Cleanse Schmenze

I grew up in South Jersey, exit 3 off the turnpike. Pizza, cheesesteaks, and Pepsi were their own food groups in my world. Candy consumption was an everyday occurrence. Sure, I ate vegetables: corn in the summer, canned green beans in the winter. There was only one kind of lettuce and it was iceberg. Celery was edible only if slathered with cream cheese, a carrot if dunked in onion dip.

Because I was tall and thin, I assumed I could eat whatever the hell I wanted.  Because I became a runner in my 20s, I assumed I could eat as much as I wanted of whatever the hell I wanted. And so I did.

Then, in my 30s, I got sick—really sick—as in not-expected-to-live sick. A few days before I was discharged from a six-week stay in the intensive care unit, one of my nurses suggested that someday, when I was strong enough, I should consider doing a “liver cleanse.” Pictures of a big gooey organ wearing a shower cap and bathing in a tub of bubbles came to mind. A liver cleanse? WTF? I’d never heard of this, but I was willing to try just about anything to help my recovery process.

Months later, my family and I relocated to Boulder, Colorado, home of every type of cleanse imaginable. A year into my recovery I decided it was time. I went to a small natural grocer in town, read through the various books on cleansing (there were many; who knew?), and picked a program that was designed specifically for the liver. I decided I would do this strict program for ten days. I left the store with $300 worth of vegetables (to make “cleansing broth”) and supplements. I made lists and schedules and, yes, the broth (which, frankly, tasted like dirty dish water).

The next morning I arose with determination and took my first round of supplements, along with two tablespoons of olive oil and the juice from half a lemon. An hour later, I choked down a cup of that nasty broth. Another hour later, more supplements. At this point I was starving. And that’s when I broke. It was only 11 a.m. and I ditched the cleanse in favor of tortellini alfredo and a Coke. Cleanse #1: FAIL!

 A few years later, someone convinced me that I should attempt another cleanse, this one fairly intense. Nothing but fruits and vegetables for 28 days. No salt, no olive oil, no nothing. I could make fresh guacamole, but there’d be no corn chip to deliver it to my mouth. My husband decided to do the program with me (he did not know that colonics were part of the regimen when he signed on; silly man). At the time, I was in the middle of a busy speaking tour across the U.S. and I had two trips that had long been scheduled during the same month we chose to do the cleanse. By the conclusion of the first trip, I was lethargic and sick.

Just when I began feeling a bit better, the next trip came around. I packed my juicer and a bag of organic produce, unsure if I’d be able to find what I needed in the city I was visiting. United Airlines “accidentally” rerouted my luggage to their home base in Chicago instead of to my destination in Florida, and I’m certain it was because they believed my juicer was a bomb. Imagine how embarrassed they must’ve been when they opened the bag only to be overwhelmed by the smell of broccoli, cucumbers, celery, and beets.

I spent two days in Florida, adhering to the cleanse protocol while delivering three different keynote addresses. When it was time to pack and leave for the airport, I felt I had not one electrolyte left in my body. Tossing my clothing, toiletries and juicer in the suitcase felt like far too great a task, so instead I lay on the bed and phoned Jeff. He convinced me to stay one more day and to eat some “real” food for energy. Lucky for me I had been booked into the Club Level of the Ritz-Carlton, so I made my way to one of their “culinary offerings”—appetizer spreads—and proceeded to circle the buffet table, grabbing at food and eating as I walked, a sad parody of Patty Duke in “The Miracle Worker.” I returned home the following day to find my husband looking gaunt and exhausted, barely able to lift his head from the couch pillow to greet me. What a pair we were, a couple of emaciated zombies. And it was only Day 19 in our 28-day program.

“Do you want to end this stupid cleanse?” I asked him.

“Yes. Let’s get Chinese food,” he replied. And off we went to stuff our pie holes with fried wontons, egg rolls, and beer. Cleanse #2: FAIL!

After that experience, I swore off any sort of deprivation-based program. It seemed that making my body weak in an attempt to make it strong didn’t make sense. And given all my body had been through with the big illness of years ago (from which I never fully recovered) I had to be extra respectful of my body’s nutritional needs.

