I
was in Chicago visiting for the holidays and was out late drinking with some
friends the night before. She was
in the habit of waking me up each morning to see if I wanted a coffee from Starbucks
or to tell me she was leaving the house for some reason or other and, of
course, I didn’t care about any of it. “Not now Mom, I’m sleeping.”
“Honey,
Dr. Salter called. Your HIV test
was positive and he wants you to see a specialist before you leave town
tomorrow. You need to get up and
take a shower. We have an 8:30
appointment downtown at Rush Presbyterian,” she said steadily, in a voice I had
never heard before. I immediately
pushed myself up on my right elbow.
“Dr.
Salter said what?”
“Your
HIV test was positive, and you need to get up right now. He made an appointment-
“What?!?
What are you talking about? Why
would he even tell you my test results?”
I’m not sure why this was my initial reaction to the horror that was
unfolding before me, but it was.
“He
was worried that you were leaving to go back to Europe and he wanted to make
sure he caught you before you left. He wants you to see this specialist at 8:30.” Her steady demeanor was quickly falling
victim to despair and she now struggled to get the words out.
“Ok,
ok,” I stopped her. “Let me jump
in the shower and we’ll head down to see this guy,” I said in a voice still
grainy from the drinking from the night before. She left the room and I laid there in disbelief. Disbelief in the news and also that
something so personal could be relayed to me from my doctor through my
mother. What the fuck was he
thinking? He was our family
physician and had a relationship with all of us, but this level of
unprofessionalism was just over the top.
“Let’s
get out of here.” Is all I said when
I went downstairs after my shower and met my mother in the kitchen.
It
was balls cold and spectacularly bright in Chicago that morning, and I couldn’t
feel a thing. We got in the car and
were on our way. In silence. This was unknown territory. “What
a fucking life! HIV-Positive- How
can this be happening?” I kept
thinking to myself over and over.
We
were soon heading down the expressway in the left lane going the speed of traffic.
We just drove along in this
sensational winter sunlight. There
wasn’t a cloud in the sky. They were
all in my head and soul- it was a torrential storm happening there.
My
thoughts were scattered: How could this be? Could I really have AIDS? What will become of my life? Game over—Game fucking over---
After
thirty-five minutes that closely resembled an eternity, we arrived at the
hospital to see a Dr. Bregen, the top HIV/AIDS specialist in Chicago. There was valet parking at the hospital
for $18 for the first hour. As I
took the slip from the valet, I saw my breathe in the subzero air and looked up
at the sun hoping to find an answer from above. It wasn’t there and all I got was spots in my vision, which
half blinded me. “There is no payoff in life. I’m fucked,” I thought to myself.
The
sign on the office door said Retro Virus/Infectious Disease Center. The waiting room was completely devoid of
life except for one person on the far end behind the reception desk. All the signs on the walls and all the literature
available to look through had only to do with HIV/AIDS. The place felt like where I thought I was
headed- a morgue.
The
posters were frank and unrelenting.
“Ignorance = Fear, Silence = Death” was one of the signs I saw. Anyone who was a patient in this office
immediately knew that they were in health trouble of the most serious kind.
The
receptionist handed me a questionnaire. I sat down and started filling it in. As I did this, my mother sat in the
chair immediately to my right, crossed her legs, her left foot over her right
knee and started shaking her foot back and forth nervously. It was distracting and I almost said
something, but somehow kept silent and only found pity for the poor woman. She was obviously a nervous wreck and
being surrounded by all the HIV/AIDS materials only compounded the realization
that I, her youngest child, was cooked.
“I
feel like I’m going to puke.” I said
out loud. I was getting nauseas
filling out the questionnaire about my health history and sexual habits next to
my mother’s shaking foot. I managed
to complete the form and handed it back to the receptionist.
After
15-20 minutes, a nurse came out and told me to follow her. She brought me to a room that had no
windows and was extremely small. The place was claustrophobic and smelt like
iodine. It was also freezing in
there. The nurse verbally went
through my questionnaire.
“You
live in Ukraine?”
“Yes.”
“What
do you do there?”
“I
work in finance.”
“Are
you currently on any medication?”
“No.”
“Have
you recently been sick or on any medication?”
“No.”
“Are
you allergic to any medication?”
“No.”
“Did
you take a flu shot this winter?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sexually active?”
“Yes.”
