Living a Month with the False Positive

It's important for me to count my blessings this time around. 

My birthday is in a few days and I've recently been discharged from rehab.  I spent the last quarter of the year being on the streets; from hostel to hostel in the South Florida region; to walking the long streets of Manhattan, New York; to getting hospitalized in Bellevue; to spending days in clinical group meetings at Banyan.  I've really been through quite the journey and it's time I spoke about the most important part...

I don't know what it was that made me want to admit myself to a residential rehabilitation program.  Perhaps it was the fact that my knees are growing weak with every mile I walk.  My body is starting to tell me that it's time to slow down.  I can no longer run around like I used to back in when I was in my early 20's.  God is an expert at stopping my watch by involuntarily hospitalizing me or by stripping me of every necessity to make me realize what it is I really want from life.  

This story is going to be about my experience from the last two months (October ‘23-November ‘23) in which where I came to realize that the biggest blessing I could ever count is my health.  

It wasn't until I went to Banyan in Boca Raton where I finally took out blood to test for sexually transmitted infections in a while.  What would be expected as a routine check up, would turn out being a wake up call.  It wasn't for another week that I would be called into the providers office to find out that I had tested positive for HIV. 

"HIV? What? No."

Denial. Anger. Sadness. Blame. Acceptance.  Within an hour I had gone through all the stages of grief and realized my life would no longer be the same. 

Where did I go wrong?  Most importantly, who could it have been? What could it have been.  Could it have been someone I slept with?  Could it have been someone from the street?  Did I step on something? 

I really didn't know. I normally don’t fuck around! Really?!

The provider told me the only way to know for sure was through confirmatory testing.  I would have to draw blood at a separate facility and I'd have to go through the process of arranging an appointment with the clinic, waiting till I get transported, and waiting on the results.

The first few days I would wake up with PTSD realizing that my body was no longer the same.  I realized I could no longer want the people I desired because of this disease. I realized that it wasn't the end of the world, but that I would have to go through the process of explaining my status to my next partner-- if there ever was a partner. 

Confirmatory Testing

I went in for confirmatory testing the same week.  I had to wait.  I really had no control over this process because I was in rehab-- the worst part of this process was waiting.  I didn't want to go to group.  I didn't want to talk to anyone about my problem.  I didn't want to do shit.  All I really wanted to do was sleep all day and dream.  When I got to the clinic, the nurse practitioner would later tell me I would have to wait another 2 weeks for the confirmed results.  She went ahead and put me at ease by prescribing medication for HIV and she would send me on my way till the next time I saw them. 

I was losing my fucking mind. 

I went ahead and left Banyan Boca against medical advice because I thought I was going to be able to just white-knuckle it and spend those two next weeks on the street getting high while I waited for those results-- I was expecting to have had received scholarship money from school and a couple hundred dollars worth of food stamps to get me by.  When I turned on my phone and saw there was $0 in my bank account, I realized I was fucked.  So I spent a day on the streets. The very next day, I was calling Banyan begging them to readmit me into their program so I could sleep the next two weeks. 

Let me tell you that being at Banyan sucks;  They give us a bed to sleep on but during residency, they're walking in, waking us up, checking in on us every 20 minutes— so how the fuck are we supposed to get sleep? They might give us food to eat, but we have to wait in line to get it and we have to eat whatever is on our plate; and most importantly, there's nothing fun about having to attend 6 meetings a day, 7 days a week-- there's only so much we could cover on anything related to emotional regulation, medication management, and goal setting— fuck that shit.  So for the next week and a half I was just holed up in my room 24/7 trying my best to just keep to myself. 

At one point, I even switched my room to a patient who was also HIV positive as a means to starting a support group for myself...but the dude was crazy as fuck. He was standing over me one night like the woman from Paranormal Activity. Then, he was telling the BHTs that I was the one being aggressive. He was trying to have me Baker Acted. so I was better off alone. 

All I wanted were my confirmatory testing results so I could know whether I should keep living life as if it was worth it or not. 

