Chris Rock is right. When you get an HIV test, you reflect upon "every scandalous piece of sex you've ever had." I was recently tested for HIV at the Health Center after a few too many nights of wondering and worrying. When I began to consider taking the test, I was home over the break. I decided my New Year's resolution would be to get tested once I got back to school. I called the Health Center and made an appointment, and that's when the worst two weeks of my life began. Somehow knowing that I was going in to have my blood drawn made it all too real, and I was utterly convinced that my result would be positive.

     I couldn't think about anything but that test. I obsessively researched statistics about the virus and transmission, and calculated my risk of contraction. While the odds were in my favor, I just couldn't reassure myself at all. My friends were all telling me that I didn't have it and not to be stupid, but they didn't seem to understand how stupid I really had been. I knew better than to have unsafe sex, but I did it anyway, not even considering the possibility of getting AIDS. The thoughts of telling my parents, of taking medicinal cocktails and being outlived by my cat made me sick to my stomach.

     The days weren't so bad. As long I was busy in class or working or with friends, I could store the fears in the back of my mind for a little while. The nights were the worst times. I could practically feel the virus running through my veins, eating me alive. I became hysterical upon lying down and turning off the light. My heart would pound and I couldn't stop sobbing until I called a friend and let him talk me through it. I really didn't know how I would survive the days until I got my result, let alone the days after I got the result. I could practically reach out and touch my own mortality, and I was terrified.

     I finally came to grips with the situation when I accepted the fact that I very well may have been infected, and started to think logically and seriously about what I would do if that were the case. My one friend who would indulge me with that possibility pointed out that there were so many people living with the disease each day, and that my life wasn't really over if I was positive, it would just become very different. He helped me outline a plan in which I would tell my parents and friends, finish school, seek medical attention and get counseling to deal with the shock.

     The day I went to get my result was sunny and warm, and everyone I saw seemed to be in a great mood. I was furious that people were enjoying their day, looking so carefree and healthy and alive, when I was about to receive the worst news of my life. I searched the counselors face as we walked back to the office, trying to read the result in her expression. We sat down and she informed me very matter-of-factly that my test was non-reactive, that I was negative, that I was not going to die of AIDS. The relief I felt was unreal. After I left the Health Center that day, I vowed to never put myself in that position again.

     I realize how lucky I was, and this experience has changed my perspective on my actions, my body, and my life greatly. If you have any doubts whatsoever about your status, I definitely recommend getting tested. This disease is a part of our generation and with each person who contracts it, we all lose something. Taking the test and waiting for the result is a harrowing, awful experience, but not knowing is the worst fate of all. We owe it to ourselves and to one other to be aware and to prevent this disease from going any further. - Deborah Armusewicz

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     I'm a hypochondriac. I'm also a gay man. These two attributes do not coincide well. Why? Because of the HIV virus. Since my first experience with another man, up until the time I got tested, I was certain that I had been infected. AIDS plagues the homosexual community. Some have estimated that as many as one in ten gay men have the HIV virus. Could I be one of those? Perhaps. I had only had intercourse with one person in my entire life (my first official boyfriend), and I made that person get tested before we did have sex, so the probability of me having HIV was minimal. Like I said, I'm a hypochondriac.

     After my boyfriend and I broke up, I became exceedingly anxious about the issue of HIV status. What if he had cheated on me and not told me? What if the HIV test that he got was inaccurate? Many horrifying thoughts became the focus of every minute I lived. I finally decided to get tested.

     Getting blood drawn did not bother me as much as I thought it would, and the woman even gave me a lollipop after she finished. The next two weeks were rough. I decided to read a book that a friend recommended to me, "Borrowed Time: An AIDS Memoir" by Paul Monette about two gay lovers who had been together for a long time before one of them was diagnosed with AIDS in the early '80s. As one might imagine, reading the account of their final 19 months together while waiting for the results to my first HIV test was a difficult experience. It did however, help me see the reality of the situation. Even if I did have it, life must go on.

     I got my results back, and they were negative. I was relieved, of course, but the elated feeling wore off quickly. Although I was negative, so many others have died. Why should I be one of the nine out of 10 gay men without AIDS? It's such a sad thing ­ the number of brilliant and intelligent people the members of this society will never have the ability to interact with. I have been relatively safe in my sexual actions, and I continue to be safe. The fear of dying from AIDS however, of having to sit down with my parents and explain to them that I will be dead in eight to 10 years, is still present. In life you have to take risks or you'll die wretched and miserable, but the only thing that I can do is make sure that the risks I take in regard to sex are minimal and for the right reason: Love. - Anonymous