˙˙00˙ ˙00˙01˙03˙01Donar˙00 ˙ ˙ ˙03˙02PUH / AGONY ˙01˙01˙00˙ ˙PCR based gene amplification is, of course, always a lottery. You never really can be sure that you will have a full reading from the DNA strand. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. Most of the time, you did both at the same time, hopefully winning more than losing. My graduation project was a typical example of that; for every three specimens I sequenced, two turned out well, and the third failed. After a few rounds, you have a bunch of specimens that you have to process anew. If you have the money, this is not a problem. Biology and money, however, seldom walk hand in hand. It was by no means certain that I would get money for a second round. If I didn't, I'd have to manage with the data I had. Possible, perhaps, though not very appealing, and in particular, not that easily worked through with respect to time. Nevertheless, with the help of unknown forces, I got the funds for that last round. I loaded up for the night's run, looking desperately at the wells of the gel, praying a silent prayer for the successful outcome of the run. With another failure, I'd be academically dead (if I wasn't already). I swore I'd do anything if the Higher Forces helped me just this time, not knowing just what that "anything" might be, hoping that would be nothing. Perhaps the Forces would help me, without me having to do anything. I was soon to find out that so was not the case. Having left the building, on my way to the tram station, I saw a taxi car passing by. And in the moment I saw the commercial sign on its sides, I knew that those superhuman powers wouldn't let me get away that easily. It was a commercial for Sahlgrenska, Gothenburg's biggest hospital. It said: Save lives - donate blood now! The game was tough, and I was in it deep. I fantasized not getting off the tram at the Sahlgrenska tram stop. I thought that perhaps I could go straight home, hoping that nobody would notice my not being there. But then, with so much at stake, I pulled myself together and jumped off. "This way to the blood central", a sign said. Hu-uh! Finding the central was no problem, so I sat down in the waiting room. It was nothing like those hospitals you see on TV, but rather modern and with a friendly atmosphere. A British magazine on the table turned out to be called ˙02Donar˙01, and was all devoted to the donation of blood to your fellow citizens. It turned out that certain cancer patients together with the usual accident victims require quite some blood volumes. Since blood cannot be stored for more than approximately six weeks, it had to be donated. And the donor, the magazine said, had to be you. It is perhaps overkill to say that nobody donates blood. I had never met anybody who did, anyway. The nurse called my name. I was almost surprised to learn that the nurse called my name. MY name, here, at the central (as it apparently is called by the chosen few)! I took a deep breath and followed here. I had to fill out a health certificate, verifying my health, mental status, drug habits, all that. I didn't consider myself in the risk zone, but nevertheless filled out those boxes carefully. They were anxious for a lot of information regarding the most unrelated things. Upon being asked for the reason I came, I said a friend of mine had had a violent accident, and that the operation afterwards had consumed a whole lot of blood, and that that started me thinking. It was the only lie of the day. How would it look if I told them I went there because I needed plus scores from whatever God that was willing to give them to me? I was asked to lay down at a bed and take a deep breath. "You won't feel a thing", the nurse said as she approached with a real horse needle. That, obviously, wasn't true, but it wasn't THAT bad after all, especially knowing that I am not the greatest fan there is of needles and razor-sharp surgeon knives. The nurse, knowing the drill, kept talking to me and ask me questions concerning my studies and plans for the future. And before I knew it, it was over. I had given 4.5 dl of my blood - my very blood - to somebody who - hopefully - needed it more than I did. In any case, since 4.5 dl represents some ten percent of your total blood volume, it would be a good idea to relax tonight and perhaps just watch TV, she said. She didn't have to repeat that. It happened that some first-timers felt sick and all that upon leaving the central, but - and mark her words - "you seem so strong in spirit that I doubt you'll notice anything". And you know what, I didn't! But here's just how strong in spirit I was: leaving the cash note at the information desk, I was told by the clerk that I could choose between a) 30 SKR b) donating the 30 SKR to medical research and c) instead of the 30 SKR cash, choose something worth that amount from their magical shelf. Knowing the financial status of the Swedish hospital system, the only right thing to do would have been to sacrifice the money on the altar of science. Wearing my shoes, however, giving away things just is not part of the plan. I chose a grey T-shirt, and a pretty nice one at that, the blood logo being very discretely hidden. And since I was a first-timer, they gave me another T-shirt. I was also awarded a pack of iron pills to compensate for the loss of red blood cells. And as if that wasn't enough, I got a ˙02medal˙01 too, "a red drop of blood to proudly wear on my jacket sleeve"! Now, ain't that something! Summing it all up, this is what I got: ˙02*˙01 The comfort of knowing that even if it hurt a bit, I did something good for somebody in more need than I was ˙02*˙01 2 T-shirts ˙02*˙01 1 pack of yellow iron pills ˙02*˙01 1 medal worthy a hero ˙02*˙01 1 verbal weapon in the attack against everybody else. There's nothing like a guy soft enough to be willing to give blood to save lives, and tough enough to do it. Now, that sums up to crap. The last point is all I care about: ˙02*˙01 Luck. A great deal of it, too. In two weeks, I'll know for sure. ˙01