In the U.S., Plasma Donations Help Pay Bills and Fuel Therapies Worldwide
Compensation supporters say paid plasma donations sustain a vital medical supply; critics warn of exploitation

The United States is among a small number of countries that allow donors to receive financial compensation for plasma donation, and it remains the largest source of plasma used to make therapies for patients in the United States and around the world. Donors here can receive roughly $30 to $100 per visit and may donate as often as twice a week, a cadence that has helped sustain a steady domestic supply. Experts say the compensation model is a key reason the U.S. is self-sufficient in plasma-derived medicines and a major supplier to patients worldwide, though the practice has drawn ethical questions about whether money pressures vulnerable people to part with their plasma.
Plasma-derived therapies support a range of medical needs, from primary immune deficiencies to bleeding disorders such as hemophilia and some cancers. The therapies enable the body to fight infections and to form blood clots, and plasma is also used in treating trauma and burns. In 2022, about 1.26 million Americans received a plasma-derived therapy during the year, and roughly 16.5 million people worldwide did so. The Plasma Protein Therapeutics Association estimates roughly 45 million plasma donations occur annually in the United States to support these therapies. 'There is such a need for donated plasma because for many of these patients, this is the therapy they rely on, but it is not a cure; it is something that they need for their lifetime to lead a healthy, productive life,' Anita Brikman, president and CEO of the PPTA, says.
Bethany Beinlich, 22, of Austin, Texas, donated plasma for the first time this summer while waiting to start a new job. 'As a radiation therapist, I am working with cancer patients and I understand how there are different treatments for cancer that are being discovered right now that are using plasma,' she says. 'So as well as helping me earn some cash, donating is also rewarding for me, knowing that patients could be helped by it.' Beinlich initially went twice a week at first, then tapered a bit but continues to visit when she can. Overall, she says the experience has been positive, with no serious reactions and a sense that the time spent is worthwhile.
Catherine Rolfes, 27, who lives near Columbus, Ohio, started donating after saying money was tight between jobs. Her first visit in mid-October left her pale, dizzy, and shaking. 'I felt like I was sweating profusely; I was hot and then I was cold, and I was literally physically shaking and seconds away from passing out,' she recalled. Staff stopped the donation, gave her an ice pack and Gatorade, and she recovered. A subsequent visit went more smoothly after she ate and hydrated beforehand, and she left with $125 on a prepaid card. She used the money to cover gas and groceries and later shared her experience on social media, where viewers said they rely on plasma-derived therapies. She plans to donate again, perhaps monthly.
The debate over compensation centers on fairness and supply. Proponents note that the United States accounts for nearly 70% of the world's plasma donations, and many other countries cannot meet their domestic needs without imported plasma or medicines made from it. Georgetown University professor Peter Jaworski, who has studied the ethics of compensated donation, argues that the system helps prevent shortages and that donors are not exploited if centers are widely distributed and time is compensated. Johns Hopkins professor Mario Macis notes that without compensation, some countries would likely face shortages that could harm patients.
Some researchers have raised concerns about the demographics of donors. Surveys co-authored by Emily Gallagher, associate professor at the University of Colorado Boulder, show donors skew younger, disproportionately Black and male, with lower incomes and less stable employment. Many say they donate to cover essentials, such as rent, rather than for discretionary cash. Jana Mattheu, whose son Caden has CVID and relies on weekly plasma-derived therapies, says the medicine has given him normalcy and independence. She emphasizes that for many families the question isn't whether donors should be paid, but whether there is enough plasma to meet patient needs. 'It's as important as oxygen,' she says. The debate continues as lawmakers, clinicians, patients, and donors weigh how to balance compensation with safeguards while ensuring a steady supply of plasma-derived therapies.