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January 13, 2016 - Image 12

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The Michigan Daily

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Wednesday, January 13, 2016 // The Statement
4B
Wednesday, January 13, 2016 // The Statement
5B

By AMABEL KAROUB

Daily Staff Reporter

Editor’s note: The names of individuals performing the HIV

testing described in this story have been changed to protect their
identities because the reporter did not identify themselves as
such, denoted by an asterisk.

Spectrum Center, Michigan Union

I walk into the Spectrum Center and immediately grab

a fun-sized bag of Skittles from a box on the floor. I rip
them open carelessly, stick five in my mouth and chew them
aggressively. Spotting me, a man in his mid-twenties, Alex*,
asks me, cheerfully, if I’m here for HIV testing.

“Yes,” I say.
It’s the only word I’ll speak for 20 minutes.
I don’t tell him that I’m a reporter because I want to

experience the process as any patient would, a practice I would
repeat for every subsequent testing.

The Spectrum Center is the short name for the University’s

Office of LGBT Affairs. Its mission, it seems, is to end
stigmatization around non-heterosexuality on campus. It
offers a space where students can go to learn more about
different gender identities and hopes to create a campus that
is discrimination-free.

I suppose it makes sense, then, that Spectrum, a place

that welcomes non-heterosexuality, is also a site for human
immunodeficiency virus testing. In the United States, HIV is
still seen by many as a disease that afflicts mostly homosexual
males. This is not totally unfair — of the 29, 800 new HIV cases
in the U.S. in 2010, roughly 78 percent were MSM, or men who
have sex with men.

At Spectrum, the HIV/AIDS Resource Center, or HARC,

hosts HIV testing once a week, on Mondays from 6 to 8 p.m.

On a table above the box of Skittles sits a cup filled with

condoms, paired with a helpful flyer that promises to teach
me “How To Use a Condom.” The entryway has a rainbow-
colored mat. Ah, that’s why they chose Skittles. Taste the
Rainbow.

In some ways, the room is full — it is filled with books

written about or by members of the LGBT community, flyers
and boxes of grab-able items.

What the room lacks, however, are other humans. I am the

only person here for testing.

I eat another pack of Skittles, then Alex hands me a

questionnaire. I begin answering questions that attempt to
outline my sex habits and drug and alcohol use.

Have you ever had sex without a condom?

Have you ever had sex while intoxicated?
I finish the questionnaire and hand it to Alex, who tells me

to wait.



Last year, HIV cases reached a 15-year high in Washtenaw

County. In a press release, Cathy Wilcznyksi, adult health
program supervisor for Washtenaw County Public Health,
urged everyone to get tested — and to use condoms.

“Testing is important,” Wilczynski wrote. “Know your

status. If you have sex, use a condom. It’s that simple.”

HIV is transmitted primarily through sex, specifically

unprotected sex. I know from friends and classmates that a
lot of people on the University’s campus have unprotected sex.
Statistics also back this up: A 2011 survey by Bayer Healthcare
showed that 53 percent of people between ages 15 and 24 have
had unprotected sex with a new partner at least once.

With this tendency toward risk in mind, it seems important

that we, as young people, feel comfortable with the idea of
getting tested for HIV.

Testing options are limited for University students, available

at only two places on campus. There’s Spectrum, then there’s
the Wolverine Wellness department at University Health
Services.

There used to be a third place right near campus where

students could get tested — the Safe Sex Store. The store closed
last October due to lack of sales. Located on South University
Avenue, it sold condoms and other sex paraphernalia. The
owner, Beth Karmeisool, offered free HIV testing every
Thursday.

Karmeisool still has an online store that offers a lot of the

same products that the physical location used to sell. Even so,
she no longer offers the free services that were available at S3,
including HIV testing, pregnancy testing and sexual health
counseling.

Karmeisool had a specific complaint about testing sites like

UHS and Spectrum: lack of a friendly environment. She said
she believes S3 was more accessible to students due to the retail
environment of her store. The products for sale offered an easy
excuse for students who might be embarrassed to get tested
for fear of running into someone they knew — students getting
tested could say they were buying condoms, etc. if they ran into
friends.

“I do think that some students found it easier to come in to

S3,” she said. “It’s a little bit nerve wracking to go to UHS or the
Spectrum Center or any other community health center.”

In my experience Karmeisool was right: S3 was definitely

not intimidating. The store was reminiscent of a candy shop,

except its buckets held condoms and other sex toys instead
of Sour Patch Kids and gummy worms. Always present was a
golden retriever, Jake — a trained therapy dog who the store’s
visitors could play with.

