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of mice and hero id cards

June 16, 2009

Two weeks ago I donated blood, and today I received my “Hero Identification Card” in the mail.  Let me tell you that if you’ve ever needed an excuse to donate blood besides saving three baby’s lives per pint, then that excuse should be the opportunity to carry around a Hero I.D. card, which is the very same card that Superman, Spider-Man, and Batman carry and the opposite of the card that Hitler carried.  Basically, if you have one of these cards it means you were not Hitler, and if you don’t have one it means you might have been. 

 Anyway, on the card it states your blood type.  So today, after living with the stuff for 22 years I finally found out that the blood coursing through my veins is ABPlus, and that my friends is a blood type shared by only 3% of the population.  I know this because immediately upon receipt of the Hero I.D. card I called my mom and instructed her to look up my blood type on the internet to see what it can tell me that I don’t already know about how special I am, and thankfully it turns out that I am very special.  For example, when I asked my mom if she could find any evidence of famous people with this same blood type, she said she could not, but I just have a feeling that Albert Einstein must have been an ABPlus.  I mean how could he not have been you know?

 Technically, AB- is the rarest blood type, but I found out that my blood is still a lot better because ABPluses are the universal recipient, which means that I can be transfused with anyone’s blood and immediately be three times healthier than you.  Basically, this is a sciency way of saying that I will probably never die, which is not something that 97% of the population can say with a straight face. 

 So, two weeks ago I took an hour out of my day to give some of my red gold to babies in need, and today I became a card-carrying hero who will probably never die.  Not bad for a Tuesday.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. Kent McMIllan permalink
    June 24, 2009 3:17 am

    I’m trying to guess which super powers recipients of the Ramona® brand blood may just acquire. Admittedly, it’s not as if it’s in the same league as a bite from a radioactive spider or any other traditional initiation into superherodom, but that corpuscular DNA has to count for something, or so I have to think.

    Ought the donor to write a note to the recipient, explaining the odd changes that they may experience in matters of taste and style, for example? Should the blood transfusion be accompanied by a subscription to Paris Match or Elle?

    Medical ethicists are almost certainly wrestling with these and other similar questions raised by the transfusion of Ramona® blood into mere humans even as I write. There is, for example, the matter of designer sunglasses that may follow the recipient through life.

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