I have a slightly stuffy nose. Is it allergies? Is it a cold? Is it “flu-like symptoms?”

My bravado says that HIV wouldn’t appreciably increase my risk of dying young, because I’m trans and that probably cut my life expectancy pretty drastically anyway, but that’s not really true. It would be another chronic condition to manage, another thing that could very seriously endanger me if my life gets disrupted by political upheaval. Getting persecuted for being trans could mean interruptions to my HIV care, if I need it, and that would cut me off from much of the advancements in care from the past two decades.

My children are mostly past biting, so I feel somewhat less worried that I’ll get bit by an angry child and panic that they might get exposed. But believe me, it has crossed my mind.

I would probably reach out to four people to suggest they get tested. Their risks from me are vanishingly small, but MY risks going into this were vanishingly small, too. “Hey, we cuddled a lot. Um. You should prolly get tested for HIV.”

I didn’t sleep much last night. My co-parent and partners were gentle and supportive. I got boba. I painted my nails and watched Strange New Worlds: Ad Astra Per Aspera. The provider at the gender clinic was kind, informative, and reassuring, and she told me to do nice things for myself while I wait for results.

There’s no reason for me to believe that reactive test wasn’t a false positive. There’s no reason for me to worry. I’m going to be fine.

If I say it enough, well… I think transition has proven that lying to myself about my feelings doesn’t work out.

I’m afraid.

2/2