Years passed with no mention of the word “cleanse.” Then I came across a documentary by Joe Cross—“Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead.” Not exactly god’s gift to cinematography, but a great little film nonetheless. Watch it. All of it. I promise you there’s a wonderful surprise about mid-way through. And by the end, I suspect Joe Cross will be one of your heroes too. (Spoiler alert: he juices a shitload of fruits and vegetables for two months, which helps him regain health, drop weight, and dump his prescription meds.) Joe inspired me to blow the dust off my juicer and begin cramming dark green things into it again. Then drinking them. But my no-deprivation rule still stood firm, so a 100% juice cleanse—which Joe calls a “reboot”—was not appealing to me. But perhaps with some modifications…

And that’s when my “10-Day Modified Juice and Smoothie Not-Really-A-Cleanse Program” came into being. Here’s the overall gist of it:

•        Consume organic fruits and vegetables as juice (I use an Omega juicer, which “masticates” the contents), a smoothie (I prefer the Vitamix; if there was ever a blender on steroids, this is it), soup, or as the real thing—a salad, a piece of fruit, whatever. Overall, I lean toward liquids, but do not restrict myself to them. Sometimes, you just need to eat a freakin’ plum, right?
•        Have a good quality protein shake every 1-2 days so you’re getting more protein than what the veggies can offer. I mix whey protein with almond milk (Almonds have udders? Hello?!).
•        Continue taking any supplements and medications.
•        Give yourself about a cup of nuts/day if you need to eat something more substantial than rabbit food—like, say, squirrel food!
•        Chia seeds: get them, eat them. They look like poppy seeds and apparently they’re good for more than just growing chia pets. Some people like to put them in a glass of water and let them expand before drinking them. I suppose if you like the idea of drinking frog eggs this approach will appeal to you. But me, I just toss them back and chug water, then spend the next half hour picking chia seeds out of my teeth. They expand in my belly and help me feel full—in addition to all the great stuff they’re doing for me nutritionally. I also sprinkle them on salads or add them to smoothies.
•       Drink a shitload of water. When you’re done, drink more. Word on the street is that you should cut your weight in half and drink at least that many ounces of water each day. So if I weighed 140 (which, trust me, I don’t), I’d be drinking at least 70 ounces or roughly 9 cups of water each day.
•        Exercise lightly but consistently. With the severe osteoarthritis I’ve developed, I’ve replaced running with “extreme water jogging.” And by extreme I mean my level of embarrassment every time I do it. I used to make fun of those people. Now I’ve become one of them.
•       Take Epsom salt baths. I’ve heard it said that your skin is your body’s largest detoxification organ. Sweat like you mean it!
•      If you need help moving the bowels (I'm resisting the urge to use the term "dump" here), I like an herbal product from ReNew Life called Cleanse More, which—truth be told—should really be renamed Poop More. Enough said.
•       Treat yourself to a massage. Hey, it’s for medical reasons!
•       And if you cheat, shake it off and get the hell back on the horse—err, program. The fate of the world doesn’t rest on whether you slam dunk your first attempt at a modified cleanse. Just keep moving, more or less, in the right direction.

So there it is. My non-FDA-approved 10-day program to feel better, drop weight (I dropped—and kept off—9 lbs. during my first program), and jumpstart changes in eating habits and lifestyle. For me, it’s no longer about diets. It’s about truly, thoroughly, and permanently making changes that support the quality of life I want to have as I continue in my second half century of life, while also attempting to arrest—or better yet, reverse—the effects of severe osteoarthritis in all my major joints. And I needn’t make all those changes at once. Moderation is a beautiful thing. Imagine that!

My program may or may not work for you. But if you want to give it a try, go for it. If you want to modify it, go for it. If you want to share more information with me, go for it. If you want to tell me why my program sucks and yours is the one true messiah of health and vitality, spare me. Please. Don’t we already have enough of that bullshit in our various religious views? (Oh lord—I may have just opened a can of worms; and worms are definitely NOT a part of this program.)

