Get it out

So, last night was horrendous. I had a follow up appointment at the glamour doctor in the afternoon. Got there a bit early, checked in and was asked to wait in the hallway in front of a large mirror on an orange plastic chair, like a Möbius strip, rolled to form a seat and back, one of two, the other occupied by a young man engrossed in his cellphone. Again, the clinic is an older Georgian building, high ceilings, plaster mouldings all around, everything white except the chairs. While waiting, three very handsome young men walked up, also instructed to wait there it seemed, all three model-like looks and dress, one clearly very upset, face swollen, eyes puffy red, recently crying, hands trembling uncontrollably as he fumbled around with his phone, quivering lower lip, emotionally unraveling, coming apart at the seams. I thought how I can't remember ever being that nervous. His companions were more stoic, stern faced, there for support I assume. HIV diagnosis? I'm not sure what else could cause such a reaction in this handsome young man, realizing his life is forever changed. I felt sad for him, so worried, imagining the thoughts in his mind: How long will I live? How will I tell my parents? Will I be alone forever? I remembered my own revelation, Denver, a million years ago, before undetectable was a word, let alone a concept, was dating Ed, knew he was poz, heat of passion risky behavior, "it's ok as long as you don't cum in me," I thought. It wasn't. A year of regular negative tests came to an end that day, anonymous testing center, had gone in a week before for blood draw (also no rapid test then), came back for results. The counselor who met with me was around my age, heavy set, bitter, pinched face, small eyes. The whole point of meeting with a counselor was so they could console and advise you in event of a positive results. He said in a stern and judgemental way, "Well, your test came back positive and based on your behavior it's no surprise. It's like you wanted it." I remember thinking, "Asshole. No one wants to be HIV positive, they just want to feel connected, loved. Thanks for nothing." In retrospect, I probably should have reported his behavior. He was completely inappropriate and as usual, I was left to deal with the emotional aftermath internally, on my own without instruction on next steps, how/when to tell people, where to get medical care, etc. I felt horrible in a way, knowing I fucked up but it didn't help having that pointed out to me, also honestly, a private sense of relief, of not having to worry about it anymore. It was done. Anyway, this young man appeared to have the support he needed. He clearly wasn't capable of dealing with the emotional catastrophe on his own. He would survive. 

Felt fine then, of course, no fever. They checked for infection related to chronic bronchitis, nothing; gave me a script for NAC I wanted and sent me on my way, stopped at a piercing shop to look at jewelry, then pharmacy for the script and headed over to a Thai sushi place for dinner, had soup and a salmon roll, all quite good and not blanded down for a German palette. Leaving the restaurant, I felt really cold, assumed because cold out, and just the faintest soreness in my shoulders. I walked home, the chill crept deeper into my bones, ache spread, leading to suspicion of fever. Randomly, I'd found a thermometer in my luggage earlier in the day and placed in on the shelf above the bathroom sink for future use, not suspecting the future would come so quickly. By now, I'm shivering, so cold even though inside the warm apartment, feeling weak, clearly sick, crawled into bed, shivering under covers that normally make me sweat, too cold, too weak to get up and get the thermometer. I have fever and not a small one. Laid there shivering for a couple hours, finally mustered the willpower to get up, get the thermometer, some water and ibuprofen; checked temp: 102.5. Took ibuprofen, drank water and waited for the fever to come down, but it didn't. After an hour, checked again: 102.7, took aspirin waited, checked: 102.9. Feeling a little panicky; it should be going down but it's not; not sure what to do, foreign country, no health insurance, no one knows where I am except the landlord who's in Russia for two weeks, plenty of time for my corpse to stink up the place. Undeniably, I hadn't thought this through adequately, assumed everything would fall together as it had before on previous moves, but once again, I've gotten myself in a bad place, poor judgment, what to do. I'd asked the doctor earlier about insurance, same response: no one will insure me with HIV, suggested I talk with the local AIDS organization which I'd planned to do when not feeling like I'm dying. What to do, wait it out really only viable option. I can feel my heart pounding, painful in my chest, head throbbing, not sure what to do. I'm here in part for the experience but also because I'd hoped to be with Matthew. With that over, I'm questioning whether I should even be here or not. If I can't get insurance, I can't stay the year and so then what? Travel the next couple months? What if I get sick again? I've really left myself vulnerable, with no protection and still engaging in very risky sexual behavior which is the likely cause of my current illness. Go back to Austin? My house is rented for the year so i can't live there. Someplace different? I have no idea where I'd go, nothing sounds appealing or affordable and will I even be able to get insurance in the states anymore once Trump guts the affordable care act as appears likely? I feel I need to tell someone I'm sick just in case, but who? I know no one here. No one back home can help me and will only worry. I think about contacting Matthew, letting him know, thinking he'd want to know, he might even be in town or close but then I realize, this is exactly the sort of thing he feared most. Never admitting it, the carelessness that led to my predicament would look to him like the same sort of trap he once felt caught in with the pregnancy that produced his two children. He's no caregiver anyway. Only children know only how to be cared for. The urge to contact him is strong fueled by fear, fever and lingering longing to be with him, but I can't do that to him. He already thinks I'm whacko bipolar, always changing my mind and he's right to some extent. I created this problem and only I can get myself out of it. Despite the weakness and fever, I manage to treat myself as best I can, fill up the water bottle, get a banana for potassium, take magnesium to help with the heart and muscle cramps, eat some potato chips for sodium, electrolytes, force water down, keep taking analgesics, alternating aspirin and ibuprofen, all the while getting up to squirt watery stool into the toilet, stomach acid that burns the rectal tissue and anus, painful to wipe with the cardboard-like German toilet paper. I look for anti diarrhea medication, find some tiny white blister packed pills in my kit but the text has worn off the back so I don't know if it's antihistamine or anti diarrhea. I convince myself I wouldn't carry antihistamine because I rarely have emergency need for them, so they must be Lomotil. I take one, does nothing, a few more squirts later, another, still nothing, a third a few squirts after that, and I wait; wait for recovery or death. At this point it's a 50/50 proposition. Through this health crisis, I'm having an existential crisis as well, not knowing who I am or what I'm supposed to be doing, realizing how little I got from Matthew, how I'd never be able to count on him for anything, how he really is barely capable of taking care of himself and needs additional care beyond that from others, how our sexuality, the one thing we seemed to have in common, was diverging with me finally accepting that risky behavior isn't worth the risk, age related reduced drive and ability leading typo thoughts of finding a new hobby, while he seems to be going the opposite direction, adopting more extreme fetish style, skinhead, punk, boots, jeans, military style jacket that was de rigueur with the leather/skin types during Easter weekend, talk of head shaving, even more obsessed with random sex than ever, interest only in travel to sex events and venues, no other practical passion. If anything, all this realization helps with the longing. I was finally able to see him for who he is and not so much what I want him to be and that feels better. I don't feel as sad or lonely without him. Around midnight, the fever finally starts to break, slowly though and the diarrhea kept up through the night. I slept intermittently, waking in time to run and squirt, dreading the toilet paper, ass on fire. In the morning, I felt better enough to go through my suitcase in search for other anti diarrhea medication, found some clearly labeled, found also antihistamines clearly labeled, identical to what I'd taken the night before. Fortunately I neither overdosed on antihistamines nor shit the bed. Spent most of today sleeping it off, still too weak to get up other than eat a banana, a slice of toast, hydrate. Tomorrow I will go by the AIDS office and learn what I can, try to figure out how to proceed, how to get myself out of this mess I've made.