It's December 1, 2009. Today is World AIDS Day. No real celebration for me. I'm here with E in Subic. Nope, it's not a vacay. We're here for a seminar organized by the Department of Education that will work towards the integration of an HIV/AIDS awareness campaign into school curricula. We're here to share our stories with some students and school officials... I know... Yikes. Wish us luck!
For now, happy World AIDS Day!
Showing posts with label phobia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label phobia. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 01, 2009
World AIDS Day
Sunday, August 17, 2008
A Day w/o U
RITM, day 2. This entry may as well have been entitled another day with… needles. Imagine me cringing.
It just happened to fall on another Thursday. I had been scheduled by Ate and the doctor for my lab tests at the RITM. I had planned on taking another day off from work, but reconsidered, thinking I’d save my leave credits for other more important appointments. I had been given the option of showing up early at the RITM. And I mean early. As in 6:00 am. Early enough so I’d be able to make my way back in time for work at 8:30. At least that was the plan.
Instead, I mistakenly left my cellphone in silent mode, missing my wakeup call by about 45 minutes. Instead of getting up at 4:45 am, I ended up realizing my mistake at 5:30 am, and just rushed to get out of the house. I had planned on making the first trip of the MRT, but obviously missed it. I was able to take the train at 6:00, not too bad. I love traveling that early in the morning. It was still pre-rush hour, a big advantage for the claustophobe like me. It was around a 20-minute train ride, from which I rushed down to street level to hop on a bus plying the Alabang Skyway route. I was just trying to recall how U took me to the RITM last Monday. Plus it made sense, it was a route straight to Alabang via the Skyway, meaning less stops, making for a faster trip.
It was a long but quick bus ride, and I tried to take note of landmarks on the way. We passed by the Nichols Exchange, the farthest south I was really familiar with, since that was where my first boyfriend was from. Further on down, we entered the skyway, and passed the Raya residential development which looks amazing. We passed the Hapee Toothpaste plant, the SM Mall in Bicutan, an finally exited at what looked like a newly constructed Alabang Exit which led into the Filinvest Corporate City. I got down where U and I did previously, at he Alabang Central Terminal.
I decided to walk towards the RITM instead of riding, primarily because I get a better sense of direction when I’m on foot. I retraced the steps we took last Monday, walking towards the Festival Mall and up towards the hill where the RITM was situated. It was a long walk, and I made it before 7:00 am, but remained unconvinced that I had taken the shortest way.
I first walked towards the comfort room, to relieve myself of the pee I’d had brewing in time for my urinalysis. I needed to keep it in almost the whole way, since I’ve been known to suffer from a shy bladder at times. I whipped the bottle out and filled it up mid-stream as advised. Then off I went to the Laboratory Department, which U had pointed out to me during our earlier visit. There was still no one answering the doorbell, so I sat down on a bench in the hall trying to cool off after the long walk. A few minutes later a lady passed me and walked into the lab, shortly after peeping out the window asking if I was a client. I handed her my lab referrals and the urine sample as she ushered me in. I sat down in the torture chair, putting my arm down on the armrest ready for my sentence. She looked at the list of test to do… viral load, CD4 count, genotyping, CBC, hepatitis profiling, and urinalysis… and whipped out four vials to fill. Four vials? That’s worse than the three I filled up at the Manila Health Department months earlier. This would be a record for me. Or so I thought. I looked away as she started to push the needle into my arm. I’m getting used to the feeling, but still can’t stand seeing it. Next thing I know, she’s asking me to hand her two more vials from the table next to me. Four? Plus two? Another record broken… but I have to admit it wasn’t that bad. So there I was, six vials of blood lighter, a survivor.
I walked next door to the X-ray Department, again no one was there. There’d been a sign saying the personnel were at the canteen, so again I sat down and waited. The old lady in charge soon showed up, and I was in and out of there in a flash.
Last stop, some test called PPD. Research now tells me it stands for Purified Protein Derivative, a skin test for tuberculosis. I had been pointed to the emergency room for it, from where I was pointed to the Pharmacy. I showed the referral, and I was given a box of something called Biocin, and told to return it after. Weird. Not something I’d usually hear at a pharmacy. So I returned to the E.R. and handed it to the nurse, who asked for my chart. Chart? What chart? I had nothing else with me but the referral, but was told they couldn’t do the test without the chart. I tried texting Ate, but received no reply. U had given me her number beforehand in case I encountered some problems. So I had to wait, thankfully she arrived early, around 8:30 am.