Recipes

I’ve had some requests to share my recipes, so here goes. First, I have no set recipes. I prefer to play around with the ingredients, which of course, at times, leads to a whole pitcher of nasty-assed vegetable juice (hint: mustard greens make any juice taste like hell) or overly spicy soup (hint: a little cayenne goes a long way). But here are a few basics:

Vegetable Juice. Let’s be clear: Bloody Mary’s do not count as vegetable juice. And yes, I’m well aware that vodka comes from potatoes. Still—no vodka. Get over it.  

I use cucumbers, carrots, celery, beets, kale and lemons as my basic juice ingredients. Apples can be thrown in too if you want to go sweeter. The fresher the juice the better, but I get tired of hauling out the juicer twice a day, so I make a pitcher and drink it over a two-day period. Lemon cuts the grassy taste of dark greens. Cucumbers soften the bite of any juice. And no matter how much you read that garlic and onion are great for heart disease, they are nasty, nasty, NASTY if juiced without anything else. Trust me—I’ve tried it. Then I spent five minutes standing by the toilet trying to calm my gag reflex while my stomach burned more than Regan when the holy water was splashed on her in “The Exorcist.” There are plenty of decent juicing books in natural grocers that can give you more specifics for recipes. It’s all about trial and error, baby!

Kale Smoothies. Growing up, I didn’t even know kale existed. Ten years ago, I couldn’t identify it in a produce store if my life depended on it. Now, I go through 3-6 bunches of it each week. Go figure.

Let’s be honest: the key to making a decent kale smoothie is drowning out the taste of, well, kale. For my smoothies, I throw an entire bunch of kale in the Vitamix. I add about a cup or two of water (or OJ if you prefer) and blend until it’s liquefied. 

Oops!

Then I toss in two bananas, roughly two cups of blueberries and strawberries, the juice from one lime (I use a handheld lime juicer, but you can remove the skin and toss the whole lime in if you want), an avocado (remove skin and pit, duh), and any other random fruit I have around (peaches, pineapple, etc.). 

You can throw in protein powder if you want, though it can add a chalky taste. Also, almond butter is a good substitute for avocado. And chia seeds or ground flax seeds could be a good addition as well. You can add more water and/or ice until you get the consistency you prefer. 

And remember to secure the Vitamix lid well before jamming the machine on high speed. It’s no fun cleaning kale smoothie off the ceiling. Trust me, I know.

Simple Ingredients for Soup

Pureed Vegetable Soup. I stole this recipe from my acupuncturist’s wife. She’s French, and if there’s one thing the French know it’s food. (Granted, they’ve got that wine thing down pretty well too.) 

Clean and cut the following vegetables (leaving their skins on) and toss them into a pot: 3 potatoes, 1 leak (split down the middle and rinse well; mud collects in their annoyingly tight layers), 1 onion, 2 carrots, 2 celery stalks (use a carrot peeler to remove some of the stringiness on the back side of the celery), and 4-8 cloves of garlic (I added this little improvement; shhhh, don’t tell Dominique). 

Dominique's Soup

Toss in one whole bay leaf and cover with water—about two inches above the top of the vegetables. Boil for several hours until the vegetables are soft. Remove the bay leaf then puree the soup using a handheld immersion blender (no, you don’t remove any of the water).  Finally, add spices to taste (salt and pepper are fine; I throw in turmeric and cayenne to help with my arthritis). Yes, there are—gasp!—starchy potatoes in this recipe. So what! Don’t be a potato hater. Eat your soup.

Cleansing Broth. This is basically a new twist on “vitamin water.” Not the tastiest or most filling meal you’ll ever have, but hey—it’s chock full of vitamins and minerals. I’d call it a morning coffee substitute, but some rabid coffee addict out there would likely hunt me down and smack me for making such a statement.

Cleansing Broth in the Making

Take the biggest cooking pot you have and toss in chopped clean organic vegetables with the skins on. Broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, seaweed, garlic, onions, scallions, carrots, celery, radishes, leaks, parsnips—whatever! Fill the pot with water and boil the crap out of those vegetables. Then, remove all the vegetables, season to taste (again, people: vodka is not a seasoning), and store the broth in glass containers in the fridge until you’re ready to drink it. I reheat small amounts on the stove top (not the evil microwave oven) as needed, a couple cups per day. There’s no such thing as overdosing on this stuff, so if you want more, go for it. Mmmm, mmmmm. 

