Ten Minutes

I sit listening trying to understand the conversation going on beytween the two women in the room with me. I'm in a VCT. A girl named Gloria has come to be tested. Through the occasional english that breaks through the rapid swahili I learn her age, she's 19, and her fear, a positive result. The pre test counseling runs longerthan usual as the anticipation builds. Her feet tap nervously, she shifts repeatedly in her seat, and with a sign rubs her eyes. The worry is palpable. I can't do anything but sit there expecting the worst and running each possible scenario runs through my brain. She's 19 and could be HIV positive. Nineteen. What would the rest of her life look like? Will she be alone? Will she ever have children? Is this the just consequence for her actions? The woman in the white coat abruptly pulls out the testing supplies dropping each piece to the table with a forceful thud. Gloria wipes a bead of seat that has formed off her brow. Her finger is swabbed and pricked. Her index finger on her right hand. As the blood is being pipetted on to the test strip she gazes out the window before putting her head in her hands. It's time to wait.

Robert hesitantly shakes hands with the three of us he has joined in the cream colored room. As soon as   he sits his white Pumas begin nervously tapping the floor. His fists lay clenched in his lap. Counseling begins. He admits to having many partners, to drinking heavily, and to not using protection. He's at risk and knows it. I'm nervous for him. Before counseling is through he believes he has been infected and requests the drugs rather than a test. He's sure he's positive. As the testing supplies come out he calms slightly. His palms lay on his lap and his feet lay still. It's obvious he's still nervous as his hand constantly strokes the scruff on his chin. The test kit comes out. The middle finger of his right hand is pricked. No blood. They try again, this time on the pointer finger of the same hand. Blood flows. The test is prepared. He looks around the room before putting his head in his hands. It's time to wait.

Ten minutes pass before either of these tests could be read. Those ten minutes can be the most impactful period of the testing process. Few words are spoken and the patient is left to reflect on the actions that brought him/her to this point. It's a painful period as the patient reflects. It's evident on their faces how scared they are. HIV changes your life. Anti retro viral drugs become the center of health and wellness. Sexual habits must change. The potential for starting a family diminishes. So many decisions past present and future must be considered. I start feeling awful as I run their life scenarios in my mind and can't even begin to imagine what they must be feeling. Regardless of the outcome of these tests the hope is that individuals will change from unhealthy behaviors. This doesn't always happen. Some people come in consistently, every few months and won't change until they are infected but even then some don't. Gloria had been tested twice before. Twice, and she's 19. The ten minutes is up. The reflection is over. The patients must read the results of their own test before the nurse confirms it. Luckily this time both return negative. I'd expected each to breath a sigh of relief but both left knowing they had dodged a bullet and would have to make difficult life changes in order to never live through those ten minutes again.