I honestly didn't know what I wanted to do around this point.  I just knew I just wanted to sleep all day and dream.  The hardest part was not being able to find anyone to relate to about it.  

The Results

When I successfully completed residential treatment at Banyan, I was discharged on the same day I was due to walk into the clinic for my results.  I was transported to a Sober Living program & upon arriving there, the house manager told me I wasn't allowed to go out on my own until I spent an entire week under close supervision-- also known as: being part of The Buddy System. 

Fuck.  Another week before I get to those results 🩸 

I even told them why I needed to go to the doctor, they couldn't have given less of a shit & it only made it worse because it was another reason to have me quarantined. 

I was really motivated in completing the 12-step program while I was there, but Aloha House at West Palm Beach was real strange. I kept on having these weird dreams and the town is a lot smaller than Coral Gables. It is much more secluded and the only jobs locally attainable were as bussers, servers, or dish washers. I couldn’t get my foot through the door. Even if I intended to work somewhere else like Broward county, it still seems like I’d be spending the majority of my time commuting to and from work, and then I wouldn’t be able to attend the required meetings for IOP.  

I was only focused on completing the week while under close watch via The Buddy System. The first two days were pretty mundane, a lot of sitting around, planning, meditating, & hustling for a ride to a meeting. 

I know my roommate started looking through my bag. I could tell by his tendency to grimace. I really started growing annoyed with them because he was always complaining about how he wanted to be with his girlfriend. If you wanted to be with your girl that bad, go do it, then!

My third day there, I started having reservations for leaving Aloha House as soon as I realized my scholarship money was disbursed into my bank account.  

By Monday, I’m realizing how much time I really had on my hands but I started having a panic attack. I felt trapped in a home I didn’t really feel good being in. I felt the odds of me landing a good job were very slim because I have quite the rap sheet. I am not a bad person, but I know people misinterpret the nature of the crimes I’ve committed as violent. Honestly, if I really had HIV, I didn’t know what else I wanted to do other than write about it and motivate others to keep living through it because I learned something throughout the course of this very dark phase:

• HIV is an infection and it is measured like any other disease we know today. There is medication to alleviate the levels of its viral load and we’ve reached a critical milestone in our time where it’s really easy to get medication if we have insurance.
• The misperception about the infection causes others to want to isolate those who are positive with the infection without understanding the biology of the illness. 

The Relapse

So I end up leaving the house on the following Monday afternoon. I blocked my mom. I left the sober homes group chat, I packed all my things without having done any laundry, I just took $420 and walked right out the door with my backpack and the little I had in it. 

I walked over to the Brightline station in West Palm, and I’m already planning on buying some coke. I had to go back to the city. 🏙️  I wasn’t going to be there until the evening. I didn’t want to spend $20 taking the BrightLine, so I took my time by taking the bus from Palm Beach down to Lake Worth Tri Rail Station.

I had to wait an hour for the train. Either way, I would’ve had to wait till 6pm for my dealer— I had too much stuff & I was hungry. I took the time to recharge. I bought some peanut butter at the market nearby, I got rid of some stuff I didn’t feel I heeded, but I kept my Big Book from AA. 

“I’m going to finish this book one day.”

I didn't care about having to spend time on the street.  At this point, all I really wanted to do was get high, go to the dentist (routine appt.), and getting my blood results the next day.  Regardless whether I tested positive or not, I knew I wanted to get high & that's just what was about to happen. 

I was really hoping to receive a call from the dentists office where they notified me about an important visit. They were waiting on a shipment before they could finish a particular treatment plan I had going on for my teeth. As I’m walking onto the train, I receive a phone call. It was the dentists office, 

“Your trays are here.”

“I’ll be there tomorrow, 10am”

The plan was buy coke. Wait till the next day to go to the dentist in Miami, jump back on the Metro Rail, head over to the Tri-Rail Transfer Station, and go to the clinic in Delray. I had to pick up my blood results. I was going to want some weed, so I spent $150 renewing my marijuana card, and I was down to $270. 

Another $200 for cocaine. 

$20 for a quarter of ground weed.  

I could use the remaining $50 to eat a good meal and take the bus.   