Disclaimer

Let me make one thing perfectly clear: I’m not a doctor, nor do I play one on YouTube. I’m just a 50-year-old woman who has experimented with many healing modalities in an effort to find what works for her. I share this information not as a way to dispense medical advice, but because some Facebook friends wanted to know more about what I was doing. I see several different health care specialists—MDs, naturopaths, physical therapists, acupuncturists, body workers, nutritionists—and I view them all as “consultants” to the entity called My Health. But I’m the CEO. And the final decisions—including the one to do my 10-Day Program every so often—rest solely with me.

I believe that there is no one right path to wellness. I believe that we are each responsible for our own health and wellness (though I wholeheartedly support a government-run healthcare option that prevents those with preexisting conditions from being kicked out of the system by private insurers; see this blog by Roger Ebert to understand why I stand by Obamacare, warts and all). I believe that many of us could be a lot healthier than we are, but that choice would require lifestyle changes that we aren’t yet willing to make. I believe that when the pain (emotional or physical) becomes great enough, we will make those changes. I believe we are capable of changing. Old dogs, new tricks. Woof!

And p.s. Philly Cheesesteaks and pizza are still two of my favorite foods. I just don’t scarf them down as often as I used to.

 

Mmmmm. 

A Stupid Idea

In 2001, on my daughter’s first birthday, I launched my inaugural grassroots fundraiser for America’s Blood Centers by mailing more than 600 letters to friends, family members, and former colleagues. In it, I shared the story of how hundreds of volunteer blood donors saved my life following Clare’s birth, and I asked everyone to sponsor me in the upcoming New York City marathon by giving blood or money, both if they were so inclined. The response was immediate and overwhelming, and soon my mailbox filled with checks and words of encouragement.

And then I received the reply form from a bestselling biology textbook author with whom I’d worked during my publishing career. This is a stupid idea, she wrote next to my bold declaration to run a marathon. Then she proceeded to list all the physiological reasons why it was too soon after my medical ordeal to put my body through such a challenge. I promptly dismissed her concerns and continued training for race day.

Eight months later, I would learn just how right she had been in her assessment of my stupidity. Less than seven miles into the 26.2-mile race, the impact of the street surface on my feet was crippling to my body, which had never completely recovered from the beating it took during my near-fatal illness. By mile 12, I allowed myself to walk – something I’d never done in any of my previous marathons. Somewhere around mile 19, I got a wicked charley horse and limped to the side of the road. I lay on my back on the cool sidewalk and watched the sun set behind the trees above, as my husband massaged my aching feet and cramped calves.

“Should we quit?” Jeff asked, though I knew that what he really wanted to say was We should quit. (I feel it is only fair to state that Jeff categorically hates running; he only ran that marathon with me to ensure my safety should something go wrong.)

“I’ve never dropped out of a race,” I said to Jeff after a good 15-minute rest. “And I’m not about to start today.” I laced up my running shoes, allowed Jeff to hoist me to standing, and limped back out onto the racecourse.

Finishing place in the marathon: 22,756--woo hoo!

By the time I shuffled across the finish line, the sky was pitch black, the bleachers in Central Park had been disassembled and stacked for removal, and most of the fans and race volunteers had departed. My body was broken, my legs could barely support me, and everything hurt.

But, I thought to myself, I did it! I finished what I started!

And then, the prophetic words of my textbook-author friend began to manifest themselves. My right shoulder locked up and remains “frozen” a decade later, my right arm unable to reach above shoulder height. One by one, the rest of my joints – ankles, knees, elbows, my other shoulder – began to deteriorate over the ensuing years. Arthritis set in, surgery was performed, pain medications prescribed, joint replacements discussed.

So okay, I’m finally willing to admit it: Running that marathon was a stupid idea. And once in the race, yes, I should’ve dropped out when it was clear my body was not doing well. With the benefit of hindsight, age, and arthritis, I now understand that not all races are meant to be finished. Sometimes, for the sake of our long-term health, the best course of action is to quit.

