does this make me a stigmata?

Monk Blood.
Read again - Monk Blood.
I was covered in - Monk Blood.
And it was a little upsetting.

This morning as I was walking to class I noticed a flyer posted in the Saint Martin's hallways announcing that the Puget Sound Blood Center's "Blood Mobile" was on campus for donations. After finishing up my much-dreaded "personality theories" mid-term, I thought one way to boost my karma (possibly helping that ill-fated exam score?) would be to give something back to the community.

My nervous senses were heightened and detected an impending bizarre vibe; I think I inwardly knew that something unusual was about to happen. My nurse was noticeably frazzled. He took forever just to get my blood bags and needles prepared, didn't seem to know where any of the necessary items were located, and wasn't acting very pleasant. Politely making conversation, I asked him if he had been with the blood mobile long.
"Well, yeah. But this isn't my bus, and I just don't know where anything is." He later added, "And it's not like working on the blood mobile is my life long career goal anyhow."
Hmm... I was sure wishing that the person who was about to "professionally stab me" had more job satisfaction.

On the bed across from me was a monk from the Saint Martin's abbey. He was wearing their prototypical all-black attire, but I did notice that his socks were navy blue, and somewhere inside I hoped that a single splash of color was his own small rebellion; though I do sincerely doubt it. He was probably somewhere between the ages of 95 and 110, and even if he couldn't hardly hear or understand much of anything that was going on around him, he was happy to donate. You should have seen his wrinkly old face when they gave him his peanut butter cookie!

Another nurse came by to "top off" the monk and his now full blood bag. "Hey [so-and-so] this is a creative way to make needle hold, but it sure isn't right" the second nurse hollered across the bus. And with a forceful squeeze of the vile between his fingers, the stopper at the end of the hose hanging from the blood bag - popped. Like a Champaign cork, but with less celebration. Suddenly, a fine red mist showered across the bus in one neat arch, blood landing directly on my sprawled out body and coating my arms, neck, face, and hair with tiny droplets of "someone else."

I tasted blood in my mouth and my vision was blurred as little droplets forced me to squeeze my eyes shut in a wet-bloody shudder.

All eyes turned to the loud nurse as they watched him awkwardly and hurriedly try to contain the spurting artificial vein. Shocked and slowly realizing what had just happened to me, I looked down at the pillow my head had just laid upon and saw small red streaks of blood marking the starchy white pillow case. I reached up to wipe my face and pulled my hands away only to see my fingers and palms wet with blood. I wiped again, only pulling away more blood. More blood. More blood. Freakoutfreakoutfreakout. My voice searched and searched for the best response, I wanted to yell, " OH MY GOD! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!?! I AM COVERED IN SOMEONE ELSE'S BLOOD!!!" but instead I simply eeked out a, "um... may I please have a napkin, or something?" The small nursing staff's attention was now diverted to me; the casualty. In a whirlwind of efficiency I was lifted, wiped, debriefed, consulted, and so on. Aside from the still-moist stains on my favorite blue sweater, after only a few moments you never would have known anything had gone wrong.

I'm going to ask that the monk's blood, and also my own blood, now be screened for pathogens. I'm not too worried though. Maybe I'm being naive, but I just believe that a 100 year old man who is a servant of God, and who has successfully donated more than 5 gallons, is probably "clean." If such a hope is foolish business - so be it. Thought, it would be a bummer if I got hepatitis or HIV from a decrepit monastic.

So, here is the question of the day... does an inadvertent baptism of blood from a holy patron give me special powers? Was this some sort of divine intervention? Like the radioactive spider that created spiderman, will I become some sort of superpowered-catholic? What will my superpowers be? The ability to induce guilt and confession with no more than a look from my blood-splattered eye? Or better yet, will I be able to turn water into wine with my blood soaked lips? Great party trick, by the way. Sure would make me a great party "host" hardeeharhar... I'll be a little upset if I don't gain catholic-superpowers, but I'll be downright pissed if I now have to take a pilgrimage, or worse - become a stigmata. I think Stigmata is probably one of the least enjoyable religious callings ever, having to bleed for no good reason on a regular basis. Oh wait - I'm a woman :)

Because of my direct exposure, I'm quarantined from donating for 12 months. Having read this, if you have laughed or even chuckled just once, you must pay a small fee. Go donate blood for me. It's a really simple way to save another human beings life. LIFE! And the chances of getting someone else's blood in your eye are (probably?) minimal. Now, isn't that a big enough deal for you to get out of your computer chair and spend an hour at the blood clinic? GO! Go for Mo.