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

