Last week Dustin Barnes took a test for sexually transmitted diseases at the Student Health Center on campus and then published the experience in last Friday’s edition. The article was intended as a two-part series, the first part about the test itself and the second part about the waiting involved. This is the conclusion to last week’s article.
After leaving the health center I walked across campus, noticing that everything was continuing as normal. No sign was attached to my forehead proclaiming, “Just had STD test. Be nice to me.” No one was running up to me offering help, comfort or maybe a moist towel. It was the picture of normalcy. Except it wasn’t. Not for me.
Thoughts were swimming in my head, fear and nervousness coursing through my veins. “What have I just done?” I asked myself. “But I’ll be fine. I’m good. Oh good Lord, what if I’m not OK?”
And then as quickly as these thoughts came, they vanished. Why? As the old adage says, life goes on. Just as the entire campus was carrying on with daily functions, I had to also. Work called, classes piled up and everyday issues (lost keys, rent) started to take up my time.
My world never stopped.
At brief moments I would remember that I would have my results in pretty soon, but honestly those thoughts did not consume my life, rendering me incapable of carrying on. My mind would become occupied with other things, and in that way I managed to escape-from the worry and the fear.
Again in all honesty, I did have moments of anxiety despite life marching on around me. One night in my car, alone with my thoughts, I began to create scenarios about my results. In one I imagined having to hire a crew of people to walk 40 feet in front of me, screaming “Unclean, unclean,” to all those in my path.
I realize that’s not really a funny comment to some people, but in order for me to get through the ordeal, I had to cope the only way I know how-humor. Other people in the same situation may have different methods of coping. The point is we have to do whatever is necessary to survive, to persevere. The same holds true in this instance.
As the days passed, more of my friends would start asking me about my results, reminding me how close they were. It was comforting to know they cared, and at the same time, frightening to be reminded. Then the day arrived.
I mentioned that the waiting was the worst part of the process. Sitting there in that waiting room, waiting for my name to be called, I knew the real definition of eternity. The past week seemed like a second compared to those minutes I waited outside.
My world stopped.
Then the doors opened, and Jodi Stone, my doctor’s nurse, called me in the back. Greeting me with her beaming smile, Stone walked me back to the room where my future would be decided. Her smile, kind words and effervescent personality worked wonders on my nerves.
She checked my pulse and discovered that, according to my heart, I was calmer than the first visit. Truth is, I was. Call it inner peace, call it faith, call it whatever. I look back and realize that I was calmer at that one point than any other time during the whole process.
Stone left, leaving me with my newfound sense of peace. All that was left was to see the doctor and find out.
Two seconds later my peace was out the window, my smugness erased as I sat alone in that room realizing, for the thousandth time, that this was a crucial moment. Then the door opened, and in walked my doctor with a chart and my entire life in his hands.
“You have nothing to worry about.”
That’s what Dr. Robert Collins told me. There was no dramatic pause, no beating around the bush. Instead he ended my weeklong wait with those six words.
Relieved? Of course I was. But surprisingly I was happy about more than the absence of AIDS or other STDs in my body. It was a happiness that comes with triumph, with overcoming fears.
I’m not an Olympic athlete, and I haven’t fought off a terminal illness to win the Tour de France. But what I did accomplish was to conquer a personal fear of mine. I acted responsibly, as an adult. There’s no shame in that.
Going into this, I knew I would publish what I had gone through. I hope the account of what happened may alleviate the fears and stigma that surround these tests. This story, these accounts and my thoughts are all true. I wrote this story with the help of the health center and its staff, and even though I kept everything documented to be as realistic as possible, it’s important to know that by being a member of the media some realism was lost.
Obviously there won’t be any cameras around when you’re entering the building or getting checked. And the campus won’t read about your exam in the newspaper. Anonymity will apply to you, as it would in anyone else’s case.
I debated on whether to include any statistics about STDs in this article. We have heard them before, and we’ve witnessed their effects in society. I’m not going to give you numbers or graphs. But I am going to tell you what a wise doctor told me.
“The key to being safe is about communication,” Collins said, explaining that talking with partners beforehand about their sexual past is the best way to be cautious.
So I took the test. I’m clean. I battled with my inner demons and won. I leave this experience with my head held high, without shame. The fear of not knowing is gone.
In my departing words of wisdom, I encourage people to get tested, to not be afraid but instead to hurry up and wait. I’m glad I did.