PosLife - HIV and Me

The Universe likes to laugh at me – I’m sure of it. This morning, I got a call through from an employment agency that I had registered with last week. They deal with the NHS, which is where I want to go after my degree, and I thought it would be a great idea to get my feet under the table, as it were. So, long story short, they offered me a job. It’s in the town centre, so easy to get to on public transport, and the pay is pretty good at just over six pounds per hour. One thing’s bothering me, though.

It’s at the sexual health clinic.

So ha! The Universe strikes again. I must have been a real shit in a previous life. I couldn’t turn the job down though, you understand. Job pay, with a good agency, and a chance to get involved in a company where I want to be for the rest of my life. So, I’m biting the bullet and going in tomorrow. It’s just a filing and data entry role, which I will no doubt find unmercifully dull, but I’m determined to do well – not just so I can walk away with a pocket full of green and a good reference with which I can get a job later on. But also because, if I can get through this without going completely insane, I’m probably coping a lot better than I thought I was.

You can’t ignore the Universe.

So while it may be boring, and it may be agonising having to rifle through record after record, with the distinct possibility that I might come across my own and have to garrotte myself with a mouse cable, I’m going to have to go. It’s a job and it’s some money, after all. And maybe it’ll result in a career later. Wish me luck. I shall be filling up with coffee and ginseng. Perkifying.

God, I hope I can cope.

This could probably do with an update. Well, I’m back in Leeds at the moment, for the next four months or so. Which is nice, getting to see everyone I’ve essentially ignored for the past year or so. Another bonus is that I don’t have to visit the clinic while I am back home. I have been given what could be construed as a bit of an all clear by the Hull clinic. The visit wasn’t quite as exiting as the previous one, but it was still worth mentioning.

So, with my usual visit mate back in Poland, I managed to rope in another. We sat there, read Real People, commented on the utter pointlessness of the universe, and then watched a bit of Jeremy Kyle. After sitting there for about 25 minutes, I was called in to my appointment. They were only running 20 minutes late, I was quite impressed.

So, I went in, I sat down, and after some ado, I was given my results. I always hate the run up to getting my results. It’s the usual questions. How have you been? Fine. How is everything going at University? Fine. How was your first round of exams? Fine, tell me my results or I’ll jam a speculum down your throat and force them out of you. So, she finally came out with it. My viral load has gone up, expectedly, to around 2140. What was more of a surprise was that my CD4 levels have also gone up, to 361. She looked at me, she looked at my results, she looked puzzled, she looked away… there was generally quite a lot of looking.

After quite some time, it was decided that I didn’t need to go on medication yet. I was elated. She was noticeably disappointed. It was much like sex.

Then, the nurse arrived. It was the same nurse I had enjoyed the company of last time. The one who jammed carrot cake into me while I was semi-conscious. She’s a laugh, but I never caught her name. I was given a physical (I’ve not been given one of those since the last time I started work, in fact I had gone out of my way to avoid them. I don’t like being prodded by someone who hasn’t bought me dinner first.) I was poked, jabbed, stabbed, and hammered until it was decided that I don’t have any kind of reflexes in the right side of my body. This didn’t seem to concern anyone except me, so I was told to get the hell dressed and get the hell out. They’re a polite bunch. And it was over.

So now, I’m home. I don’t have to go on drugs until October. And I was subject of my first racist attack the other day, which was an experience. It’s all going well. At the moment, it’s hammering it down, but I’ll cope.