Ordeals of a blood test

I was more than a bit desperate to find out that in our small town one could not be tested for HIV. To get the test, one needed to travel to the big town, N*, 50 kilometres away, to find the proper institute.
I called the county hospital to find out whether I needed a referral or not. They claimed I did not.

That evening, we had a quarrel at home. My mother was not willing to escort me to the test, making a lame excuse about teaching and her schedule. It would not be an impolite and callous thing itself, but I could not help recalling that hardly two years ago, when I entangled into that wrecked relationship, she was more than zealous to escort me to the gyneacologist for a blood test. To prescribe contraceptives did not necessarily needed a blood test, the doctor said, but in my case, with my anamnesis, it was needful, he added significantly, hinting of the eating disorders.
Those days, my mother was eager to sell me, I thought bitterly. Those days she could find a chance somehow to skip her highly important lessons.

At least she had the decency to offer that she and my father would take me there by car after 4. p.m.
I did not want to wait though. I wished to get over it as soon as possible.
Anyway, why should they come, too? Would it be less hurtful or hideous if my mother would be there to watch? Besides, such a place was one where several people - perhaps with a contagious illness - go, I did not want my parents to go there.
I turned the offer down and decided to go by the 7.10. bus next morning.

Despite of my desperate and unfocused hurry, I missed the bus. The next one departed at 9.15.
I could not tell how I felt during those wasted hours. I cried, actually cried, tears streamed on my face. I whimpered, sobbed, screamed with fury and shivered with fear.
Much to my surprise, those hours slipped by quite quickly though.
This time, I managed to catch the bus.

A quarter to ten, I entered the grey main building of the county hospital.
Next to the heavy wooden door of the broad entrance, there was a small room for the doorman. He was a thin, elderly man. I asked him where to go for a HIV test.
He was taken aback, yet he explained that I had to leave the building at the back door, then go straight ahead three hundred metres, and I would find a red brick building on the left, which was the laboratory.
I nodded, although I was not sure whether I could find it.

The hospital, the several buildings, was located on a big compound, it looked like a tiny town.
After ten minutes of wavering, I found the said brick building.
An unfriendly, overweighed female receptionist sat at the information desk.
"I'd like to know where to go for a HIV test" I told her.
"What test?" she barked. Perhaps she could not hear it, or she thought she did not hear it well.
"A HIV test" I repeated impatiently.
This time she understood, her eyes grew wide. Perhaps it had to do something with prejudices. My parents warned me. In their opinion, only drug addicted persons and/or prostitutes got that kind of tests. They thought it was just one of my several surreal fears. They told it was a vain torture for me, I should not go there - yet how could I know what did that other party of that failed relationship do?
"We don't to those tests here. Do you have a referral? You'll need one."
"On the phone, they said I did not!"
"Well, I doubt they'll do the test without a referral. Those tests are made at * Hospital anyway."

Of course I should had asked on the phone where to go exactly, but I did not have the presence of mind.

I grew more and more grumpy. All the receptionists said something similar, so I believed the overweighed woman told the truth.
I was nervous and weak. I did not have a mouthful of food that day - one must not eat before some blood tests. My fickle blood sugar level did not appreciate such jokes, besides, a journey by bus or train has been exhausting for me, as mostly I felt nauseated.

I left the county hospital, and wandered to the nearby - unknown - bus stop. I knew where the other hospital was and which direction led towards it. It was two or three kilometres away, on the boundaries of the town, I could not walk so long in such a state.
I reached the bus stop soon. I nodded with satisfaction - it was in the right direction. I buttoned my jacket, as I was cold. It was a rainy day, the sky was grey and cloudy.

I had to wait quite a few minutes until a bus appeared - the mass transport in the country has never been on the ball.
When a vehicle arrived at last, I got on quickly. I had enough time to watch out of the window, as my target was the terminus. I usually enjoyed watching unknow parts of a town, yet this time I was too nervous to pay any attention.

When the bus stopped, I asked the driver where I could find the hospital.
His brows rose.
"Which hospital?"
"* Hospital, the terminus."
"You have to go back then. It's the other terminus."

I felt torn apart. I took the wrong bus. The hospital was in the same direction I thought it must be, however, the bus made some detours in the city with twists and turns, I did not count on that.
I could not do any better than waiting to the next bus.

Although I did want to get over the whole procedure, it truly seemed I did my best to avoid it as long as I could.
It was the work of my subconscious for sure, and under different circumstances, I would be amazed to witness the hidden power of the human mind.

The buildings of the other hospital, just like the first one's, were located on a compound. It looked like an eerie hotel, with several trees inside and outside the fence (as the compound was located in a secluded area, it was surrounded by forests). Those tall trees stood there gloomily, and casted dark shadows on the paved roads of the compound, the paves seemed black and shining wet in the drizzling rain.

This time I was more fortunate: I could easily find the laboratorium in the second building. There were a couple of young girls at the receptionist's room, some of them must be nurses. All of them were at my age, I could clearly see the shy and startled understanding and comradery in their eyes when I told them why did I come there. Being as young as me, they could exactly know a female could get into risky situations any time. They were helpful and polite while they explained that one cannot be tested for HIV in that hospital anymore (once there used to be such a department, but it had wounded up months before), I should go to a dermatology center at * Street.
I dropped my hands on the counter, limply and hopelessly. It meant another long way. It was almost noon.

