I just called the Broome County Health Department.
I was turning in Jeff and his boyfriend for being threats to the public health.
(Seriously, though...)
I called to make myself an appointment for HIV/STD testing. It's been awhile since I've been tested for anything. Last time I had an HIV test, it was in Santa Fe, and the Santa Fe County Health Department LOST my results. I have better HIV-test stories than Peter has Port-Authority stories. Like the time Ken did one of those home-test kits on me and I bled all over for about four hours; I distinctly remember cupping my palm under the flow of blood and having blood drip out of my hand and all over the floor. It was like a scary movie. My results were negative, but I damn near died taking the test... Oy.
I've very scared of medical tests -- of any sort. I'm not afraid of the results; just of the needles and qtips and knee-bangers. Especially the needles.
But I do it anyway, because I owe it to myself and to my close friends to be able to say conclusively that I'm fine.
...Then there was the time the nurse kept trying to calm me down about an HIV-test, and pulled out this huge needle... I flipped out, of course, particularly when Mike, my support system for the day, said, "WHOA, LOOK HOW FAST THE BLOOD IS GUSHING OUT OF YOU!" as I was shielding my eyes and pretending I was somewhere on a touristy beach making fun of people with excessive cellulite and orange bathing suits... Thanks, Mike. I made him take me out for coffee after that.
Tomorrow at 4...
Oh fuck. Wish me luck. If you see me out tomorrow night, buy me coffee or something.
~Helena*
"I wouldn't recommend an HIV test, Helena; after all, this isn't exactly the Big City; you're young and you're a female, and the rates are so low among young women around here that you really have nothing to worry about..."
"So why won't the Red Cross take my blood?"
--My doctor and me, summer of 1998 (I don't go to him anymore...)