But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t fun while it lasted. 

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Lauren's book, Zuzu's Petals: A True Story of Second Chances (In The Telling Press, 2011), was the #1 Top Rated memoir on Kindle for 7 straight months. Hardcover copies are available at www.amazon.com, or signed copies can be ordered at www.laurenwardlarsen.com. Happy Reading!

Remarkable

I’m not in the habit of phoning men I don’t know and inviting them out for drinks, but after reading about Dave Claflin in the local paper years ago, I did just that. “You don’t know me,” I said to Dave, “but we need to have a margarita, dude.”

We met at a Mexican restaurant here in Boulder, where we swapped details about our respective needs for massive blood transfusions.  I’d heard quite a few blood recipient stories at that point in my advocacy work, but Dave’s story blew my mind. 

Just as he was about to walk his five-year-old triplet daughters to kindergarten one morning, Dave felt a sudden wave of nausea, which he assumed was food poisoning.  When the feeling didn’t pass after a few days, he assumed it was the flu.  New to Boulder, Dave hadn’t yet secured a family doctor, so when his symptoms persisted for six days straight he went to the hospital’s emergency room hoping to get some medication to treat his “flu.”

Following protocol, the ER professionals made Dave don one of those rather homely hospital gowns and ran him through a number of tests. While waiting for each of the test results, Dave began to feel more and more anxious about pulling precious resources away from people who were “really sick.” The ER was busy that day and Dave decided to leave so that others could get the care they needed. He began to dress himself, but—fortunately—someone had inadvertently taken his pants from the room. And so, he stayed. 

                                                                                                                                               

The next time a doctor entered his room, it was with a greater sense of urgency and concern.  What Dave thought to be the flu was actually his aorta—yeah, that fairly important main artery of the body—in the process of tearing! Suddenly, things kicked into high gear as Dave was wheeled into a 16-hour emergency open-heart surgery—the first of four that Dave would undergo during the next three days. The aortic tear was so large, Dave’s blood vessels leaked fluid into his chest cavity, causing his heart to stop numerous times. Needless to say, massive amounts of blood were transfused throughout—125 pints to be exact.

If you met Dave today, you’d look at this athletic 40-something guy, who still cycles and rock climbs, and you’d say one word: remarkable.  It’s remarkable that this man is still alive, and yes—like many of us “second chancers”—out there spreading the word about blood donation. It’s remarkable that Dave got to the hospital in time. It’s remarkable that his pants mysteriously disappeared, preventing him from walking to his likely death in the hospital parking lot or on his drive back home. It’s remarkable that medical advancements are such that an aortic aneurysm wasn’t a death sentence. It’s remarkable that there are people who care enough about others that they’ll take the time (and the needle) to—literally—give a bit of themselves away.

But as someone whose father bled to death when she was in kindergarten, the most remarkable thing to me about Dave’s story is this: because of the collective efforts of every person involved in the blood donation and transfusion process, there are three little girls—now feisty teenagers—who know what it’s like to grow up with their dad. Soccer games, back-to-school nights, first dates.

Remarkable.

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Lauren's book, Zuzu's Petals: A True Story of Second Chances (In The Telling Press, 2011), was the #1 Top Rated memoir on Kindle for 7 straight months. Hardcover copies are available at www.amazon.com, or signed copies can be ordered at www.laurenwardlarsen.com. Happy Reading!

One Smart Nurse

I was told there were flowers—lots and lots of flowers.  And the occasional balloon bouquet.  I was told they arrived almost daily and, one by one, they were sent down to the children’s area of the hospital.  My ICU room was small and every bit of space was needed for machines and IV poles and the lone reclining chair in which one family member or close friend would spend the night.  Besides, I wasn’t exactly what you’d call “responsive” during those weeks. It wasn’t like I could actually appreciate the flowers and balloons.

And then, I was told, the flowers stopped arriving.  And in their place came notes—notes that said things like “I gave blood in honor of Lauren today” and “We set up a blood drive to help Lauren.”

Why the change?

