Brian goes to the clinic

Every once in a while, us degenerates have to get tested for HIV. I decided to stop off at the state's health clinic in Pierre on my way to Aberdeen Wednesday morning to do just that. I skipped the clinic here in Mission to remain anonymous and to take advantage of the state's free services. Thanks South Dakota!

And before y'all get all excited wondering if I've met someone, I'll throw some cold water on that thought right now. Moving to the reservation has been, as expected, like joining a monastery. I got tested for my own peace of mind and so by the time I go on my next date, say, in 2012, I'll be able to tell the guy I'm negative.

Okay, back to Wednesday. I arrived and was immediately hustled back to a room and told I could take my shoes off prior to being weighed. Kind of weird, but I complied. As soon as my shoes were off, the woman asked, "You're here for the Biggest Loser competition, right?" I laughed and told her the reason why I was there. I also wanted to exclaim, "You think I'm fat, don't you!"

My shoes back on, I was shown the way back down the hall to the testing area. A different woman asked the typical questions, and then offered me a menu of testing options. I could choose the simple oral swab to test for HIV and piss into a cup, or I could upgrade to blood work. Everything was free, so I chose piss and blood. She thoughtfully asked if I had a preference of which test I'd like to complete first. My bladder was full after the hour-and-a-half drive from Mission, so I practically grabbed the plastic cup and brown bag out of her hand before running down the hall to the restroom.

And what's the deal with the brown bag? Jesus, it's a health clinic; I don't think it would have been too uncomfortable for everyone involved if I had walked down the hall holding an exposed cup of piss. But no, let's fool no one by putting it into a bag. "Oh, don't mind me. This is just my lunch." I returned to the room with the cup filled to the appropriate level (and I had plenty to spare!). Next would be the blood work.

I'm not scared of needles and they don't hurt in the least. However, my body just doesn't react well to them. My extremities get tingly, my vision starts to become fuzzy, and voices sound as if they are coming from the end of a really long tunnel. And it's not just needles either. I can tell you stories about trips to the orthodontist and the eye doctor that almost resulted with me unconscious. Even conversations with friends centered on medical procedures can leave me clutching for balance. My parents knew early on in my childhood I would never become a doctor.

And I'm getting worse as I get older. I almost fell out of a chair while having blood work done in Juneau. The physician's assistant kindly asked if next time I wouldn't mind laying on the table so she wouldn't have to worry about me falling on the floor.

Back to Pierre... There was no table in the room, so I remained in my chair. She placed the tourniquet around my left arm and said, "You have nice veins." I replied, "I know. That's what all the ladies say." Okay, I didn't really say that.

I always make an effort to distract myself from needles. I figure if I don't watch what's transpiring, everything will be okay. Since she was taking the blood from my left arm, I looked off to the right. Unfortunately for me, I was just a few feet away from a poster depicting every STD under the sun. I really could have used a picture of rainbows and teddy bears right then; instead, I got pubic lice and herpes. Yum.

I barely felt the needle going into my arm. Before I knew it, she was done. She could have done a better job of hiding the vial of my blood afterward though. Where was that brown paper bag when it was really needed? I don't need to be seeing my blood. That's when my vision fuzzed over. She was speaking to me, explaining how long it would take for the results to come back, blah, blah, blah. I think I responded, but I don't remember. I could barely hear her.

I should have told her what was going on. I'm not usually bashful about telling my healthcare professionals when I start to feel faint. But not this time. She led me to the door, and I guess we walked out.

The next thing I know, I'm in the fetal position on the floor around the corner with two women hovering over me. I had passed out. Two things surprised me: how quickly I realized what had happened and the relatively long distance I had covered prior to collapsing in a heap. The younger of the two was the one who had taken my blood. Bless her heart, I guess she saw me leaning into the wall and tried to keep me upright. She must have weighed about 110 pounds soaking wet. Yeah, there was no saving me.

Under orders, I stayed on the ground for a couple minutes. A chair was brought over, where I then sat for a good 20 minutes. They brought me a soda and a damp rag to place on the back of my neck. I really wanted to barf, but that would have done no one any good. The nausea passed.

I started to joke about what had happened to try to convince them I was okay. It was first time I had ever passed out, but I had come awfully close in the past. No big deal. The younger woman commented I was the first patient to pass out on her. I swear, she said it was "cool." As it turned out, she is also running in Deadwood in June. She's running the half, while I'm doing the full marathon. I'm sure she'll remember me. You never forget your first.

The older woman, on the other hand, was completely freaked out. She asked if there was anyone who could take me home. Not only did I live out of town, but I had a two-and-a-half hour drive to Aberdeen ahead of me. Sorry.

I finally convinced them I was perfectly fine to continue my drive. And I was. If I had really thought there was something seriously wrong with me, I'd have asked them to take me to the emergency room. I have a bit of a hypochondriac streak in me at times, mostly because I've never really been seriously ill.

To the very end, I tried to lighten the atmosphere with my wit with the older woman; however, she wasn't having any of it. The two ladies at the front desk thought the whole situation was quite humorous though. One of them, in fact, said, "If that happens again, I'm giving you mouth-to-mouth." Hey, what are you doing Saturday night?

I walked out to the car and rolled the windows down. I had a snack (I'm always so prepared) and drank more of the soda. And then I was ready to roll. Just as I was about to pull out of the parking lot though, the two women came walking out. That was actually the scariest part of the whole ordeal. Their posture and pace said, "You're not going anywhere Mister."

The older woman asked if I had had a history of seizures. Okay, I sincerely appreciated the concern, but I didn't have a seizure. I once again told them this happens every single time I get a needle. This time, I just happened to pass out. Frankly, I'm surprised it took this long for it to happen. So, I'm no doctor, but I'm fairly certain I didn't have a seizure. The younger woman did ask if I would please call the office when I arrived in Aberdeen to let them know I made it okay. I promised I would.

And that was it. I felt fine during the remaining drive. I stopped off for a hamburger in Roscoe, which had me feeling even better. I made it to Aberdeen, calling the clinic even before getting out of the car. And the rest of my birthday was totally dull in comparison.

I'm telling you, if me being in a relationship ever again means I'll eventually have to get tested again, celibacy isn't looking so bad after all.