Needless to say at this point, I didn’t make it to work on time. So anyways, Ate accompanied me back to the E.R., and gave her personal referral in order to push the test through. So apparently, PPD is a skin test. And I must say skin tests hurt. I got a bump full of the medicine in my arm, had the nurse draw a circle around the test site, plus a note on a piece of tape on my arm with the date and time it was administered. Bad enough that I couldn’t wet my arm for three days, but I had to have the pen mark and the tape on me at work. Hmmm. I have some explaining to do.
Take note again, that all the tests I had done were free at the RITM, except for the P120.00 I paid for the Biocin thingy. I’m told the test will be free everytime, as oppose to that at San Lazaro, where follow-up CD4 counts cost something like P4,000.00, and viral load tests P6,000.00. That should be more than enough savings to pay for the additional transport to the RITM.
I realized I didn’t bump into any other fellow clients, Ate being the first and only person I encountered from the OPD that day. I was out of the RITM by 9:00 am, already having sent a text message to work saying I would be late. I walked back to the highway, but this time following my instincts and passing a road I hadn’t tried before. I think I got the right and shortest route this time. I made the trip back, via the bus and the MRT again, and reached work past 10:00.
Another amazing day, not even half through, but already got a lot done. Just two tests left, a fecalysis and RPR titer. A stool sample would spoil in the length of the trip, while the latter test, they didn’t have at the RITM. I’m thinking of going back to Dra. Malou at the Manila Health Department for those tests, as well as to pay them a visit and update them on my status. I’m planning to do that Tuesday morning, another day I’m taking off from work. A bloody and shitty Tuesday, literally.
I have another visit to the RITM scheduled on Tuesday afternoon for a consultation with the doctor. I’ll find out the results of the tests, plus my options for ARVs. So it’ll be another busy week again for me. My verdict is coming… again. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Scary!
I've been so stressed out these past few days. So much of my days have been spent thinking, and thinking, and thinking. An after-effect of the last consultation I had at the San Lazaro H4 Pavilion. And it's not even about the result of the CD4 count itself.
I still can't wrap my head around having to admitting to someone in the family that I'm HIV positive. It's just been barely two months. I'm still not even completely back on my feet from the news that I have HIV. And now this?!
I remember Dr. Malou of the Social Hygiene Clinic specifically say I should stay away from stress and depression because it in turn stresses and depresses my immune system. Something not good for someone with HIV. So why are the doctors at the H4 practically forcing me to tell someone in the family?
I honestly got the impression that they were indirectly saying something to the tune of If you don't tell, we won't start you on the medication. I mean if this were really a life and death situation, regardless of who knows or does not, they should give me the medicines I need, right?
I'm expecting everyone will find out eventually, but I'd appreciate being told that I could take my sweet time. I need to be reassured that it is not a requisite to being treated. I believe it is my health that is important, and that does not directly revolve around who I am able to reveal to.
It's just really really not that easy. It's easier said than done. Dealing with HIV, I can be pretty brave. But when it has to combine with interacting with other people, I'm chicken shit. I realize that the less I know a person, a stranger to the extreme, the easier it is for me to tell about my condition. Adversely, the more I know someone, the harder it is to tell.
I've been trying to analyze why this is the case with me, and I guess the difficulty to reveal is proportional to what reputation I've built with the person. I'm not saying I have some flawless reputation which I need to protect. I've always been flawed to begin with. But telling someone I've shared years with would retrogress to the very start of the acquaintance, I imagine. It would snowball into other issues and other skeletons in my closet, like how I got it, what I've been doing these past years, when I got it, how gay I am, how promiscuous I am, how I could have hidden my alternative life, and so on. Too many questions I might not have enough time to backtrack and answer, assuming I have answers at all. Multiply that with the number of people I have to come out to, and that just scares me. I just hope it doesn't scare me to death. That'll just put me out of my misery, huh?
Thursday, May 29, 2008
H4 Galore
Another big Thursday for me. I left around 7 am, but not before talking with K over the phone. He just called to send me off on what he thinks is another regular work day for me. Little did he know.
So I made it to the HIV ward of the San Lazaro Hospital a little past 8 am, had myself registered, and my vital signs taken. H4-2008-054. Weight is still the same, blood pressure normal, temperature was a bit high, I’m thinking because I had barely taken a breather before they sat me down to take it. But I was feeling fine.
I noticed some of those metal medical clipboards on the counter, probably records of those confined. I noticed that the patient codes were written on the top of the clipboards, one of which I read as H4-2008-059. I realized, geesh, at least five other people have already been diagnosed after me. And whoever this is, his condition has called for him to be confined. I’m pretty lucky then.
