According to the laws of our country you have to go for pre- and post-test counselling. Our University recently jacked up their counselling centre, both booking the sessions and the actual sessions were excellent. During the pre counselling the counsellor, Lance,  and I had a fairly detailed discussion about all my potentially risky activities. It was determined I was in a low-risk group, but definately in a place where I should get tested. It was rather uncomfortable discussing private relationship activities in such a mechanical manner; it put some perspective on it all. I though I knew a hell of a lot about HIV/AIDS, but I learned a few things sitting in that couch. The question that floored me was what I would do if I was positive. I realised telling my mother, who is already dealing with a lot right now, would be unfair and inescapable. Thoughts like that...

Afterwards I got a slip of paper and took the long walk to our sanatorium-on-the-hill. The sisters were mostly unpleasant, or indifferent, despite my best efforts to make pleasant conversation to calm myself. I spent about two hours in a state of panic. I remember watching the nurse smear my blood on this inane mass-produced (in India) tester while she thought about dinner and I wondered whether I would be able to taste mine.

That night I had a frank discussion with Daniela about my sexual history and hers. It is a discussion far too mature for young love. Afterwards we were both drained and feeling down. We then went on to have one of the best nights together. Perspective shifts can really bring you closer when you know that both perspectives involve you still being massivly in love with this person. As I fell asleep that night I wondered if this would be our last night of innocent, unburdened love.

The next day I went to get my results. Daneila skipped a journ lecture to come support me. The cousellor wasted no time in telling me 'it is good news'. We hadn't even sat down yet. I really appreciated that. There was a flood of relief followed instantly by guilt. My melodrama and anxiety seemed stupid compared to someone who is in real risk and gets a positive result.
Lance, the counsellor, is heading up the new counselling centre and I told him about my experiences, particularly those of the sanatorium. I am supposedly not the first who has told him. Some discussion around how to better the situation followed. I left wanting to feel alive and great. I just felt the same. I kept trying to get excited about it by telling people, but it didn't work.

In the end, the whole experience was an unpleasant character building one, the kind a student hedonist tries his hardest to avoid. The positive is that the counselling eased the difficulty and that this experience will hopefully help me and others to stay negative. The reality is that you can live a normal life for up to 20 years if you are positive, and wallowing in denial will literally kill you and possibly others.