana told me about her grandchildren, the honey-like platelets dripped into an IV bag above my head. “This,” she said. “This will save lives.”
“Over the last 20 years, the number of people donating blood through the Red Cross has fallen by about 40%,” the American Red Cross said in a Jan. 7 press release. “When fewer people donate blood, even small disruptions to blood donations—such as the nearly 7,000-unit shortfall in blood donations the Red Cross experienced between Christmas and New Year’s Day alone—can have a huge impact on the availability of blood products and dramatic consequences for those in need of emergency blood transfusion.”
This is not your average blood drive. It’s a matter of life and death for thousands, especially with winter storms sweeping across the country. So don’t wait. Make an appointment today to give blood or platelets by visiting RedCrossBlood.org or calling 1-800-RED CROSS (1-800-733-2767).
For further motivation, read my piece below about the wonderful people I encountered—including one inebriated and one sober Santa—while donating blood for the first time on a cold December day in Brooklyn. — MJ
By Michael Judge
NEW YORK — The subway ride to the Brooklyn blood center was like most others on a late December day—cold, loud, and hurried—except for what appeared to be an inebriated Santa near the rear of the car. This was no mall Santa but a cherub-faced bum with a shock of white hair and beads of whiskey in his beard. Not feeling very “Christmasy,” I imagined a disillusioned Claus closing down an arctic bar and sleeping through his one-night-a-year job.
Perhaps that’s why I decided to give blood in the first place. It was the “giving season,” but I wasn’t really in the giving mood. When a colleague told me that New York was suffering from a severe blood shortage, I saw a chance to cleanse my soul by donating a pint or two of my own.
Having never given blood before, I had little idea what to expect. That morning on the N train I envisioned a run-down donor center in a run-down Brooklyn neighborhood. This act of generosity, I thought to myself, would surely kindle the much-talked-about Christmas Spirit in my heart, if not my veins.
Surprisingly, it worked. Rising from the Lawrence Street station, I found myself in the heart of Brooklyn’s historic downtown district—bookstores, restaurants and bars decked out with red and white lights, wreathes and holly for the season. There was even a sober Saint Nick, polyester outfit and all, ringing a bell before a corner toy store. “Ho! Ho! Ho!” he crooned, with a decidedly Puerto Rican accent. “Maaaarrrryyy Chreeestmaaas!” This was Brooklyn at its best.
Just a few months ago my wife and I moved back to Brooklyn after a 2 1/2-year stint overseas. So I knew how New York’s most-populous borough went all out for the holidays, and had missed it. But it wasn’t the flickering lights, neon menorahs and fake Santas that tripped my holiday trigger this year—it was the people I met that Friday afternoon at the New York Blood Center’s Brooklyn branch.
It was clear from the beginning that this was a brand-new facility. The walls were light pink and lined with colorful paintings and drawings from local artists. The waiting room was decorated with a miniature tree and a plastic menorah with blue lights. Beyond the waiting room there were eight oversized donor beds (all bright pink), each accompanied by a miniature white television that swung down in front of the donor like a dentist’s lamp. Sadly, all the beds were empty.
I soon discovered that the worst blood shortages take place over the holidays, when regular donors are away or can’t find the time to give. Across the country the blood supply reaches dangerously low levels as donations decrease. In New York, for example, hospitals usually have about a five-day supply of blood for patients who need transfusions and other life-saving procedures. This holiday season, however, it has dwindled to less than a two-day supply.
All this was explained to me by Emmanuel, the young, African-American attendant who helped me fill out the blood center’s registration form for first-time donors. Emmanuel’s a big kid with short dreadlocks and a dream of someday becoming a doctor. But he’s also a budding entrepreneur: “I’m working on my business plan right now,” he explained. “Once the plan is finished, I want to get a small-business loan and open up a store that features local artwork, fashion, and the like. But eventually I’d like to be a doctor.”
It didn’t take long for Emmanuel to talk me into donating platelets instead of whole blood. While whole blood is always in great demand, the need for two components of whole blood—plasma and platelets—is even greater. Plasma is used to treat clotting disorders, burns and shock. Platelets, which are essential to normal blood clotting, can be wiped out during treatment for cancer, leukemia, aplastic anemia, and other diseases.
Plasma and platelets can be separated from whole blood after donation, but a process called apheresis—extracting the wanted components and returning the rest of the blood to the donor—is far more efficient. Indeed, an apheresis session provides up to 10 times the amount of platelets that come from one whole-blood donation.
Lana was the name of the woman who conducted the apheresis. A middle-aged Ukrainian women with short red hair and funky blue glasses, she told me how “brave” I was for volunteering to donate platelets on my first visit. Lana knows a lot about bravery. In 1979 she fled the Soviet Union to give her children a better life. She and her husband managed to put their kids through school, and now their son is a pharmacist in Manhattan. “You can do anything in this country if you work hard,” she said. “Anything.”
As Lana told me about her grandchildren, the honey-like platelets dripped into an IV bag above my head. “This,” she said. “This will save lives.”
