A Woman’s Work: Street Chronicles (10 page)

The whole situation of being raped and humiliated made me sick to my stomach, literally. I couldn’t hold down any food, and I kept getting sick. It was like I had a flu that I just couldn’t shake to save my life. It would go away one week and come back the next. Some mornings I woke up to what felt like the worst headache known to mankind. I guess going through the drama that I’d experienced had taken a toll on my body so deep that it was making me sick.

I was at work one morning vomiting everything I had eaten that day when Trina, a co-worker, came in to see if I was okay. I told her how sick and exhausted I’d been lately and she asked something that blew my mind. “Are you pregnant? It sure sounds like you are, girl.”

Oh, Lord, I didn’t remember the last time I saw my period, and the sad part was, if I was pregnant, I didn’t know who the father was. My life was sinking further and further into the ground.

Trina gave me her doctor’s number and told me to give her a call. “She’s an excellent doctor, girl. Call her and tell her what’s going on with you. She will help you with any decisions you make. Trust me, she’s awesome.”

So the very next morning I called Dr. Lawrence and made an afternoon appointment. I told her everything that had been going
on with me lately. She took some notes and gave me a full physical. Afterward she sent me to a lab to get some blood drawn for a pregnancy test.

After taking those damn tests, she told me that she’d call me as soon as she got the results, in a day or so. I thanked her for seeing me on such short notice and went home to lie down because I was feeling tired as hell. Before I even made it home, I got a call on my cell from her office telling me she needed to see me back in her office the next morning.
Oh, my God
, I thought.
I’m about to get more bad news. I can barely take care of myself, much less bring a life into this world. What am I going to tell Dr. Lawrence when she asks me about my child’s father? I can’t say “Well, I slept with like a million niggas and got raped by two, so I have no clue who the fuck the father is
.”

I
was back in Dr. Lawrence’s office bright and early the next morning. My appointment was for 10:45 a.m. but I was there at 8:00 a.m. The thought of being pregnant made me sicker than I had been all month. First of all, I wasn’t ready to share my life and time with anyone, including a baby. Having a child means that your every moment and your every step is spent being a mother, and most important, that has to be your purpose for living; there’s no break in that. Second, I damn sure wasn’t ready to dismantle this well-defined body that God blessed me with. I wasn’t prepared to see my waistline increase ten sizes, my nose stretched way across my face, and even worse, I wasn’t mentally prepared to see one fucking stretch mark on my abs. Yet the greatest anxiety-producer of all: Who was the damn daddy, and where would I
begin looking for him? I got so apprehensive I had to walk outside to catch a breath of fresh air.

“Girl, calm your nerves,” I said to myself as I caught a glimpse of my worried face in the mirror. Sweat was running down my forehead, which was a sure sign of nervousness, since the central air had that building feeling like the North Pole. “You can get through any situation, so don’t let this one break you down.” I’ve been in worse predicaments than this, and it’s not like I never had an abortion before. However, I felt so guilty the last time I had one that I had vowed that it would
be
the last time.

After taking a moment to get myself together and downing two cups of coffee, I made my way back into the office just in time to hear the nurse calling me.

“Yes, I’m right here,” I quickly responded as I rushed through the door and ran over to greet her.

“You made it just in time,” she joked. “Follow me, please.” She gave me a warm, charming smile as she escorted me to an empty office. “Dr. Lawrence will be in to see you shortly.”

“Thank you.” I sat down, thinking over how my life was about to change, maybe for good, maybe for bad. One thing I knew for certain was that I wasn’t having another abortion. Maybe this baby could be my blessing in disguise. Maybe this child could change my goal from becoming the world’s greatest singer to becoming the world’s greatest mother. There are plenty of single parents out there, and they’re doing just fine. I’m not going to put myself through the embarrassing hassle of trying to find out who fathered this child. I’m going to do it all by myself. I’m going to give this child the love, attention, and support that my parents didn’t give me. You know, the more I thought about the situation, the more comfortable I became with the idea of being someone’s mom. Imagine someone calling me Mommy!

