Negatives as Positives

I was sitting in the shop one evening a few weeks ago when the normally quiet and unruffled Ester suddenly widened her eyes and told me she just remembered she needed to tell me something.

“Last night little Sylvia told me that the father used to inject them in the village.”

“What?” I said my eyes widening as big as hers.

She repeated herself. Then my head began spinning.

Into my mind flooded all the stupid things the father had done out of ignorance and poverty and possible madness. And into my mind also wandered the public service announcement I saw with Ester some months back on TV: a doctor cautioning a family against using the same needle when administering medication to different family members.

“Can you imagine one family using the same needle?” Ester had said laughing.

Yeah, now I could.

“I am guessing that the father reused the needles?” I asked Ester.

“Yeah, I asked the kids and they said he kept the same ones in the house.” I looked at her in disbelief.

“Did he use them on himself too?”

“That is what Sylvia said.”

I dropped my head into my hands. The father was HIV positive.

We had the two youngest tested for HIV the first day we took them in several months ago suspicious that they might be infected as the mother had recently passed from the disease and the little ones were so sick. Richard had also been tested in the summer prior to his surgery; all were negative.

“Okay. Tonight ask the kids the last time the father injected them. Be sure to ask them if he did it when they visited during Christmas. We need to rule out the possibility of him doing it since we took them last June.”

Ester nodded. She understood the importance of the time frame: HIV will sometimes not show up on tests until six months after becoming infected. Ester questioned the kids and to our relief they said the dad hadn’t injected them recently. Now it was time to test them.

So a couple of Saturdays ago as the three youngest, Rachel, Sylvia and Beatrice, played on the patio outside the Snack Shop in late morning sun, excited as usual to be at a shop they knew was established for them, their photos decorating the walls for all in town to see, Mama Ester finished a few tasks at the business before they departed for the hospital; the kids not knowing where they were going and what was about to happen.

“I’ll meet you here when you get back,” I said to her, anxious to get the results.

A couple hours later they returned, Ester climbing the shop’s steps with an even face, the girls in tow, the two youngest looking as if they recently shed tears.

“They are okay?” I asked uneasily. She nodded smiling.

“Good,” I sighed handing the little ones some pancakes for their troubles.

Meanwhile, Richard was having small procedure at the end of the week; the doctor was to remove a piece of bone for biopsy.

“Ask them for another HIV test while they are doing the procedure,” I told Ester.

A week later Richard and Ester returned from the hospital. Ester said the procedure went well, but the boy was in pain. I frowned; ineffective pain meds were all African hospitals could offer.

“Did they get the HIV results?” I asked her.

“Yes. He is negative.”

“Good,” I said deflating with relief.

Now it was time for Aggie’s test. I was concerned about my oldest since we recently had to chase off some boyfriends and previous to us taking her in, she had been chased off by her father to be married to an older man. It was becoming too difficult to coordinate taking her to the hospital without removing her from school, which she attended until the evenings Monday through Friday and half the day Saturday.

“We need to get Aggie tested now. We can’t keep putting this off. Let’s just take her to the lab here in town,” I finally said to Ester a few evenings ago. Soon thereafter Aggie showed up to the Snack Shop on her way home from school, darkness spreading against the sky.

“Aggie. Before you go home, you come with me,” I said to her. She followed me to the lab, sat down, and yelled and squirmed as the technician stuck the needle into the crook of her arm. I tried asking her about the recent running competitions at school to distract her. She had proudly announced to me when she saw me at the shop that she was selected to run on behalf of the school in a meet taking place in Mbale – a district about a four hour’s drive away.

“You got to go because you were the fastest?” I had asked excitedly. She smiled bashfully and nodded.

“Very good, Aggie!” I was very proud of her, never mind the fact that she was a sixteen year-old running against eleven year-olds.

But as the needle hung from her arm for several long moments she couldn’t remember why she was so excited about running for her school and getting to ride on a bus for probably the second time in her life, the first just a few months ago when she went to Entebbe as part of a class trip to see the zoo and airport, and I tried to forget for those long moments as the needle pulled her blood, watching red flood into the tube, why we were there in that eight by eight foot lab with the stinking latrines in the courtyard just outside, and I tried to forget for the thirty minutes thereafter, waiting dully for the test results, just as I had tried to forget all those previous weeks, this belittling my assurance, reproaching my peace of mind, and I didn’t realize how anxious I was until the little woman in the lab handed me the results and I looked down at the handwritten notes and ran outside, bounding across the center of town for some 50 yards, splashing through the soggy red soil, running up the crumbling shop steps, shoving the paper in Ester’s face, her brow furrowing as she read it aloud, “Agnes. Female. 16 years. Bloo-“

“No! Read the bottom!”

“HIV Negative!” She says her face spread in a huge smile.

“Yes! HIV Negative! They are all negative!” I practically yelled.

“Yes! That is so good! So good.”

Kids playing at Shop before HIV tests - and yes, B2 is wearing a Black to the Future T-shirt! ;)