A nurse. One very smart ICU nurse who knew that I was draining the local blood supply with my nonstop internal hemorrhaging.  She saw the needs of the various people involved: my family’s need to “do” something; neighbors’, friends’ and work colleagues’ need to show they cared; the local blood center’s need to replenish the red blood cells, platelets, and plasma that I was using at a disproportionate rate; and, of course, my need for more blood. And then that one smart nurse offered my family a suggestion that would meet all of our needs.

“You might want to ask Lauren’s friends who are sending flowers to give blood instead,” she said.  My family responded with enthusiasm.  The only bit of information they wanted in order to get started was how our friends could direct the blood they donated to me.

“Well, that’s just it,” the nurse said. “They can’t. These donations would be in honor of Lauren, but not necessarily for Lauren. But that doesn’t mean it’s not helping.  It’s replacing the blood that she’s been using.  And some of it might make its way to her, but there are no guarantees.” 

Life in the ICU

That was good enough for my family. They began putting the word out in full force, not just locally but to friends and extended family members across the U.S.  My mom manned our home phone and asked everyone who called to give an hour of their time and a pint of their blood. My siblings sent mass e-mails, which were then forwarded on from there. One neighbor organized a blood drive at her school while another organized a neighborhood drive. One of my brother’s clients hosted a drive and had everyone who donated sign a get-well poster for me. My former employer launched their inaugural blood drive, which has become an annual event still in place today.

By giving the loved ones of an ICU patient a focus—something proactive they could do when there was little else to do but wait—one nurse set in motion a ripple effect that would save countless lives with the blood that was donated as a result. Imagine the impact if we could mobilize nurses worldwide to offer this one simple suggestion to their patients’ families.

I wish I knew which of my dozens of nurses it was who made that one simple suggestion during my illness twelve years ago.  I would thank her for knowing how important it was to replenish the blood supply, as well as for understanding how badly my family needed her directive for their own survival of the ICU.

Whoever you are: damn you’re good!  And, oh yeah, thank you.

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Lauren's book, Zuzu's Petals: A True Story of Second Chances (In The Telling Press, 2011), is the #1 Top Rated memoir on Kindle. Hardcover copies are available at www.amazon.com, or signed copies can be ordered at www.laurenwardlarsen.com. Happy Reading!

People Like Pete

My favorite thing about my job isn’t the satisfaction of raising money for great blood services initiatives.  It isn’t my funky little D.C. office that’s spitting distance from the White House and 1.5 blocks from a fabulous oyster bar. It isn’t even the paycheck (trust me—it’s not the paycheck).

Corny as it sounds, my favorite aspect of this work is the people I get to meet while I’m out there doing my thing.  Sure, I meet a lot of fellow “train wrecks,” as we multi-gallon blood recipients often jokingly refer to ourselves.  And I meet a lot of “angels”—those multi-gallon blood donors who often demur that it’s nothing. But every so often, I have the privilege of meeting someone like Pete.

Pete has no personal tie to the blood cause.  He doesn’t work for a blood center or for any sort of company remotely in the transfusion medicine arena.  I don’t even know if he donates blood (though ten bucks says he does).

Pete owns Alignment Enterprises, a brand-building company that specializes in live event production. I was introduced to him eight months ago via email when a mutual friend suggested he get in touch with me.  His first correspondence began with this: Mary Richardson sent me your way.  I would be honored to support you, the Foundation for America’s Blood Centers and the Preeclampsia Foundation with your important gala event, Saving Grace.

Now, me being me, I assumed I had another vendor on my hands willing to help me—for a hefty fee—with the huge fundraiser I was co-chairing. So I shot Pete a quick email back: I hope Mary clarified that we do not have an event budget to work with—hopefully that won’t scare you away. Pete’s reply was immediate and emphatic: Count me in!

Thus began a working relationship I would come to cherish.

Pete stepped in with a team of professionals who each brought a special talent to the gala-planning process: writing, production management, audio-visual, photography, videography.  He launched weekly conference calls, during which a dozen of us would participate in the development of the live program for the first-ever public dinner gala being co-hosted by the foundation I head up. He even secured the (pro bono) help of a world-renowned musical composer and conductor, who then wrote an original song for the cause to be performed live at the gala.