In the midst of my thoughts, the door opened and Dr. Lawrence and some white lady walked in. I didn’t know if she was a
nurse, another doctor, or an intern, but I did know that I didn’t want a stranger all up in my business. Doctors’ appointments are always private and confidential, so it was a safe bet that this extra ear in the room wasn’t sitting right with me.

“Hello, Melissa. Nice seeing you again. I hope you feel a little bit better than you did yesterday.”

“Well, I didn’t get any rest last night, so I feel a bit tired. When your office called and told me to come back into the office today, I got extremely nervous.”

“I understand your worries. The doctor’s office is always the last place anyone wants to go.” Dr. Lawrence then looked over at the white lady and gave a sort of sign for her to introduce herself, so she began talking.

“Hello, Melissa. My name is Dr. Linda Bloomsburg. I’m a licensed psychologist and on-staff counselor for the majority of Dr. Lawrence’s patients. One thing I want to make clear before we explain why I’m present during your visit is that everything that’s discussed in this office is strictly confidential and will never leave our office without your written consent.”

Now, I’d been in plenty of doctors’ offices to get pregnancy tests done, but that was the first time I’d had a counselor present. This must be some high-class fancy shit, but hey, I can live with it.

Dr. Lawrence opened a folder and began talking to me again. “Let me first tell you that we have the results of your pregnancy test. I ran two different tests on you, a urine test and a blood test, and they both came back.”

Here comes the moment of truth
. By this time I wasn’t the least bit concerned about the situation anymore. All I wanted to do was find out the truth as quickly as possible so I could make preparations to deliver a healthy baby and get back in shape, if I was in fact pregnant.

“Both tests came back negative. You aren’t pregnant, Melissa.”

I was sort of disappointed, because I was just getting used to the idea of being a mother. On the other hand, I was utterly grateful that my body wasn’t going to get stretched out like a pair of small tights on a three-hundred-pound woman.

“Oh, that’s good to know,” I replied. “At least now I get to plan my pregnancy for a more convenient time in my life.”

I was smiling and feeling pleased with the good news, but then I noticed that the doctors were exchanging a look.

“Melissa,” Dr. Lawrence continued. “Our lab noticed something when they collected your blood sample for the pregnancy test. Now, I don’t want you to get alarmed, because they could be wrong, so we’re going to need more blood to run some more tests.”

“Well, what did they find in my blood, or think they found in my blood, should I say?”

“The results showed some HIV antibodies in your blood sample. However, we’re going to conduct a rapid test today, which will confirm or dismiss our lab’s assumption.”

She was rambling, talking a bunch of medical terminology, but I was still stuck on, “The results showed some HIV antibodies in your blood sample.” I felt light-headed. I knew I had heard her incorrectly.

“Did you say HIV? What the fuck do you mean by ‘HIV antibodies in your blood sample’? I came here for a fucking pregnancy test, not to hear any bullshit like this.”

Dr. Bloomsburg then pulled her chair closer to me. At that moment I understood why she was present. These motherfuckers knew I was going to go off, so they had a psychologist present to help calm me down. Well, they should have had the United States Army up in there, because I was about to explode like a ticking time bomb.

“I know you’re feeling confused, upset, frustrated, and stressed-out right now, but I’m here to help you through this
transition. Let’s take the rapid test to see what measures we have to take next. There have been cases where the labs have been wrong, and we’re praying that this is one of them. The best thing to do now is to remain calm and levelheaded.”

“Bitch, you can remain calm. I’m the one who’s being told that I
may
have a disease that
will
make me extremely sick and then kill my ass. I’m the one being told that I
may
have a disease there’s no fucking cure for.”

The rage in my voice made Dr. Bloomsburg back the hell up out of my face. I wanted to kill her for even suggesting that I remain calm and levelheaded. “Melissa, many people are living healthy and normal lives after finding out that they are HIV positive. Times have changed, and we’re getting closer and closer to finding a cure. However, in the meantime, there are many medications and therapy treatments that have proven effective.”