* Street was in the centre of the town. I caught a bus, then walked along a street to reach a small square where the dermatology was supposedly located. After a bit of clueless wandering, I found it actually.

The receptionist was a kind, young blonde. She asked me why did I come.
"To be tested for HIV" I told her.
She did not seem utterly surprised.
"Why?" she asked calmly.
"To make sure that I'm healthy..." I said uncertainly.
This time, she was shocked.
"You came here willingly?" she asked, ashtonised.
I did not understand what did she mean. Not quite willingly, but I needed to, I intended to answer.
"So, you aren't her for a routine test for going abroad and study or have a job there?" she explained.
"No. It was my idea" I assured her.
"All right. Wait a minute here, in the hall. They will call you in very soon."

I sat down on a plastic chair. Every muscle of my body tensed. By then I was desperately aware of the fact that in a few minutes I would have to face a repelling injection needle.

It was utterly ironic that the other party of that vile relationship forced me to stay faithful, making my life unbearable with blackmail and control, searched through my possessions on a regular basis and watched my email box every day. He often lectured me about how should a "fair" and "honourable" female behave, modest, subservient and house-trained - whilst he went to drink every second day. He lived in a faraway town, fortunately, we could meet once a week. On other days of the week, he often had female drinking mates. I did not know or care whether he screwed them. I did not expect him so - he was not near as manly like Feri, Milán, Zentai, or Ottó.
That was why I never felt suspicious, not as though I was that interested. It was sheer shock to find out he managed to be "unfaithful".
Yet, despite of his claims of being moral, that day, I was the one to sit there, waiting for an AIDS test. Because of his fault, as I haven't ever had
(... willingly...)
any other partners.
Only Feri, who was conscientious enough to use rubber when I asked him to do so.
I could had found the situation utterly amazing, hadn't I been so scared.

In a few minutes, the door opened, a patient - a woman of forty - exited the room, nodding toward me.
"You may come in."
I staggered in, and crumpled on the chair which was meant for patients.
There were three people in the room: A young and slim female doctor, a nurse and an assistant.
The doctor sat on the other side of the table. With her straight dark brown hair and big eyes she seemed to be in her mid-twenties.
"What's the problem?" she asked me. "Did you have an one-night relationship?"
Had it only been the case! Yet I was more stupid than that. I had several one-night stand with the same person, who, by now, seemed to be a complete stranger.
"No. It was a long relationship with an utterly risky partner. I found out that he had another relationship. That one also had another. And this is only what I know. So I want a test" I explained reluctantly.
"And did you hear some bad news about that circle?" the doctor inquired.
I shook my head.
"I could not. He lives in another town. We never contact and we are not on speaking terms. I don't know two hoots about him, fortunately."
The doctor shot a glance towards her assistant, yet she did not slip a remark.
"When did it happen?" she asked.
"More than one and a half year ago..."
"No, no, that's not important. I'm asking that only to know whether it was three weeks ago or more. It is the window time. We can detect the virus in a human's system after three weeks." She nodded. "Well, all right. Please, pull up your shirt on your left arm."
I did so, and began to quiver.
"Could not it be the back of the hand?" I begged.
She looked at me.
"Why? That way, it would hurt much more."
I gulped. I hated it, too, yet being stabbed at the crook of the arm seemed to be even more vile. It is such a vulnerable spot.
"Why?" the nurse interfered. "I can see your vein bulging!"
The plump nurse, with her dark long plait, seemed to be a good-natured person, yet I could not care about her kindness. By that time, that animalistic fear got the best of me. I was on the verge of black out.
"No, no" The doctor decided. "The crook of the arm is safer. Please, lie down."
She pointed at the operating table.
I was crying, tears streamed on my face. I was staring at the white ceiling whilst the doctor held my wrist and the nurse penetrate the crook of the arm with a needle.

It did not hurt at all. It truly took me by surprise. I was simply terrified and repelled by the thought that a needle was bored into my flesh and vein.

It was over in a few seconds.
I sighed incredulously.
"Is that always... so easy?" I asked the doctor honestly.
She smiled.
"You have good veins. Yet a blood thest is not hard. Now you should sign the service papers."
I sat down the chair again, resting my head on my knees.
"Sorry" I whispered. "I feel a bit dizzy. Just a minute."
The world seemed to be darkened. It looked like mist came upon me - black mist.
"Do you want a glass of water?" The startled nurse asked me, whilst she grabbed my arm and led me back to the operation table.
"No, thank you. I have food, fruit and sandwiches. I did not eat, one must not eat before a blood test."
"Before a blood sugar test, indeed. Yet now you should have eat something..." the doctor explained, while I climbed down the table. I felt better, though very weak.
"Is your home far from here?"
"Fifty kilometres."
They hissed.
"Is there someone to escort you?"
"I came alone." My mouth twitched, for I thought of my mother who refused to escort me.
"Eat something in the waiting room!" the doctor warned me.

I was so glad to get free at last.
I felt uncharacteristically easy, happy and comforted. The world seemed to be beautiful when doctors did not threaten me to make a pincushion of me.