I walked into the waiting room, and sat down. There were three other guys already there. One of them I recognized to be the guy trying to smile at me when I was there two weeks ago. A bit surprising, since he has been checked-up at least twice this month already. He recognized me, smiled and went back to reading his newspaper. The four of us continued waiting since the doctors hadn’t arrived yet.
After a while, Y walked in and started chatting up with all of us there, who he knew apparently. It was nice to see a familiar face. He still treated me as the new kid, which was nice.
I heard voices from the reception counter, later on realizing it was the other doctor. She called for me, and instructed the nurse to hand me my referral slip for the CD4 count. I was pointed to the direction of the SACCL, short for STD/AIDS Central Cooperative Laboratory. Their name was also on my diagnostic results which I got last April. Apparently this is where most of the STD related tests are done, such as Hepatitis, HIV, Venereal Disease, etc.
But before going, I noticed the guy getting his vital signs taken, looking at me. He was cute. He seemed like an older guy, smaller, fair, manly, a bit stocky, dignified, and a bit shy. My type. I don’t know what his name is, but he was looking at me, and I was looking back. I still wasn’t hell bent at using the ward as a cruising place so I picked up my heels and just headed to the SACCL.
Walking to the next building, 8 or 9 people were waiting before me. I had to spill over to the waiting area outside the building where one other guy was. He asked me what I was there for, explaining he was there for a medical test for Hepatitis required for his application to the Philippine National Police. I don’t remember what I answered but I’m sure I couldn’t have been vaguer. Hahaha.
When it was the turn of the guy in front of me, I could hear from the voices in the lab that something was wrong. The guy first walked out with a cotton ball taped to his left arm. Going back in, he later walked out with another cotton ball on his right arm. Still they weren’t done. I don’t know where the hell else they took his blood, but this was scaring me quite a bit already!
Then my turn came. Oddly enough, they asked me to write my real name on the referral form, contrary to what I believed was a confidentiality law for HIV infected persons. If I were a fraction of sensitive and defensive, I would’ve put up a fight. But I wasn’t, so I penned my name away.
Then I saw the needle. It was bigger than my usual and it hurt going in. Then I felt the lady pushing and pulling and wiggling it around in there. My blood wasn’t flowing?! It was a problem with some adaptor they were using. It was hurting like hell! I’m still squirming right now recalling the pain. Then she just said sorry and pulled it out. Next arm. She had left me with a big red pock on my left arm, and had no blood to show for it. Thankfully she got it on the second try. I’ll need my phobia to heal again after this.
So anyways, I headed back to the ward, half wishing I’d catch “the guy” still there. I went in to see my doctor in the doctors’ office for less than 3 minutes, faced another one of her pity-faced are-you-sure-you’re-okays, and headed out. I didn’t see him there. I wasn’t sure, but good thing I waited because he had been talking with the other doctor the same time I was inside. So anyways, I saw him again, we exchanged nods a bit, but never talked. Y felt the need to keep me company, so I didn’t get the chance to work the guy over. I hope I bump into him there again sometime.
I’m beginning to look forward to San Lazaro. I’ll be back at the ward next Thursday, mostly to discuss my CD4 results with the doctor, but partly hoping to meet more pozzies as well. If I’m lucky, maybe I’ll see “him” there again. Man, I’m a slut!
Friday, May 02, 2008
The Four-Letter Word
Hate. Yes it's harsh. But I shall use it.
You must understand. I HATE DOCTORS. The only time I'd really been operated on was for circumcision, which is not entirely a free and open choice here in the Philippines. Oh, and I don’t limit my hatred to doctors. It shall extend to nurses, dentists, therapists, pharmacists, and even the guys that do the urine tests required to get a driver’s license. Tsk, tsk, tsk, so much angst. Oddly though, I'd run into more than a handful of doctors and other health professionals during my online dating life. No hate involved there.
One other thing, I HATE NEEDLES. Needlephobia, trypanophobia, aichmophobia, belonephobia, enetophobia or whatever it’s called, I have it. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I've been poked by a needle prior to this test.
- First was during circumcision. Take note that the doctor was a friend of my grandmother, who was there holding my hands during the whole process of anesthetizing.
- Second was probably for a blood count prior to college. I don't really have any clear recollection... by choice.
- Third was a tetanus shot that I needed to get after being bitten by a rodent. But since the procedure involved me being in my 20s in a room amidst a bunch of kids below 12, I needed to swallow my fear and preserve my poise. I wasn't planning on sobbing like a kid.
- Fourth was for a pre-employment medical exam. Again, shame prevailed. Not enough privacy to make a scene.
- Fifth was for a tooth extraction I absolutely needed to get when I was around 27. A needle into my palate?!? What the... !?! Trust me, had my face not been totally swollen, I could have taken the pain.
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