“Have
you had unprotected sex with anyone recently?”
“No. Not really.” She didn’t stop at this vague answer and just kept the
barrage of questions coming.
“Have
you ever been involved in a homosexual relationship?”
“No.”
“Have
you done any illicit drugs over the past 12 months?”
“No,
but I smoke marijuana sometimes.”
“Have
you been in a serious injury or had an operation at any time over the last twenty-four
months that required a blood transfusion?”
“No.”
She
basically went through everything a second time and then said, “The Doctor will
be in to see you shortly.”
As
she was walking out, I asked, “Do you really think I may have HIV?”
She
stopped cold, turned and looked directly into my eyes. Her demeanor lacked any empathy or warmth,
just like the fluorescent lights bathing us from above. “You definitely have something and you’re
here so we can find out exactly what that is.” She then added, “The doctor will be right in” and walked out
of the room.
I
was so shocked by her words that I didn’t even have time to respond and then,
just like that, she was gone. “Oh my fucking God!” was all I
could think about as the door to my cell latched shut.
Now
my hands were sweating and my heart racing. I started pacing back-and-forth back-and-forth. “I’m
done. OH MY GOD I’M SO FUCKED….” I
must have repeated that 50 times while walking back and forth in that little cage.
My hair was standing up at its
roots.
I’m toast.
I’m cooked.
I’m dead.
Everything
had a surreal aspect to it. Despair
had me by the balls and she wasn’t letting go.
After
a few minutes, the door opened and a man walked in. He was wearing a white doctors coat and he shook my hand while
looking me in the eyes. “Hello
Michael, I’m Doctor Bregen.”
“Hello
Doctor.”
“I
have some good news and some bad news.
The good news is I don’t think you have HIV; the bad news is we won’t be
able to confirm this for awhile- most likely six months.”
“Wha?
Huhhow dooyou know? Wasn’t my test
pos-”
“From
your questionnaire I strongly believe that you’re a false positive.”
“Don’t
you have to take some blood or run some tests or something?” I said raising my arm with the
underside up, offering my veins for further sacrifice.
“More
tests won’t do anything. They will
continue to give the same result.”
He then added, “I see that you took a flu shot this winter. That’s what I believe is causing this positive
result. I was one of the three
doctors that designed the HIV anti-body test and it’s susceptible to certain flu
shots.”
“A
flu shot made me HIV-positive?”
“I strongly
believe you don’t have HIV. You
don’t fit the profile.” He stated
calmly.
“But
the nurse said I “definitely have something,” how could she say that?”
“She
was wrong to say that.”
“Shouldn’t
we do something? Run a test?”
“As
I said, they’ll all be positive.
You need to wait up to six months before the anti-bodies will disappear
and then, after that, I believe your tests will show that you are in fact HIV-negative.
Thank you for coming in, I have to
go now.”
And just like that, he was gone. How could this be true? I just couldn’t believe it. One moment
you’re fine, the next, you’re sick and dying, then you’re fine again (maybe) and
in between all these changes, nothing has happened! This was so depressing.
What a crock of shit.
After
a few minutes, I left the room to find no one there. The halls were empty and I was dazed. “What
bunch of fools these people are”, I thought to myself. “These
fucking idiots- all of them.” They give you some vague assurance that you’re fine and then
they abandon you. I went back down
the corridor and opened the door to the waiting room.
My
mother was standing there in front of the reception desk, which was also
abandoned now. As I surveyed the room
quickly to see if anyone else was there, my eyes fell upon myself in a mirror
above the reception desk and I held my own gaze- trying to reassure myself that
I was indeed there, this was really happening and I was living through this
madness. Behind me, in the
reflection was the poster about “Ignorance = Fear” and I realized just then
that the poster was misleading.
Ignorance didn’t equal fear- sadly, everyone is ignorant and just as
much, everyone is an idiot full of fear.
I
looked around. We were alone in
the office. All the rats and
roaches had fled because the lights were turned on and the sun had come up. I returned my eyes to my mother. She looked as frail as a long cigar ash just
before it falls into an ashtray from being overburdened by its own weight. She visibly braced herself for the news
and said, “What did they say?” There
was only pain in her eyes.
“They
say they don’t think I have it…but I really don’t know if I can believe them.” Is all I could muster to say. My voice was shallow, filled with disbelief.
Her
body started shaking uncontrollably.
She was crying.
###