At full capacity, Karmeisool would test about five people a

week for HIV, sometimes more. Without her store, she said the
Ann Arbor community is missing an important resource.

“There’s now a void there, and that does make me sad,” she

said.

Wolverine Wellness, UHS

It’s freezing cold and raining, so I throw on a black trench

coat, pairing it with leggings and a charcoal sweater. I look like
I’m in mourning.

I have an appointment for HIV testing at Wolverine

Wellness, which is on the second floor of UHS. Wolverine
Wellness’ mission is to “promote wellness” for students, and
help them make “informed decisions.” In practice, this seems
to mean helping curb excessive alcohol and marijuana use, in
addition to offering services like HIV testing.

When I called, the receptionist told me I was not to put

anything in my mouth — including food, drink and gum — for
30 minutes before the test.

I walk in chewing a piece of fluorescent green gum, which I

meant to spit out earlier but didn’t.

When I check in, I am handed a clipboard and told to sit on a

couch in a small waiting room. There is a sound soother blaring
white noise to my right, as if I’m about to get a massage. Still
chewing my gum, I begin to fill out a questionnaire similar to
the one I was given at Spectrum.

I am once again the only person getting tested. I think of

the image Karmeisool described of packed testing dates at S3,
picturing some sort of rambunctious get-together, and feel
strangely lonely.



Leon Golson is the director of Prevention Programs at HARC

— the nonprofit that hosts the testing at Spectrum. HARC does
a lot of outreach for HIV and AIDS around Washtenaw County.

Golson said that a failure to test exists not just on the

University’s campus, but also throughout Washtenaw County.
Spectrum’s testing site is a satellite location of HARC.

HARC tested only six people positive for HIV in 2014. Golson

said the number is representative not of the actual people who
contracted HIV in Washtenaw County last year, but of the
failure of at-risk individuals to get tested.

“It continues to be a challenge, particularly in the Ypsilanti/

Ann Arbor area, to really get those individuals who are at risk
to come in and get tested,” Golson said. “We try and make

An exploration into HIV testing at the University

Getting Tested:

ourselves available as much as we possibly can
to our targeted populations.”

Golson did not agree with Karmeisool that

people in Washtenaw County fail to get tested
because they do not feel there is a friendly
environment available. Instead, he said people
are scared of dealing with the consequences
that would come with testing positive.

“Having to commit to taking a pill every

day,” Golson said. “Then there’s the issue
around disclosing your status. So that can
really make it hard for folks to feel comfortable
about going through an HIV test.”

Though there is still a stigma around being

HIV-positive, the open discrimination against
the afflicted seen in the early days of the virus
no longer seems to be a serious issue. Golson
has been living with HIV for 30 years. He said
he has never faced any obvious discrimination
due to his HIV status.

“I probably wouldn’t even recognize it if it

was happening,” he said. “From my experience,
my perception has all been very positive with
regards to my HIV status.”

In administering tests, Golson has had to

deliver a positive test result. He said HARC
tries to make patients in this situation feel as
though the power is in their hands.

“If I’m giving positive results, I will share

my status, let them know how I’ve been living
with it,” Golson said. “We usually try to leave
them with a sense of hope, and some concrete
next steps that they can act on.”

Spectrum

I eat a third pack of Skittles before Alex

tells me to come with him. We go into a small,
fluorescently lit room where extra cardboard
boxes of Skittles are stored. This is good news,
as there will probably be none left in the main
room by the time I leave.

Along a circular table, a napkin is laid out

with a tab of paper that looks like the pH paper
I’ve used in countless chemistry labs and a
small, box-like object that resembles a pencil
sharpener.

Alex tells me about the test: The pencil

sharpener is actually a needle that will prick
my finger. The paper tracks antibodies —
basically, it’s tracking whether or not your
immune system is responding to the HIV
virus. If a dark line appears that means I have
the antibody, which means I have HIV. The
test will take 20 minutes.

“How are you doing?” Alex asks, probably

concerned about my seeming inability to
speak.

“I’m fine,” I say, listlessly. The first time I’ve

spoken since, “Yes.”

At this, Alex takes the pencil sharpener

and presses it down on my fingertip, causing a
needle to prick me, hard. It feels like my finger
has just been stapled. Blood gushes out.

Alex realizes he didn’t take out a pipette —

which he needs to suck blood from my finger
and put it on the testing paper. My finger
bleeds all over the napkin while Alex takes way
too long to remove a pipette from the box.

