Friday morning. I reckon the weekend is coming so it's as well I give blood today and have a good rest the other days. The time: 9:05 a.m. The scene: waiting room in the Blood Collection Wing of the Haemathology Clinic in Bucharest. Whitewashed walls covered with different medical posters promoting blood donation, protection against blood diseases and various medicines and other implements dealing with blood - in the medical sense. Beside me, eight people wait to have their turn at showing compassion for the ill and giving some blood. Paid compassion. In Romania, we still get money for giving blood, in the form of tickets for buying food. It is quite clear most of my companions are here for the tickets: a wizened woman with claw-like fingers and greedy eyes. In most of the countries she would be considered too old to give blood. In Romania, the blood crisis in hospitals has led to the policy "as long as they're healthy, anybody's good enough". Another one, a man in a tattered coat and faded jeans that seem to have been last washed when Jimi Hendrix made history at Woodstock. Maybe he'll sell his ticket and wash the jeans. Or buy another coat. A woman with pursed lips and a self-righteous attitude of "you see, I consider it a public service, why shouldn't I get paid?" She has the air of a disinherited princess marrying beneath her station. Obviously she's here for the monies. While studying the faces around me, I finally decided what I'd do with my ticket: buy some coffee for myself and some food which I'll give to the poor around my church. Suddenly a nurse comes in and sticks a note to the wall. We all gather around it to read. Dissapointed, or furious moans accompany the lecture: "Beginning with today, it is forbidden by law to offer material compensations for blood donors. The donations will be absolutely for free." The wizened woman, the man in the tattered coat and the disinherited princess leave instantly. Really, to keep people waiting like this and then come up with such a disgraceful note! I wait and I give my share of blood. Life for another life. A part of me that will live on, even if I should die in the next hour. At the end, surprise: the note is gone, replaced by another: "We are sorry for the mistake, the distribution of tickets for blood donations will continue as usual." I get my ticket and leave the building. Outside, the disinherited princess still lingering about. Her shrewd eyes have seen the envelope in my hand and have guessed what its contents are. "Are they giving tickets after all?" she inquires of me. "Yes, ma'am." "Drat, I hope they still take blood this morning!" and she rushes inside. Who said life was priceless? Sometimes it's worth exactly 25 dollars. That's the value of the ticket I received for my blood donation.