[Newsletter] The scandal (danger?) of plasma donation in a ghetto… and other topics
Each week, I share what I’ve personally tested, the latest discoveries, my opinion on all things longevity, and more.
When data contradicts intuition
This week, I did what I do every three to four months: I wore a continuous glucose monitor (like the Dexcom G7), simply to make sure my choices are still aligned with my goals.
A ritual that has become almost routine.
And yet.
While testing an elemental diet protocol—particularly inspired by the work of Dr. Michael Ruscio—my blood glucose spiked to 216 mg/dL.
A number that surprises. Even unsettles.
At first, you question it. Then you analyze.
The formulation of these preparations relies on rapidly absorbed carbohydrates—often around 30 grams per serving, typically in the form of maltodextrin or something similar. So the spike isn’t abnormal. It’s actually entirely predictable.
This is not a mistake.
It’s a choice.
And that’s exactly where things get interesting.
Because at the same time, this protocol clearly improves digestive comfort.
What you gain on one side, you seem to lose on the other.
This is no longer about optimization.
It’s about trade-offs.
Between glycemic stability and gut relief, the answer isn’t obvious.
It never is.
The illusion of the perfect protocol
Biohacking sometimes sells a very appealing idea:
a solution that improves everything, all at once.
In reality, the body doesn’t work that way.
Every intervention affects multiple systems.
Improving one may destabilize another.
What this experience reminds us is that no protocol—no matter how well designed—is universal.
And more importantly, none are neutral.
Plasma: two worlds that never meet
In a completely different area, I wanted to explore a more accessible version of a practice often discussed in longevity circles: plasmapheresis.
It has its critics—I’ll address that another time.
I’ve already experienced it in a therapeutic setting a few months ago.
In that context, the cost can reach $10,000 to $12,000.
Hardly accessible.
So I turned to a more “real-world” alternative.
From the very first attempt, reality hits.
As an O− blood type—highly sought after—I was offered (almost pressured into) a full donation: red blood cells, white blood cells, platelets.
I declined.
Why?
Because I’m traveling in a few days and need my immune system (white blood cells).
I’m also training for my next mountain expedition, so I need my red blood cells.
As for platelets, they’re often requested, but since I’m borderline, they usually end up not taking them anyway.
A few days later, I went to a specialized center, [name withdrawn to avoid issues with the center] intending to donate only plasma.
And then—another contrast.
The location?
A “rough” neighborhood. Let’s call it what it is: a ghetto.
The waiting room was full of people who looked completely drained—not in the sense of illness, but in the sense of survival.
Some stood in groups around a leader. It felt like a scene out of a drug trade movie.
The organization was raw.
Even with an appointment, you wait in line like everyone else.
And then it became clear why the room was full of exhausted, low-energy people.
Let’s say it simply: people who are very poor.
Talking to them, I quickly understood that the vast majority were being paid. I say “majority” politely—99% would be more accurate.
For context, you can earn up to $750 per month.
There is even, apparently, a form of plasma trafficking, where some individuals are forced to give up 50% of what they earn to someone controlling the system.
Yes—extortion.
This isn’t what shocked me.
Given the setting, I wasn’t expecting a luxury clinic experience.
No.
What struck me was the gap.
On one side: precision medicine, expensive, exclusive, reserved for the wealthy.
On the other: a body economy, where plasma becomes a resource—and where you are allowed to donate every few days. Yes, every few days!!!
Between these two realities, there is almost nothing.
And that may be the real issue.
Where does ethics fit into all of this?
What these experiences really say
These two situations—very different on the surface—tell the same story.
Biohacking is not a discipline of certainty.
It’s a practice of observation.
Measure. Test. Adjust.
And accept that some answers are neither simple nor immediate.
A protocol can be relevant without being optimal.
A strategy can be effective while remaining imperfect.
What matters, in the end, is not the method.
It’s the understanding you gain from it.
Adjusting without overreacting
For now, my decisions are simple:
Limit liquid carbohydrates that are rapidly absorbed—even when labeled “therapeutic.”
Continue exploring slower, more stable digestive alternatives.
And above all, avoid drawing conclusions from a single data point.
The body cannot be reduced to one number.
An open question
If you were faced with this kind of dilemma—improving one parameter at the expense of another—how would you decide?
Would you prioritize short-term relief or long-term balance?
Immediate effectiveness or long-term stability?
I’d genuinely love to hear your thoughts.
To conclude
There is a temptation in biohacking to want to optimize everything.
But true mastery may begin elsewhere.
In the ability to observe without rushing.
To understand without oversimplifying.
And to accept that some answers take time.
One last note
And if you’re wondering what I did about the plasma…
I left.
The moment I heard comments like “did you see her car?” and “she looks wealthy,” I thought: let’s not push my luck. And no, I was not dressed in Chanel. I was dressed being simple : old jeans, ruined sneakers, no make up…nada….
After all, Oakland is considered one of the murder capitals of the U.S., and I was in one of the roughest neighborhoods—where people have been killed for less than $200.
So no, I did not donate my plasma. Would you have done it?
Valérie Orsoni
Biohacker since 1998 | Longevity Expert
Instagram : @valerieorsoni
My fave brands + super promo codes here ==> ValerieOrsoni.com
My made-in-the-usa, clean, no fillers supplement line ==> ZellNova
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