After putting the full stop to your final exam in school and handing the paper over, there is little you can do to effect the outcome. Maybe you can ask friends what they put for some sort of reassurance. Perhaps you can go back to a text-book and confirm a particular answer. There is little point in worrying about it now, even though we all do, as biting your fingers to the bone isn’t going to change anything. However in taking a sexual health test, I’ve got no chance of asking a mate – “what did you get for question seven?” I can get no solace. I’m in this alone. For 24 hours after I’m subjected to needles and swabs I’m totally fine. Then the fear of god sets in.
For three days and nights I’m googling the shit out of the chances of getting HIV. I’m analysing every statistic, every ounce of information and common sense I can get my grubby little claws on. I’m sweating, sleeping badly, not eating and falling into that deadly paranoia trap that blights 21st century medicine. Self diagnosis. Within a matter of minutes of entering potential symptoms on various “trusted sites” I’ve either got gangrene, piles or cat AIDS. The suspense is killing me.
By the time I’ve reached the third night, my brain has so convinced itself that something drastically horrible is wrong, that I’m already planning how to break it to people. Running through my mind are those times I played fast and loose, cursing my stupidity and silently promising to non-existent gods that I will never do it again. I can’t think straight as the anxiety sets in. I’m reading forum page after forum page of kids convinced they’ve got something after sitting on a toilet seat. Nothing is offering me any comfort. Unable to take it anymore, I write an email to the clinic to inquire if my results are ready early. An email with an attachment arrives quicker than expected.
I accidentally click “download” instead of “view online”. Here’s where my own fucking computer lets me down and goes into hibernation while it ponders what to do. The little swirly “think” icon deliberately teases me, laughing in my face as it spins merrily around while my heart beats through my chest. It’s agonising. I’m bordering on a panic attack as the clinic headed email final pops up and I scroll down…
NEGATIVE
NEGATIVE
NEGATIVE
NEGATIVE
NEGATIVE
I’M FREE! I’M CLEAN! I’M BORN AGAIN! HELLO WORLD! HELLO FLOWERS! HELLO BIRDS! HELLO SKY! HELLO SLOW INTERNET, LOUD SNORERS AND COLD SHOWERS IN HOSTELS -I LOVE YOU ALL!! IMPROMPTU DANCE PARTY IN THE DORM ROOM!
My entire being breathes a sigh of relief, but all joking aside, this is something that shouldn’t be laughed at. I found in researching my own fears, so many people out there are terrified of getting checked up, scared they’ve already got something, distraught with what their friends and family would think of them. To a large extent, it’s still a taboo subject, and it’s important that anyone with an active sex life gets a regular poke and prod from the doc. Especially to those that travel, and especially to those that travel in “high risk” countries. Educate the people. Oh and always wear a condom or make sure that guy you’re with gloves-up. You just never know. I’ve learnt my lessons the hard way and I don’t intend on going through this ever again. I literally feel like I’ve got my life back – time for some celebratory shaggin -DRINKING. Drinking. I mean celebratory drinking. Obviously. Sheesh!
Waiting for test results
After putting the full stop to your final exam in school and handing the paper over, there is little you can do to effect the outcome. Maybe you can ask friends what they put for some sort of reassurance. Perhaps you can go back to a text-book and confirm a particular answer. There is little point in worrying about it now, even though we all do, as biting your fingers to the bone isn’t going to change anything. However in taking a sexual health test, I’ve got no chance of asking a mate – “what did you get for question seven?” I can get no solace. I’m in this alone. For 24 hours after I’m subjected to needles and swabs I’m totally fine. Then the fear of god sets in.
For three days and nights I’m googling the shit out of the chances of getting HIV. I’m analysing every statistic, every ounce of information and common sense I can get my grubby little claws on. I’m sweating, sleeping badly, not eating and falling into that deadly paranoia trap that blights 21st century medicine. Self diagnosis. Within a matter of minutes of entering potential symptoms on various “trusted sites” I’ve either got gangrene, piles or cat AIDS. The suspense is killing me.
By the time I’ve reached the third night, my brain has so convinced itself that something drastically horrible is wrong, that I’m already planning how to break it to people. Running through my mind are those times I played fast and loose, cursing my stupidity and silently promising to non-existent gods that I will never do it again. I can’t think straight as the anxiety sets in. I’m reading forum page after forum page of kids convinced they’ve got something after sitting on a toilet seat. Nothing is offering me any comfort. Unable to take it anymore, I write an email to the clinic to inquire if my results are ready early. An email with an attachment arrives quicker than expected.
I accidentally click “download” instead of “view online”. Here’s where my own fucking computer lets me down and goes into hibernation while it ponders what to do. The little swirly “think” icon deliberately teases me, laughing in my face as it spins merrily around while my heart beats through my chest. It’s agonising. I’m bordering on a panic attack as the clinic headed email final pops up and I scroll down…
NEGATIVE
NEGATIVE
NEGATIVE
NEGATIVE
NEGATIVE
I’M FREE! I’M CLEAN! I’M BORN AGAIN! HELLO WORLD! HELLO FLOWERS! HELLO BIRDS! HELLO SKY! HELLO SLOW INTERNET, LOUD SNORERS AND COLD SHOWERS IN HOSTELS -I LOVE YOU ALL!! IMPROMPTU DANCE PARTY IN THE DORM ROOM!
My entire being breathes a sigh of relief, but all joking aside, this is something that shouldn’t be laughed at. I found in researching my own fears, so many people out there are terrified of getting checked up, scared they’ve already got something, distraught with what their friends and family would think of them. To a large extent, it’s still a taboo subject, and it’s important that anyone with an active sex life gets a regular poke and prod from the doc. Especially to those that travel, and especially to those that travel in “high risk” countries. Educate the people. Oh and always wear a condom or make sure that guy you’re with gloves-up. You just never know. I’ve learnt my lessons the hard way and I don’t intend on going through this ever again. I literally feel like I’ve got my life back – time for some celebratory shaggin -DRINKING. Drinking. I mean celebratory drinking. Obviously. Sheesh!