Turning Silent

I have already mentioned a few stories about HIV and AIDS, but I feel I had to add this one too. It was just too powerful.

I was working in the antenatal clinic (for women who are pregnant) clinic on Thursday and it is routine to give an HIV test to all new mothers who come in. The point of the testing is to establish their results, and then from there do different types of counseling. If positive, the prevention of mother to child transmission (PMTCT) is essential.

One woman came in around 11. We write down her name, age, last known period, estimated day of delivery, gestational age, and record what medications we give out (folic acid, ferrous sulphate, tetanus toxoid injections, malaria prophylaxis), etc.

The nurse then does a pre-counseling for the HIV test. Explaining what it is, why it is necessary, the different outcomes. Then the client gives consent for you to perform the test (a drop of blood on a test strip).

There is a black hardcover book where the first names of all women getting tested is recorded, along with their age, gestation, and the results. This is to be filled out for every woman, regardless of the result. So usually while the nurse is doing the test, I am filling out the book. Every time I open it, I say a little pray that the client is negative.

The 10 minutes it takes for the results to show are very hard. I can’t help but stare at the patient’s test, and stare at the book I am recording in, ready to write a “NR” for non-reactive, or an “R” for reactive.

After 10 minutes the nurse acts the woman to read her own results, so they can decipher it for themselves. The woman we saw, 20 years old, tested positive. I have somewhat learnt how to deal with this, since I have seen it fairly often in the past two months, but this time was so different. Usually the women are shocked yes, and then they ask a lot of questions and the nurse does further counseling for at least 20 minutes.

However, the woman, my age, just sat there in silence for a really long time. I was looking at her, and she was completely still, except for her eyes, which kept darting around the room, and looked like they were trying so hard to hold back tears.

I wanted to know what she was thinking.

The nurse kept asking questions, over and over, and getting no response. The woman was silent. It was so hard to deal with emotionally, because I thought of myself in that position, how I would feel, and what I would think.

Would she see her child through primary school? Would she see the child get married? Would the kids make fun of her child for having an HIV positive mother? Who would support the child when she passed? How long did she have? Maybe the child was now seen as a burden instead of a blessing. Maybe the child would be resentful and angry.

So sad and shocking. I would have been silent too. I wouldn’t have said anything.

Eventually, the nurse managed to get some whispered responses from her, and gave her a return date for 2 weeks. Usually the return date is for a month, however the nurse wanted to check up on her before that, which I definitely agreed with.

HIV is so scary. I am so afraid of it. I know that everyone who lives will someday die – but not like that, not knowing you could have lived longer without the virus. I guess it is like anything though – war, other diseases, circumstances that provoke suicide – that cuts life short. But who is to say a life is cut short? Who is to know how long their life is supposed to last?

Questions with no answers – only God can know.

But that doesn’t make it easier to deal with. I know there are stories like this around the world, with people asking the same questions, having the same feelings, having the same frustrations, wanting to know why – why, why, why – but not having any good answer to make themselves feel better. The best I can do is hope I can reach out to these people in some way in my lifetime, if not now, then when I gain more knowledge and experience.