The Best of 2007: HIV

Recently I have met quite a few men under thirty who are all HIV positive. One was a medical educator of HIV who contracted it from his partner of 2 years who had been having affairs behind his back. I found this incredible! I thought to myself, “How does this happen?” Basically this is a generation who has been raised with the virus in the public eye, being educated about it in school and with condoms being sold everywhere. How does this happen in the twenty first century? Now I know how this happens because it almost happened to me.

If you’ve been reading along about my mis-adventures in 2007, you’ll know that after the big BF break-up I went a little out of my head by listening to the wrong one. During one of these ‘encounters’ I had un-protected sex. I’m not proud of it but it happened. The public in general (like me) seems to think people contracting HIV has something to do with smarts or class but here to tell you, it doesn’t. I’ve always considered myself a fairly intelligent, completely in control person. I had always protested nothing like this could happen to me. But it did. It nothing to do with how smart I was or how careful I was, it just happened.

In the heat of the moment your brain is not working on all cylinders, so before you know it you’ve done something totally out of character and unintentional. I was in shock when the act was completed. The only thought running through my mind was, “ Oh my god…what have I done?” I had managed to survive forty years, through all type things, that if you added them up I should I be dead. But to be brought down now by one mistake of my own doing was impossible to conceive. Unfortunately, the deed was done and there was no going back. So I did the only thing I could do…I called my doctor.

Going to doctor for anything else is easy. But going in for an HIV test is paranoia. For once in my life I am thankful for my cell phone, it made making the appointment a bit easier. Making the appointment was easier than walking into the office. The feeling I had as soon as I walked in was that of an obese person walking into McDonald’s. It seems just by looking at you they know why you’re there. You could be there for a physical or a hangnail or you could be pregnant but you know why you’re there. And you’re afraid everyone else in the office does as well.

When the nurse called my name my feet turned into lead. I dragged myself out of the chair and into the examining room where the nurse weighed me, measured me, listened to my heart and took my blood pressure. By this time my blood pressure was hovering around the same odds as the crisis in Darfur taking over the lead story on CNN from Britney “Suicide Watch” Spears. After the nurse left, I spent the next few minutes staring blankly into the cover of a ‘Golf Digest’ while I contemplated my future. Soon my doctor came in, asked me how I was feeling and we both began the rigorous process of arranging my HIV test. Gone are the days of “I think I have HIV.” “Well then, let’s draw some blood.” POKE! “There you go. We’ll have the results for you in twenty to thirty days. I’m sure it’s nothing but you be careful out there.” * WINK * If only it were that easy but thankfully it’s not. The next half hour felt like a scene from ‘Law & Order’. I was interrogated about my sexual activity, my previous relationship, drug use, any noticeable marks, symptoms, etc. When the line of questioning was finished next came the forms; sign this, initial here, finger print there we hadn’t even gotten to the actually test yet. My doctor then informed me the first is not conclusive that would have to come back for a second in three months and another three months after that. Also, if I’m found positive I am legally obligated to inform my past partners of my HIV status. DUH! Like I’m keeping something like THAT to myself!? I would feel like the rat that started the Black Plague. Once we were finished, my doctor turned off the spotlight, put the rubber hose away, took my twenty-five bucks and sent me downstairs to get my blood drawn.

The walk from my doctor’s office, downstairs to the blood clinic felt like the last mile on death row. At this point I wasn’t sure that I had HIV but what if I did? What would I do? How would I tell my family? Things had not been going for me lately and I felt as if the odds were against me. It took a couple of seconds for me to grab the doorknob, turn it and walk in. I had a passing thought I didn’t want to know, I didn’t need to know. I would just live out my days in quiet desperation (which would be very out of character for me because I’m usually so vocal about my desperation.) But I had to do it, so I went inside. Now, every time I have had blood work done before the same kind attentive western Indian lady has drawn it for me. But on this day she had been replaced with Jack Black. As if things weren’t stressful enough I was about to get my blood sucked by the star of ‘Nacho Libre.’ Finally I gave into the chaos that had become my life and I allowed ‘Tenacious D’ to take my samples. I needle poke and cotton ball later I was done. All that was left to do was to wait.

I heard back from the doctor within twenty-four hours. I was negative. Unfortunately, the doctor thought my number at the time was my cell and not my home. The X-bf heard the message as well. Why he didn’t stop the message when he heard it was for me? I couldn’t tell you, but he did ask me about it. He wanted to know if I was all right. I told him point blank it was no longer his concern. And it wasn’t. This happened after we broke up. It was my concern and would be my concern for the next three months.

Three months had passed and I went back in for next HIV test. This time I was prepared for the questions, forms and anxiety that accompanied the whole experience. I signed, they poked and I waited. It took twenty-four hours for me to get the results of my last test. But this time it was taking significantly longer. One, two, three days, a week passed. Nothing. I finally decided to call my doctor to find out the results. Now most people would take the point of view that “No news is good news.” But I couldn’t risk that. This was my life and possibly others, so called. The medical office manager ‘Roz’ picked up and asked why I was calling. I walked to the far end of my office building, away from the smokers. I told her I had a blood test the previous week and I was looking for the results of the test. She paused for a moment and asked me to hold. I stood out in the cold for what seemed like forever at the crossroads of my life waiting for her to come back on the line. Finally she comes back on and says, (I swear these are her words) “Was it a special test?” A SPECIAL TEST!? YES! I think it’s special! It’s only going to determine the rest of my life! So yeah, we’ll go with “SPECIAL”! I said, “Yes, it was a special test.” Her response to me was, (and again not making this up) “Oh it’s negative. Anything else?” No, no I guess that will be all. Thanks for telling I don’t have a life altering, possibly fatal disease. You have a nice day now darlin’! After I hung up (confirming the results of course) I let all the air out my body in one collective sigh, the way you let the air out of a kiddie’s pool.

For some people this would feel like a second chance on life. They would start skydiving or wresting wild boars or some crazy shit like that. But for me, I just felt relieved. I still have one more test to go but I feel like I can handle the results no matter what they are. The one thing this experience has taught me is, things are never as bad as we make them out to be. I have learned to fight through the anxiety of “What if?” Now I ask “What’s next?”

NEXT UP: Farewell to family and friends.