Broke? Sell plasma

THAT’S WHAT’S THE MATTER

Being in college means being broke from time to time. This was me recently, so I thought about donating plasma. While it can’t replace a regular income, it can be a good way to supplement it.

First off, I’m not sure why everyone seems to call it “donating plasma.” It’s not a donation—you receive compensation for it. The industry standard is $30 per visit, although that information is not readily available on many websites. The misnomer is probably to make the “donor” feel better about selling their fluids, and also to make the recipient companies sound more altruistic.

They’re not altruists by any means, though. The plasma you sell probably won’t be going to patients for transfusions; it’ll be used to create plasma-based products. CSL Plasma, which runs a plasma donation center in Portland, created one of the leading plasma-based vaccines during the great swine flu scare. They made more than $1 billion that fiscal year.

Plasma donation clinics are for-profit, and they’re making a pretty decent one. You’re not directly helping someone when you sell plasma, and the company buying it makes a lot more money off you than you do off them.

Still, $30 for an hour or so of lying in a chair sounded pretty good. Unfortunately, I got sick and wasn’t able to go before this column ran. The restrictions for selling plasma are the same as those for donating blood: You can’t donate if you have the flu, if you’ve traveled to certain places in Europe or Africa during certain times, if you’ve had a new tattoo or piercing in the past year, or if you’re underweight or on certain medications.

Giving plasma often has the side effect of making you fatigued or light-headed, but I’ve never had any problems with that when I give blood. Scarring can occur if you give frequently and don’t heal quickly.

While giving plasma hasn’t been shown to have long-term health effects, it’s worth noting that, while most clinics allow you to sell plasma twice a week, four weeks a month, the Red Cross will only accept plasma donations every 28 days because of concerns about donating too frequently.

None of the potential side effects troubled me too much.

What’s less acceptable is the way the nearest clinic disperses compensation: a Citibank/Visa prepaid cash card. Prepaid cards have become common, especially in lower-income and non-banking demographics. The cards are banks’ sneaky way of making money off of low-income people and people that distrust banks, because prepaid cards have hidden transaction and withdrawal fees.

This kind of compensation is one of the big downsides of selling plasma, and it might end up being a deal-breaker. Companies that provide the cards often charge ATM withdrawal fees, and Citibank charges a $2 fee. This is in addition to the fee many banks already charge at ATMs, so you’re not getting your money’s worth when your payment comes on a prepaid card.

Also worth noting is that if a clinic finds out you’ve sold plasma somewhere else, you’ll be deferred from donating. From a naively positive perspective, it keeps people from degrading their health by donating more than twice a week. Realistically it’s more likely done to prevent you from giving your precious bodily fluids to another company.

Blacklisting people who give to multiple clinics seems to be a standard practice in this industry, and some companies, like CSL Plasma, actually have rewards programs for loyal and continued donation. Other clinics offer recruitment bonuses.

It’s strange, but I suppose it makes sense. There isn’t an abundance of people both willing and eligible to sell plasma, while the market for plasma-based products is a multi-billion-dollar one.

Still, while plasma donation might involve some pretty despicable business practices, and my plasma is probably worth more than they’ll give me for it, I’m willing to give it a shot. There are few significant health effects, and it’ll buy the groceries.