I was in the emergency room at a big city hospital a few years ago for some damage done to my hand. It was a baking hot summer day and the air conditioning was powerful in the waiting room, so it wasn't that hard to sit and relax and wait my turn.
As with most emergency rooms, there were people there who were clearly contagious and unconcerned about spreading their germs. I sought comfort from the Purell dispenser on the wall more than once. Lethal Weapon was on the TV. It was nice to watch and think back to a time before Mel Gibson became a monster.
Giving my information to the intake person (are they secretaries, are they nurses?) she said, in an oddly cheerful tone, "We offer a free HIV test, if you're interested. You'd only have to wait ten minutes for the result. Would you like a test today?"
I said yes, partially intrigued by the speed of the test and partially seduced by her salesmanship.
A lovely woman in business casual attire came over to me with a small plastic cart full of needles and a form. I signed the form and she pricked my finger and got some blood. She smiled and said he results would be ready in a few minutes.
In the meantime, my hand was looked at, X-rayed and deemed to be fine. I was given a script for pain pills I'd never use, and then sat back down in the waiting room and thought.
In spite of my age and my allegedly knowing better, this was the first HIV test I'd ever had. I began to review all the contacts I'd had in my life, from the casual to the less casual.
Intellectually I know it's wrong to assign morality to any of this. A virus does not discriminate. Knowing that did not change my thought pattern. I found myself remembering a certain ill-advised encounter thinking, am I about to pay for that one today?
I sat there for what felt like an eternity, sweating through the powerful air conditioning, wondering what I would do if the test came back positive. Who would I tell? Who should I tell? Who could I talk to about this? Why had I agreed to take the test in the first place?
The business casual woman walked out through the swinging doors and motioned to me to follow her. We walked into a small room. She closed the door.
Oh, God. This was it. This was the moment I'd been dreading - the moment I didn't even know I'd be facing twenty minutes ago.
She handed me a copy of my signed form, smiled and said, "Your results were negative."
She then launched into a speech about the many resources the hospital had for HIV positive people, said I should get tested on a regular basis and handed me a pamphlet on sexual health.
I said thank you very much and made a quick break for the exit. I now know she was respecting my privacy by taking me into that small room and closing the door. At the time she couldn't have realized that I felt like I was about to be given a death sentence.
I walked outside and lived up to every TV movie cliche. I breathed deep. I felt the sun on my face. I marveled at flowers. I smiled at small children.
Thankfully this was just a phase, and I returned to normal a few hours later.
That night, when I threw the pamphlet in the trash and removed the band aid from my finger, I felt giddy, like I had dodged a bullet.
I'd like to wrap this up in a pretty pink bow of learning my lesson and being more careful in my behavior from then on. But that would be dishonest. It was my first HIV test, and remains my only HIV test.
No comments:
Post a Comment