Testing Testing One Two Three

So I went and got tested the other day. No I don’t actually think I have anything or have any reasons to believe I do, I just went because my friend was going and she needed someone to go with her. I wanted to go because I would normally be afraid to do it. I looked at it as a “face your fears” kind of challenge.

Since I was going to be there, I figured I mind as well go through the whole gauntlet and give myself a clean bill of health—still crossing my fingers.

We walk in and we each grab a ticket. Mine was 53. Three other people were waiting—they all look seriously distressed. I can’t imagine waiting there worrying and praying about getting AIDS. Meanwhile, I, on the other hand, ran off some statistics and estimated that only about 3 heterosexual circumcised non-drug user Asian males in Hawaii (people like me) get HIV/AIDS ever year. Three. Yes, this number involved a lot of guessing, so don’t quote me on it, but I assure you, the number is very small. Put simply, I wasn’t worried.

What I did worry about was the “inspection.” Needles don’t bother me so much; it was the old lady nurse who’d be visually inspecting “my goods.”

I walk in and they ask for my ID, all kinds of information—including where I work and my address. They ask why I’m there and I tell them my friend wanted to come and she wanted someone to go with her. (This was the honest truth, but I felt like they didn’t believe me. I didn’t care)

Next, I go in the back and a nurse asks me all about my sex life. How many partners have you had in the past 3 months, 6 months, 12 months? Do you use a condom every time? Has your current partner been tested?

If there is ever a time when I felt someone was judging me, this was it. This was my biggest test for indifference, ever.

She finally gave me the spiel, “only when you are in a committed one on one relationship and you completely trust that other person and you have both been test, can you stop using condoms.”

“Yes mam.”

At that point pulling down my pants wasn’t really an issue. I thought I was a degenerate in her eyes for having oral sex without a condom, so showing my private parts wasn’t much of anything.

So down my pants went—undies an all. She pushed up against my area to check for anything and I got the all clear. Then, she asked me spread open up my urethra (the part piss and jizz come out) and then she pushed a q-tip up it. Yes, it WAS that much fun.

She thanked me and offered me condoms—they were the Durex intense sensation ones, which are ok. I saw some Durex super thin non-latex Avanti’s in the corner and asked for those. From what I’ve heard, they’re quite good, but I’m too much of a cheap ass to spend more than $2 per condom. She said she couldn’t give them to me since I wasn’t allergic to latex. Oh well, at least I tried.

Next, I went to the AIDS conversation guy. “number 53” he called. He then questioned my knowledge of AIDS. I told him all the stuff I learned in school and he was generally positive. I did learn that AIDS can be transmitted through breast milk. Interesting.

He also asked me how many people I had sex with in the past year, homo or hetero, protected or not, one nightstands or relationship, oral anal or vaginal. I was tempted to say I had forty one-night stands with other homos where we did tons of anal sex without condoms . . .but he looked like my little cousin and I just couldn’t get the words out of my mouth.

He also offered me condoms and thanked me for coming in.

And then, I was done: a little harder than voting, more stressful than jury duty, but overall a good experience.