Then tears began to flow from my eyes like the Mississippi River. I fell out of my chair onto the floor. “Why me, Lord? Why me? Haven’t I already suffered enough?”

“This is not the time to give up. We have to take more tests, and then if you are in fact infected, we have to do all we can to keep you alive. I won’t sit and tell you that it’s going to be an easy road, but I can say that if you fight this disease, you’ll stand a greater chance of survival.”

My body was numb to the point that I could barely speak clearly. There were so many questions and regrets piercing my mind.
Who gave me this disease? Who did I pass it on to? Why didn’t I strap up every time I slept with someone? If I am in fact HIV positive, I’m going to kill myself before it kills me. There’s no way I’m living my life like that
.

After a long, drawn-out discussion, I agreed to take the rapid HIV test to see if I was infected with the disease. So once again I was back at the lab having my blood drawn for what could be the most devastating news a person could ever hear. As the phlebotomist
wrapped the tourniquet around my arm and looked for my vein, I burst into tears. I wanted to pull my arm away and go home to take my life on my own terms, but I couldn’t do it without actually knowing if I had this atrocious disease.

After my blood sample was collected, I was told to go back upstairs. When I returned to the office, Dr. Bloomsburg was still in the room reviewing my chart. In an awkward kind of way, she tried to pacify me, but to tell the truth, I was angry and didn’t want to hear a word she had to say. This was routine for her. She had probably sat in front of a million motherfuckers and dropped a bomb on their lives. I wasn’t trying to hear all that medication, therapy, and prayer shit. The fact still remained that this disease was going to kill me one day; maybe not tomorrow, but one day.

I was
angry
with all the men I had fucked. I was
angry
with these doctors and the lab for telling me that I
may
have this disease. But most important, I was
angry
with myself. How could I do this to myself? I knew that HIV was alive and very much real, but I had never in a million years thought it would catch up with my ass.

For about thirty minutes, I sat and listened to Dr. Bloomsburg telling me how healthy I could be should the test results come back against me. The bitch even popped in some bullshit DVD titled
Making Ways Out of No Way
. From the look of things, she was pretty convinced that I had the disease. She kept telling me to have hope, but on the other hand she was preparing me for the worst.

After waiting for what felt like a billion hours, Dr. Lawrence returned to the office with a folder in her hand. She didn’t have to say a word; the look on her face said it all. Instantly I began to cry hysterically. My life as I knew it was over. I’d made poor decisions and now I would have to pay the price for them.

Dr. Lawrence sat down and said, “Melissa, you have to be
strong at this stage. If you want to
live
, you have to
give
. You have to give your all, and fight like you’ve never fought before. Don’t let this disease beat you.”

Despite the doctor’s positive words, all I heard was, “You’re going to die. You’re going to suffer in the worst way before you die alone.”

After taking more tests and listening to more bullshit, I finally went home. I had never felt so empty. For a while I just sat in the house and cried. I’m pretty sure I lost my job, since I didn’t make the effort to call in, which meant that I would be living on the streets very soon; what else was new? I didn’t bother to take a bath, change my clothes, or even pick up the phone when my co-workers and a couple of guy friends tried to call me. They were all going to cut me off once they found out I was HIV positive anyway, so I might as well beat them to the punch.

I was sitting in misery one afternoon when I heard a knock on the door. As usual, I ignored it and kept watching TV. Suddenly I heard the door opening, which caused me to jump out of my seat. “Who is coming into my fucking house?” I yelled.

“
Your
house,” the woman repeated. “I sent your ass countless letters and you’ve ignored them all. You see, when you don’t pay your rent and you don’t show up for court and then turn around and ignore the notices on your door that say you have to be out of here by a certain day, which was yesterday, this is what happens.” It was my nagging-ass landlord. She was coming in to put me out on my ass in the middle of
The Young and the Restless
.

“Look, Sheila, I’m sick, which caused me to lose my job. I’m going through something right now, but I promise I’ll get you your money. I have no money right now and nowhere to go.”