Rain City Bike Crew was organizing a blood drive over the December holidays. I wanted to participate with them, but I knew I’d be back in the States by the time December rolled around. So I decided to donate early—and Remembrance Day seemed like the right day to do it. Gay men have had a long history of being deferred from blood donation so I wanted to take advantage of the fact that I could donate here with less hassle than south of the border.

I had the day off, and there’s something fitting about donating blood on a day that’s fundamentally about service and sacrifice. R and I got up early and walked over to Canadian Blood Services on Dunsmuir Street. The West End and Yaletown neighborhoods were both quiet and empty—a far cry from what we normally see. A city full of life with people going every direction, now still and peaceful. The crisp, clear air added weight to the morning. While the weather was far better here than in other parts of Canada, there was a touch of winter in the air as the country paused to recognize the service and sacrifices of its armed forces.

Down Under, 2013

Throughout my twenties I’d been an active blood donor, earning a five-gallon pin. But once I came out, I was no longer eligible. Gay men faced a permanent deferral in the United States. The only way I could donate at that time was to fly to the other side of the world—Sydney, Australia. I was living there on a work assignment in 2013 when I walked into a blood donation center and they let me donate.

It felt freeing.

As a gay man, I’d spent years not even bothering to try back home because the policies were clear: I wasn’t welcome. But in Australia, I could participate. I could do something I knew mattered, something that’s genuinely good for you and critically needed by society. There was no asterisk next to my name, no policy saying my blood wasn’t wanted.

I remember thinking: this is what it feels like to just be a person contributing to the community you live in, in this way. I’d done the work to figure out how to donate with Type 1 diabetes – right after my A1C check. My endocrinologist at my last appointment even downplayed the A1C check as CGM monitoring of blood glucose is way more valuable.

Donating blood is more than just a warm fuzzy feeling. It has real, tangible benefits:

• Reduces iron overload – Regular donation helps prevent excess iron buildup in your body, which can damage organs like your liver and heart over time
• Free mini health screening – Before each donation you get a quick checkup including blood pressure, pulse, temperature, and hemoglobin testing, plus screening for various blood-borne diseases
• May lower cardiovascular risk – Some studies suggest regular blood donation is associated with lower risk of heart attacks and strokes, possibly due to reduced iron stores and improved blood flow
• Burns calories – Donating one pint of blood burns roughly 650 calories as your body works to replenish the blood volume
• Stimulates new blood cell production – Your body responds by creating fresh new blood cells, which some research suggests may have rejuvenating effectsThe emotional boost – Knowing you’ve potentially saved up to three lives can provide genuine psychological benefits and sense of purpose

I didn’t realize until that moment in Sydney how much weight I’d been carrying—the weight of being told, bureaucratically but firmly, that my contribution didn’t matter. That I wasn’t safe enough, trustworthy enough, clean enough to give something as fundamental as blood.

In Sydney, that weight lifted.

The Science Caught Up

For decades, blood donation policies around the world treated gay and bisexual men as categorically high-risk, with blanket bans or deferral periods that made donation functionally impossible. The fear of HIV transmission through the blood supply was real (and valid) in the 1980s and 1990s, and those policies made sense at the time given what we knew and what we could detect.

But medical science didn’t stand still.

Nucleic acid testing (NAT) changed everything. NAT can detect the actual HIV virus. Not the antibodies that the HIV virus creates after an infection. We’re talking about a window period that shrunk from months down to days. The technology got so good that individual donations could be screened with incredible accuracy, and the risk profile shifted entirely. It wasn’t about who you are anymore; it was about what the science could actually detect. Additionally, medications like PrEP prevent the transfer of HIV – unheard of during the AIDS epidemic.

Countries started updating their policies to match the science. Australia did it years ago. Canada changed their policy in 2022. The United States eventually followed in 2023. The science caught up. The policies caught up. I could finally give to this society by donating blood here in Canada.

The Big Poke!

I’d forgotten how big that needle is. It had been a while.

The staff at Canadian Blood Services were efficient and kind, walking me through the screening questions and the process. It’s far more thorough than I remember from back home. The questions are detailed, the health screening comprehensive—but none of it felt like judgment. The staff was assessing actual risk based on behavior rather than than identity.

The refresh room afterward had lots of made in Canada snacks (though I did notice the lack of Nutter Butters like they have back in the States—lol). I sat there with my juice and cookies, feeling surprisingly touched about the whole thing. But it was during the actual donation, watching the blood flow into the bag, that it really hit me.

I was doing this. Rain City Bike Crew organized a drive and I wanted to participate with them, even if I had to do it early before heading back to the States. The science advanced enough that policies rooted in fear could finally be replaced with policies rooted in facts. I could walk into a donation center and be treated like anyone else who wants to help.

It felt empowering. It felt like participating in the community as I know blood is desperately needed. It felt good.

I thought about that five-gallon pin I’d earned in my twenties, before coming out meant being permanently deferred. I thought about the years in between—wanting to help during disasters, during shortages, during drives at work—and not being able to. I thought about my next flight to Sydney on the next work trip and making time to give blood.

And now, finally, I was doing it again. Not on the other side of the world, but right here in North America, grateful to be participating on a day when the entire country was thinking about service and sacrifice.

Giving

For years, I couldn’t do this. Not because I didn’t want to, not because there was any medical reason I shouldn’t, but because policies hadn’t caught up with the science.

Now they have.

If you’re eligible to donate blood and you’ve been thinking about it, I’d encourage you to do it. It’s good for you, it’s desperately needed, and it’s one of those rare things where an hour of your time can directly save someone’s life. I walked out of the blood bank with a bandage on my arm and that familiar post-donation lightness—partly from giving blood, partly from the relief of finally being allowed to do something I’d wanted to do for over a decade.

R was waiting outside, and we walked back through the burgeoning Yaletown streets together. The city was observing Remembrance Day, honoring those who gave far more than an hour and a pint of blood. I felt grateful to participate in my own small way. Grateful that science advanced. Grateful that policies changed. Grateful that I could walk into a donation center and simply be welcomed.

If you’re someone who couldn’t donate before because of outdated policies based on who you are rather than actual risk factors? Check again. Things have changed in the United States, Canada, and many other countries. Science prevailed today.