Having worked on some fairly major events in my PepsiCo brand management days, I knew how much time and effort Pete’s team was putting into the creation of the Saving Grace program. And every time I sent Pete yet another email of gratitude, the response was pretty consistent: It’s my honor to be involved, Lauren.

When “game day” arrived (last Saturday), Pete and his crew were as supportive and upbeat as they’d been at the outset. They hustled about the grand ballroom adjusting lighting, testing microphones, marking up the stage. My co-chair, Patrick, and I were joking during the rehearsals that we would have been “dead in the water” if not for Pete.  And by joking I mean not really.

Last February, Pete was a complete stranger. But by the time he and I shared a celebratory cocktail in the hotel bar at midnight, this complete stranger had become a dear friend.

It’s all about the people. 

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Lauren's book, Zuzu's Petals: A True Story of Second Chances (In The Telling Press, 2011), is the #1 Top Rated memoir on Kindle. Hardcover copies are available at www.amazon.com, or signed copies can be ordered at www.laurenwardlarsen.com. Happy Reading!

Give Blood. Or I'll Just Take It.

Every year, starting in early September, I hear the same question over and over and over again: “Mom, what are you going to be for Halloween this year?” This question is usually followed by the admonition, “PLEASE don’t wait until the last minute and throw on that stupid witch costume again.”

Halloween is my daughter’s favorite “holiday,” and I don’t have the heart to tell her it’s not really a holiday.  Every year since Clare was 4 years old, we’ve hosted a wild Halloween dance party (as wild as 60 kids and their parents can get), at which costumes are mandatory regardless of age. Parents like to gripe about this facet of our shindig, yet once ensconced in their alter egos, most of the adult attendees have a rip-roarin’ good time unleashing their inner children – and those who don’t aren’t invited back.

Once again, this year I found myself too busy to think about my costume and no clever ideas were popping into my head. Two days before the party, I was still leaning toward blowing the cobwebs off “that stupid witch costume” when Clare asked if we could go to the giant Halloween store.  

Opening in a different retail space each year for one month only, this year’s location happened to be right next to the local Bonfils Blood Center. We had just had our first snow of the season and some of the Bonfils blood collection staff had built a little snowman – complete with a Bonfils hat – right by the entrance to the Halloween store.

And just like that I knew what I was going to be for Halloween: a Blood Donation Advocate.  

Not the kind of blood donation advocate I've spent the last decade being.  Not the kind that flies around giving talks, emceeing events, and participating in media interviews.  No, this blood donation advocate would take an entirely different approach to ensuring that people "gave blood."

Two days later I donned my costume, splashing fake blood all over myself, a pair of hospital scrubs, and one of the myriad “Give Blood” t-shirts I’d acquired over the years. After topping off my outfit with a few fake bloody knives, I laughed myself silly at the absurdity of how I looked. 

And then I thought about the number of times I had counseled other newer blood donation advocates, their auras just oozing with the desire to help. I remembered when Marianne, a heart transplant patient turned blood and organ donation advocate, called me almost in tears over the apparent indifference she was encountering as she set out to convince others to care about the cause. 

“What is wrong with these people?” she lamented to me. “Don’t they get it? I want to slap some of them – or just tie them down and take the blood from them!” I remembered how I’d told her to let it go, that we could only lead a horse to water, but we couldn’t make him, well, give blood. 

“Listen,” I’d said to Marianne, “We can’t force people to care.  Some will and some won’t. We can only share our stories, straight from the heart, and hope they resonate with enough people that the blood centers get the donors they need coming through their doors.”

And yet for one night, I got to play with the idea of being a different sort of blood donation advocate – the kind that just goes out there and takes what’s needed. Fun – not to mention tasteless – as it was, when my midnight shower washed off the last of the fake blood, I was back to a more subtle form of advocacy: Sharing stories of despair and hope. Touching hearts to inspire action.

Give blood. 

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Lauren's book, Zuzu's Petals: A True Story of Second Chances (In The Telling Press, 2011), is the #1 Top Rated memoir on Kindle. Hardcover copies are available at www.amazon.com, or signed copies can be ordered at www.laurenwardlarsen.com. Happy Reading!