#patrick does philosophy

Algia-Lyze was supposed to be just another painkiller. However, it soon became clear that it wasn’t going away anytime soon. The drug was far more efficient than anything that had come before it, and soon Tylenol and Motrin were things of the past. Algia-Lyze quickly became people’s answer to every pain.             The news reports were released a few months later: the FDA had allowed the drug to be certified, despite problems found during testing. Those who had ingested Algia-Lyze began to exhibit worrisome symptoms, most often cases of extreme lethargy followed by severe damage to the immune system. Those who took it in lower doses were affected to a much lesser degree, but everyone who had taken it was harmed. No one missed the irony of the “miracle” painkiller causing this much damage.             Production stopped immediately, and garbage bags were seen in streets across the nation, filled with bottles of the drug. Nevertheless, it took some time for scientists to find any way to stop the effects of Algia-Lyze. Eventually, it was decided that only blood transfusions from donors with “clean” blood could help. A clean donor would be paid for each donation.             I finally got around to giving blood on a Saturday in early December. I’d been busy, but I figured I owed it to the Algia-Lyze victims. I’d heard all about how you could save three lives by donating blood, and at this point, the more donors, the better. I wouldn’t be able to donate again until months later, but at least I’d be doing my part for the time being.             Walking into the nondescript building, I wasn’t surprised to see only a few other potential donors. The weather outside was pretty chilly, and there weren’t that many of us anyway: an estimated twenty percent of the population was still clean. Most of them were probably there for the money, but I didn’t really need it. I was just there to help. I took the necessary forms from the receptionist and sat down. In the stifling heat of the reception area, I took off my grey sweater.             Filling out my medical information and answering the questionnaire didn’t require much thought. Most of the questions could be answered with a simple check in either the “yes” or “no” boxes to the right-hand side of the page. I continued the mundane task until I hit the middle of the third page.             Have you ever engaged in any form of sexual activity with someone of the same sex?             Unnerved, I looked up at the secretary across the room. She glanced up, smiling. She was rather pretty, if not somewhat disheveled. Her white uniform needed to be starched once more, and her name was illegible under the dust on her identification tag.             Have you ever engaged in any form of sexual activity with someone of the same sex?

Well, it only happened a few - No. The question wasn’t asking me that. It didn’t care whether or not I’d done it only once or twice. It didn’t care whether or not my partners and I had been safe, or whether I was clean for HIV. The question only had two answers, and the clearest one here was a resounding

⃤ YES .

            I’m not a man who’s prone to lying. Raised in the Catholic faith, I had been instilled with many of the principle virtues of that doctrine in my youth. I was taught never to kill or steal, and, as I would learn via many a spanking, never to bear false witness against my neighbor, regardless of whether they lived next door or not. Everyone on earth was a neighbor to me, one of many in the family of God. I would move on to become an atheist, but I would never be able to shake the foundations of the morals which had been drilled into my skull as a child. Sometimes I would commit an action only to reflect on it and realize that I still believed it to be wrong.

            The truth was that I had had sex with another man. Years ago, yes, but it had still occurred. Yet it was also true that I was safe: I had never contracted HIV, something to which numerous doctors’ reports could attest. So why shouldn’t I give blood? It’s not as if they’ll ever know. Plus, don’t they screen the blood, anyway? These all seemed valid arguments. I also felt obliged, after seeing so many suffering on television and in the papers, to do something rather than simply allow the pain of even three people to continue any longer.

I walked up to give the receptionist my papers. She seemed to want to question me, but I happened to be wracked with a coughing fit at just that moment. Winter had not spared me from its onslaught of colds.

Before the young woman could say anything, a nurse came to lead me to have my blood drawn.

Have you ever engaged in any form of sexual activity with someone of the same sex?

Though she hadn’t said anything, the receptionist questioned me all the same.

            The room was spotless. As I laid down on a sheet of crisp wax paper, I looked to the white ceiling.

Have you ever engaged in any form of sexual activity with someone of the same sex?

The question came across my thoughts once more, but by now I’d made a choice, and there was no going back.

It’s for the best. My black shirt clung to my body in the hot, cramped setting.

It was an efficient procedure. The nurse rubbed my arm with iodine and then inserted a thick needle into the prominent vein of my left arm. Though by no means pleasant, it was not unnecessarily uncomfortable. I watched the ceiling for the majority of the time, sometimes looking down at the dark liquid being pumped out of my body, my heart never missing a beat. After twelve minutes, I was done with the procedure, and in another fifteen, I was out of the office.

Have you ever engaged in any form of sexual activity with someone of the same sex?

You’ll never know.

  At five in the morning, I was lying in bed and coughing my lungs out. I wouldn’t have wished this hell on anyone else. I’d only had pneumonia once before: that had been enough. On day three of this new struggle with the illness, I was a wreck. That coughing hadn’t been that innocent after all.

In the pale grey light filtering through my windows, I probably looked as good as I felt. I hadn’t moved much, excusing getting up for the bathroom and food. The last time I’d been out had been to -

            Have you ever engaged in any form of sexual activity with someone of the same sex?             Oh.             It hadn’t occured to me until now that my blood had been donated when I was coming down with the pneumonia. My blood...which was possibly carrying the virus.             Have you ever engaged in any form of sexual activity with someone of the same sex?             I might as well have, for all the good donating my blood had done.             A few weeks passed by and I recovered from the pneumonia. But that was the least of my worries. I tried to track down my blood. I really did. But in doing so, I found out that the donation process was nothing at all like it had been before the appearance of Algia-Lyze. Nothing was tracked. Nothing was tested. Blood was so desperately needed that any and all donations were taken in the hopes of stopping people’s pains as quickly as possible.             My blood’s floating around there somewhere right now. Possibly infected. Possibly not.