I’m sorry mom, but your daughter has recently become a Plasma whore.

My dad refers to me as Plasma Girl. Like I’m saving the world one day at the time. Little does he know, I just need to pay my Credit card bill.

I’m poor. I’m your average definition of college broke except a little more. I’ve eaten raw spaghetti noodles. I’ve begged my coworkers for all the coins in their bags. Sometimes I’ll sleep through breakfast so I don’t have to pay for a meal. I’m broke.

One day when I realized my job writing doesn’t pay me enough to survive and I’m not working elsewhere, it all hit the fan. I couldn’t afford groceries and I was tired of spending all of my boyfriend’s Money on food and I was considering walking everywhere in Baton Rouge even though the crime rate is out of the roof but it might be better than trying to afford gas and I had a maxed out credit card and heaven knows I’m going to need a good credit rate when I graduate and–

Okay, I’m babbling. But you get the point. I had no money. And I got tired of calling my mom for it. I know my parents will support me no matter what but every time I call I have to get the spiel of how I need a job and, “I know, mom. I’m looking every day,” got tiring to say. So I took it into my own hands.

I remembered a coworker at a restaurant I worked at before telling me she had to leave early one day to donate plasma.

“Um, what? I mean it’s good for the world and all but why do you have to leave early for that?”

“I have to be back here at 4:00. And I need the $50.”

“Wait, $50? They pay you? Well, you have fun.”

I wasn’t concerned at the time because, clearly, I was making good money at this restaurant. Honestly, I kind of looked at her like a nutcase for doing it. All I could think about were nasty needles and blood spurting everywhere. But, like I said, now I’m super broke and anything legal goes (I promised my parents I wouldn’t get into trouble when I moved out).

And for the last three weeks, I’ve been paid. I’ve bought groceries twice this month. My boyfriend and I got to eat oysters. My credit card balance is dwindling down. I have a full tank of gas. All for maybe 2-3 hours in the facility. I haven’t had to ask my mommy for money in a while and I feel incredibly responsible (is this what responsibility is supposed to feel like?).

Going into it I didn’t think that I could do it more than once. First of all, the location is a little..interesting. I almost cursed a homeless man out for asking me for money because I felt I should have been the one begging. Not to mention there’s a giant needle being stabbed into my arm. I never liked needles. I don’t personally get a rush from being in pain. But those two seconds of agony compared to the deposit that comes after is minuscule.

Yes, I started going because I needed spare change. But there is something good that comes out of it too. They’re able to use my plasma to develop medical equipment. They can use it to help those with autoimmune disorders. There’s more they can do with just the plasma than they can do with whole blood and it only takes 48 hours to regenerate. There’s a bigger cause than just gaining a small funding.

I don’t think donating plasma is for everyone. I don’t tell people it’s an option for them. However, it’s definitely an option for me. And for as long as I’m a super broke college student, I’m probably going to continue to rely on it as a side gig.  There may be a scar on my left arm for the rest of my life, but at least we know I got it legally.

P.S. I got a mean cold the first week from doing this. Try to keep your immune system afloat if you take this route.