THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, October 20, 1995 TAG: 9510200719
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY HOLLY WESTER, CAMPUS CORRESPONDENT
LENGTH: Long : 119 lines
AFTER YEARS OF statistics, lectures and countless magazine articles, it took a talk show featuring HIV-positive teenagers to convince me that it was time to get tested for the virus.
I am a straight, white, non-drug-using college student. Sounds like I'm pretty safe, huh? Well, I have had sex without condoms in the past, and that alone puts me at risk for catching the big disease with the little name.
It was a sunny spring morning when I followed through with my decision. My roommate and I hopped in my car and headed for the free clinic at the Virginia Beach Health Department.
Our giggles subsided when we walked in and had to announce our purpose to the female receptionist behind a Plexiglass window in the middle of the crowded room.
After glancing to the left, where a dozen mothers sat patiently with their not-so-patient kids, and to the right, where a handful of single folks stared at the air, I spoke up.
``How do you get tested for AIDS?'' I asked softly, as my pal manned my back to keep anyone from listening.
Sign the clipboard and someone will be right with you, the lady instructed. With a pencil, I scribbled my first and last name on the sheet and tried to get comfy in one of the green plastic chairs.
A few minutes later, a short lady with glasses picked up the board, belted out ``Wester'' and I followed her into an almost-bare registration room. I gave her my ID, she typed my info into a computer and asked me to read the notice of ``Deemed Consent'' posted on the wall.
That's when it hit. As I scanned the poster - which said that if my body fluids should mix with an employee's, we would both be tested for HIV and told each other's results - I realized that I really could be HIV positive.
After signing a form stating that I had read the notice and would be tested for free, I headed back to the waiting area, nervous about what was to come.
Before I could totally spazz out, another lady emerged and called me for pre-test counseling. The room, equipped with a scale, desk and pamphlets on everything from domestic violence to pelvic inflammatory disease, was cramped but clean.
The counselor slid two wooden doors closed and immediately introduced herself. She was personable as well as professional, armed with a pen and papers for me to sign. She asked me why I was getting the test, and I told her the truth: ``I've had unprotected sex.''
Although I didn't let it show, I really started freaking out. It wasn't her, it wasn't the vibe - it was me. It all of a sudden didn't seem so cool and easy to talk about my irresponsible sex life.
After I had signed a consent form, the counselor gave me a slip of paper I would need when I returned for my results (they aren't given over the phone) and directed me to the lab. She asked if I had any questions, and when I said ``no,'' she handed me a box of condoms and a booklet about HIV/AIDS and sent me on my way.
Outside of the lab, I nervously flipped through my booklet, and in less than five minutes, a cheerful guy in plastic gloves was taking a tube of blood from my right arm. His sense of humor helped me chill out, but when I asked how long I'd have to wait for the results, ``two weeks'' was not what I wanted to hear.
From then on, every day was a trip down neuroses lane. As if finals, moving and the usual daily dilemmas weren't enough to worry about, here I was wondering if a death sentence was in my near future.
I would drift from wondering about which one of my friends would get my CDs to partying hard - guzzling beer until I was dizzy. I figured if I was going to croak, I should go happy.
Days before I was to return, however, nothing - my daily stress, the CDs or good times - seemed to matter as much as getting those results.
My day came and I asked my mom to join me for the appointment, just in case. A counselor called my name - without any expression - and all I could think was, ``I'm going to die.''
We sat down, and in what seemed like hours, the woman ran down my lab results with her index finger. Since it had been more than three months since I had had unprotected sex, I knew that if I had HIV, the antibodies would show up. If the results were negative, I could be pretty certain that I wasn't infected. I took a peek but was so anxious that I couldn't find what I was looking for.
``It's negative,'' she said.
Relief kicked in almost immediately, and tears ran down my clammy cheeks. I wanted to kiss her but instead skipped out and gave my worried mother a great big hug.
``I don't ever want to go through that again,'' I confessed in the parking lot. ``I am never putting myself at risk again.''
That statement wasn't just an expression of relief or a temporary promise to Mom. At that moment, I made a personal commitment to keep myself alive. ILLUSTRATION: Photo
Holly Wester is a junior at Virginia Wesleyan College.
Graphics
FROM TEEN TO TEEN
The American Red Cross operates an HIV/AIDS teen hotline from 6
p.m. to midnight Fridays and Saturdays - (800) 440-TEEN - for crisis
counseling and referrals.
WHERE TO GET TESTED
Health departments in the following cities will test you for HIV
at no charge. Testing days and times vary.
Chesapeake - 748 N. Battlefield Blvd. (behind the hospital).
436-8617
Norfolk - 401 Colley Ave., 638-2737
Portsmouth - 800 Crawford Parkway, 393-8585, ext. 185
Suffolk - 1217 N. Main Street, 925-2335
Virginia Beach - 3432 Virginia Beach Blvd., 431-3500
Dare County, N.C. - 200 Ananias Dare St., Manteo, 473-1101
Pasquotank County, N.C. - Cedar and Harney streets in Elizabeth
City, 338-4400
HIV testing is confidential, which means no one but you can get
the results. The clinic will, however, take your name, address and
phone number.
Anonymous HIV testing, where you give no information and are
known by a number, is available at some locations. Call (800)
873-TEST (8378) for more information.
Holly Wester
by CNB