Dr. Seuss Had No Idea

This image has taken on a whole new meaning for me. Read on!

Anxiety doesn't always make sense in my world, it can loom over me even when it shouldn't. The Ukraine program requires that I get tested for AIDS and gonorrhea (yikes!) and it's just crushing me. I called Kaiser to schedule a test, and the only doctor available for weeks was this man that I kinda loathe. Last time I saw him for a physical, he tried to psychoanalyze me and called me a child. He was really condescending and asked me a bunch of questions like "Is this normal for you?" and "Why are you doing this?!" Thanks buddy! Apparently, standard gonorrhea tests through Kaiser are not just an easy blood sample or mouth swab, but the dreaded "down there" swab.

I really hate the word "swab." Swaaaaab. Gross. Especially in that context.

So I made the appointment with Dr. Evil, but in the meantime decided to pursue Plan B--I went to a free HIV/STD clinic. Fun, right? Their website says that although they do not give written HIV test results, you can request written results for standard STD's. Perfect. I can do the HIV blood test at Kaiser and the dreaded gonorrhea test at the clinic with somebody other than crazy doctor. So I wandered into this building, and got into the elevator to find room 305. First of all, who puts the third floor on ground level? Some man in the elevator thought I was a loon because I couldn't figure it out. I sheepishly wandered into the room labeled "STD CLINIC: NO CHILDREN ALLOWED!" and pulled a number.


I sat down in the tiny, but surprisingly full, waiting room with about fifteen other people. I wanted to look around and check out the kinds of people who end up at a free STD clinic, but I felt that staring would have been rude. I had to peek out of the corner of my eye. Haha...

Every stereotype associated with a free clinic materialized in this room--the trashy blonde girl, the slouching thug boy, the overweight middle-age woman with a fanny pack and visor, the worried college dude--they were all present. I sat in a corner and read my book, but it was kind of hard to concentrate. A television crackling with static showed sex-ed and STD-prevention videos that looked at least fifteen years outdated. A clean-cut boy and girl with high-waisted jeans, fluffy bangs, and tucked-in shirts talked calmly about AIDS, chlamydia, herpes, and genital warts: No, you can't get genital warts from holding hands! Yes, you should get tested once a year! The video was hilarious. The backdrop was a fake brick wall with "HPV" spray-painted in neon colors. Classy, I know. Next to the television was a display with brochures on every STD imaginable. It made me wonder if anybody was ever brave enough to stand up in front of the room to retrieve the "Oral Sex and STD's" pamphlet. It was a pretty great set-up.

Sitting there reading Snow Falling on Cedars, I felt like I was almost being unfair. I bet most of those people were sweating in their seats, praying that they didn't have the clap or some incurable disease, while I sat calmly reading in the corner. I felt more grateful for my abstinence-till-marriage rule than ever before. It's a great comfort, knowing that I just don't have to worry about STD's at all.

After waiting for an hour, they finally called my number. I sat down in a private booth with a wrinkly old woman who greeted me with "What are you here for today?" No mincing words with this old fox! I told her that my insurance expired (not entirely true, but I thought that the starving-student persona would play well here) and that this program needs proof that I don't have gonorrhea. She shook her head, "We don't do that here." "But your website says you give written results for anything other than HIV," I protested. I guess working in a free clinic hardens even the gentlest old ladies, because she wasn't having any of it. I headed for the door as she suggested a couple other clinics.

I walked out into the sunshine from the cool, dark clinic and felt unexplainable tears welling up. I felt like a fraud, crying on my way out of an STD clinic, and I don't even have an STD. I wondered how many people have walked out of there knowing that they did have something to cry over. Then why did I feel so awful?

Maybe it was the let-down after I had braced myself for a bare-all exam with a strange doctor in a seedy clinic. Maybe it was because I knew there was no other option than to face Dr. Evil. Whatever it was, I felt horribly frazzled.

To make things more confusing, Kaiser called my grandparents that morning wanting to speak to me. Why in the world did they call my grandparents home phone? I have my cell listed as my primary contact number, and I only gave them my grandparents' number as Emergency Contact Number Two. When I called the Kaiser lady back, she was gone and nobody knew why they called me. Urgh.

So I have resigned myself to the fact that Dr. Evil will boldly go where no man has ever gone before. I have, however, decided to give him a talking-to about how insulting and unprofessional he was last time. That makes me feel better for now. But I just feel sticky inside, almost guilty even, for getting tested for HIV and gonorrhea. It doesn't make sense, because there is literally zero chance that I have either of them. But I still feel like Kaiser thinks I'm a slut (unfounded, I know), and Dr. Evil thinks I'm a child and now he gets to see everything that makes me an adult.

The irony of that is deeply disturbing to me.