Once he finally gets my blood onto the paper,

he covers the strip up so I won’t stare at it, and
starts a 20-minute timer. Then he talks to me. I
stare down at my blood, which is spattered all
over the table.

Alex does not seem to think I have HIV.

He does not ask me what I will do if I have it.
Instead, he wants me to make a plan for what I
will do in the future to keep myself HIV-free.

With 12 minutes gone, Alex decides to

uncover the strip. The test for the antibody is
negative: I do not have HIV. Alex says he has
never had a positive.



LSA
sophomore
Isaiah
Zeavin-Moss,

a student in my AIDS class, also went to
Spectrum for HIV testing. Like me, Isaiah was
not actually concerned about having HIV.

“In general, it was a pretty disenchanting,

disappointing experience,” Isaiah said.

I met Isaiah at the Starbucks on South

University Avenue, right across from where
the Safe Sex Store used to be. I sat down next
to him at a two-person table.

I’m not sure whether or not Alex tested

Isaiah, but Alex did say he had tested other
people from my class, and I’m going to assume
he did.

When checking Isaiah’s result, Alex found

he had administered the test wrong. He said
this was the second time he had done this in
two weeks.

Isaiah said he could not imagine how

terribly someone would feel if they were truly
worried they had HIV and their test was
botched.

“If I had felt that I was in legitimate danger

of having HIV, if I came in there with a real
fear of that … I would only be made to feel way
more fearful,” he said.

Isaiah did say that Alex was a really

cool person. They had a long talk about
communication in relationships, discussing
the reasons for the popularity of the Tinder
app.

“We came up with the idea that Tinder is

so popular because communication is almost
discouraged,” Isaiah said. “Anything beyond
the encounter itself isn’t part of the equation
anymore. It was super interesting.”

Unlike me, Alex did ask Isaiah what he

would do if he had HIV. They talked about
who he would turn to for support if his test
was positive.

I don’t know why Alex didn’t ask me the

same question. Maybe he didn’t take me
seriously, or maybe I just wasn’t giving him
much to work with.

UHS

After a couple of minutes, a woman comes

quietly out of a door directly to my right. I
don’t notice her come in, and I jump visibly as
she says hello to me in a quiet purr. This tester,
Laurel*, is much older than Alex, and reminds
me of a mother, though not mine.

I realize I still haven’t spit out my illicit

gum, and try and surreptitiously throw it in
Laurel’s trash. I am totally obvious about
it, but she doesn’t notice. When she asks
me, “So you haven’t put anything in your
mouth, right?” I almost crack a smile. I
tell her no, I haven’t.

Unlike the test at Spectrum, this will

one will be oral. I sigh with relief: no
finger prick.

Laurel shows me a small tube of what

she calls “developer fluid.” She then
gives me directions on how to swab
my mouth. I tune out immediately, like

when my tennis coach explains a complicated
volley drill and I’m left scrambling to follow
the other players.

Laurel hands me a little stick that looks

like an extra thick Q-tip and looks at me
expectantly. When I blurt out that I don’t
know what to do, she smiles kindly.

“I’ll guide you,” she tells me.
On her command, I move the swab all along

my inside top lip, then my bottom lip, then
stick it into the open tube of developer fluid.
Like the prick test, my results will take 20
minutes.

On the swab stick, there are two lines: a

C-line and a T-line. Also similar to the prick
test, the swab is looking for HIV antibodies, or
response proteins in my body. If only a C-line
appears, the test is negative. If a C- and a T-line
appear, the test is positive.

Though Laurel is much more

soothing than Alex was, she does
not
invite
my
confidence.

Throughout the 20 minutes,
she
drills
me
with

personal questions about
my sex life, protection
use and alcohol use
that I do not want to
answer. Whenever
I
do

answer, she jumps on the opportunity to pick
my words apart for additional meaning.

Like Alex, Laurel fails to address the

question of what I will do if I’m positive.

When time is up, Laurel shows me the test,

which is, expectedly, negative.

On my wet walk back to my apartment,

I once again pass the old location of the Safe
Sex Store. I think about how HIV is real. How
people do get it, even in college, even in places
like Ann Arbor. And students who are sexually
active, or just interested, should have places
to go on campus where they feel comfortable
talking about it.

Maybe that’s what the Safe Sex Store was.

And if that’s true, then this campus needs
another place like it. Hopefully, that place will
come soon.

Photos by Zoey

Holstrom/ DAILY

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