Weird Happening

The Worst Case of Syphilis I Never Had

By Kristy Smith

The worst case of Syphilis I never had was contracted at an American Red Cross blood drive. I went in feeling fine and emerged with a sexually transmitted disease. Well, at least on paper.

I’ve since assessed it would have been far easier to have caught the real deal. A couple of doses of Penicillin and I would have been good to go. Instead, I continued to languish for months under a false positive diagnosis.

Paper Syphilis strikes randomly, but I’m guessing my average of four plus annual trysts with a Red Cross phlebotomist increased my risk. Like most people, I thought it would never happen to me – until it did: When the blood mobile was at the United Methodist Church, of all places.

My willingness to bare my arms at every opportunity set the Iodine-swabbed stage for disaster. So free was I with my bodily fluids that I also donated bone marrow along the way. My aim was to surpass the 14-gallon donation mark by the age of 45. I had just squeezed out my 111^th pint toward that goal when for reasons still unknown, my blood donation tripped the Syphilis trigger. The Red Cross threw out both it and me.

No doubt the medical waste received better treatment.

The nice people who had lured me in with reminder phone calls, homemade cookies, and assorted warm fuzzies sent a form letter booting me out. And they carbon copied health department officials with dizzying swiftness. I went to my mailbox a noble volunteer and returned a public health criminal.

That was just the start of the fun.

The deferral letter was brief and impersonal. Blood test positive for Syphilis. Treatment as indicated. Mandatory 12-month deferral. Re-testing required for reinstatement. Toll-free number for questions. Syphilis facts and test results enclosed. See ya!

While Red Cross officials couldn’t be bothered to place a personal call to me, the State’s regional Syphilis expert had no such qualms about picking up the phone. She told me to get tested immediately and to start treatment right away.

What?!

What a trip. She tried her patronizing best to wheedle from me the names of my sexual partner(s). I told her I wasn’t talking until she spoke to me like an adult. She repeated the routine with my husband after I ratted him out to her.

We made appointments with our respective physicians. But in the meantime, were forced to regard one another with a degree of suspicion. I mean, what if he had cheated on me and everyone except me knew about it, including the Red Cross? The thought of it made me feel sick to my stomach, or was that just the syphilis talking? I couldn’t say for sure.

My local health department also rounded me up for testing. Their phone number and the identifier “V.D. Clinic” registered on my caller I.D. “Mommy, what’s V.D.?” asked my young son. The cherry atop the deluxe degradation sundae.

Ultimately, all tests came back negative. Armed with two sets of negative confirmatories, I recontacted the Red Cross, mistakenly thinking they would reinstate me in the donor pool. No can do. Not for 12 months. “And don’t even think about sending us your negative test results. We’ll just throw them in a file drawer for the next year.”

I was furious! Twenty-four years as a blood donor and the Red Cross could do no better than this by me? What happened to the “Be nice to me I gave blood today” philosophy of post-donation sticker fame? I told the Red Cross to stick it!

I launched an angry letter, e-mail, and phone calling campaign involving anyone I thought could help. A regional Red Cross board member who runs Michigan’s largest annual blood drive lobbied for my reinstatement.

Then I waited. And waited. And waited. Several months passed before I received word I would be allowed back into the donor pool early. I was so excited . . . . Until “early” turned out to be just two days before my original 12-month deferral was set to expire. Gee thanks, FDA.

EPILOGUE

I donated blood the first day I was allowed back. Hey, just because the Red Cross was insensitive and the FDA passive-aggressive, doesn’t mean there aren’t people out there who need my blood. Incidentally, that donation put me at the 14-gallon mark and I wasn’t yet 45.

While the cure for paper syphilis remains elusive, I have since met with the Red Cross to address their system problems that send unsuspecting donors into unnecessary spin cycles. I have proposed donor-friendly changes and have re-written their infamous syphilis deferral letter.

I’d like to think the Red Cross thinks I’m not some kind of a crackpot, but an articulate ally with legitimate concerns and progressive solutions.

They must. Because they gave me a free, insulated, Red Cross travel mug for my trouble.

(Note: In August of 2011, I reached the 16-gallon blood donation milestone with the American Red Cross. They may be able to falsely positive diagnose a good woman, but they can’t keep her down!)