I buy my coke and stay up the rest of the night. 

The next day, at the dentists office, I was there at 9am. I told them I had a very important appointment in Palm Beach and I had to take the tri rail so they saw me right away. 

I was high as a kite. My dentist, she knew it from the peak she takes into my nostrils. I can’t even fail to mention the embarrassment I felt when I pulled into that office. I was doing my best to avoid telling them about the present circumstances. I kept the conversation real light and focused on how terrible I was doing in school. HIGH AS A KITE. 

I didn’t give a fuck. Without being able to process a diagnosis like HIV with anyone, my only way of coping was through being high by myself on the street. 

180 Degree Turn

I was happy with my visit at the dentist. I was off to a good start. Now..it was the moment of truth, I had to go retrieve my blood results. If I did test positive for HIV, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world— I just wouldn’t have been happy with the rest of my life— & regardless…

I was still going to finish that bag of cocaine. 

I wasn’t even expecting my results to be negative because I just didn’t want to get my hopes up. By this point I had been living under the impression I was suffering from this disease for well under a month, and I would’ve been really surprised if the nurse said I didn’t have HIV…

& Regardless, I was still going to finish this bag of cocaine. 

I’m on the train. I had been taking as many bathroom breaks on the way to Delray to hit a bump or two. My appointment was at 2pm. I got there at 1pm hoping they’d accept me as an early visit but it was their lunch hour. I had to wait. 

The paranoia from being in possession of cocaine started to set in because I didn’t know how I would react to the news if the nurse practitioner confirmed I had HIV. The last thing I wanted was to be Baker Acted because I didn’t know how to handle the news— worst case scenario would be getting locked up in Palm Beach County. 

I head over to the Walgreens right by the clinic to take a few more bumps. I’m starting to contemplate cancelling the visit. It was a moment of doubt alleviated by the shit numbing my face.  

I was there already, I had nothing left to lose except worry. 

As a safeguard, I go ahead and leave the rest of the cocaine inside a box of cigarettes— there was one cigarette left — & then I hide the box inside the trash can. 

“If it’s still here, regardless if I’m positive for HIV or not, I’m going to finish this shit.”

 By 2pm I am sitting at the clinic in their waiting room. Ten minutes felt like an hour. I’m there having a Walter White moment— as if my moment to break bad was imminent. 

“Hector?” 

They call me in. 

I sit down and hold my breath. She tells me,

“You’d be surprised, you actually tested negative.”

My entire world flipped back on its right end. There was this pressure at the back of my skull which was alleviated by the revelation that I had been victim to a false positive. 

“Did you want to start taking a preventive medication?” 

What? Like Prep? No thanks. Nobody is going to be touching this mic anytime soon. This dick is reserved. 

I gave the lady an awkward handshake and a side hug, she wishes me good luck, and I go back to Walgreens. 

I was kind of psyched out by the ‘00 Chevy Tahoe parked in front of the Walgreens. 

“What if cops ride around with dogs who could detect cocaine from a mile away?”

I wasn’t taking any chances.  I took the box of cigarettes out and acted like I had been the lucky one who had found a random cigarette, walk over to the bathroom at the back of the Walgreens, & take like half a gram worth of bumps before flushing the rest of the bag down the toilet. 

I’d rather lose $200 than 5 years of my life because of a drug possession charge. 

Most importantly, I’d rather be in rehab now more than ever now that I realized my blood results from Boca were a false positive! 

It was a fucking false positive. Yes.  That's right. A false positive.  A 5 minute doctor visit turned my world back to normal & I was eternally grateful I hadn't gone off the rails by fucking anyone in sight.  This experience changed the scope to the way I view the world because I was really ignorant about HIV and the stigma associated with it. I feel people really lose their mind with that disease because it's a lot harder to love when we can't disclose our status.  I wasn't going around telling everyone about what was wrong with me unless I really had to. The only people who knew were the clinical staff at Banyan and the house manger at the sober living program.  Honestly, now that I know that it was a false positive, I'm much more grateful with what I have, where I am, and how I'm living my life-- because it could be a lot worse!