Chapter 9
NINE
LONDON
The Diagnosis
Victoria could confidently say December the twentieth, 2005, was the longest day in her whole thirty-five years on the planet.
With a feeling of dread in her stomach, heavy and dense as a block of lead, she got off the bus and followed the same steps she had taken just two weeks before. That morning, she had tried to concentrate on creating a mailshot for an ice-cream company but had ended up just drinking back-to-back cups of coffee and staring at her computer screen. What she had found out the night before, and what was worrying her the most, was that chlamydia could remain asymptomatic, and there was a chance, if that were the case, that it could affect a woman’s fertility.
Vic felt a sense of relief at the familiarity of seeing the same grey-haired nurse who had examined her sitting behind the glass-fronted reception desk.
‘Hi, I’m Victoria Sharpe. I got a text about an appointment today. ’
‘Oh, Victoria, hello.’ Muttering something to her colleague, the woman came out from behind the desk. ‘This way, please.’
With a pounding heart, Vic followed her into a small treatment room. As well as an examination bed and sink, a table flanked by two chairs housed a variety of leaflets and a box of tissues.
The nurse ushered Vic to sit down, then joined her at the table. ‘I’m Sandra Bellows, and I’m one of the sexual health practitioners here. We didn’t get the chance to share full introductions before.’
‘No – just some bodily fluids,’ Vic joked, then blew out a huge breath. ‘I know why I’m here. It’s chlamydia, isn’t it?’
The nurse closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. ‘I’m not sugar-coating this in any way, Victoria. All of your tests have come back, and you are showing as HIV-positive.’
Victoria felt the blood drain from every single part of her body.
‘Sorry. What did you say?’ Her voice wobbled. ‘I think you must have made a terrible mistake.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ the nurse said, her expression concerned and kind.
‘HIV? No!’ Vic put her hand over her mouth in horror, then burst into tears.
Sandra put one hand on her shoulder and passed her a tissue with the other.
‘No! You’re wrong. It’s gay men who mainly get it, isn’t it? Or people in Africa? Name me one woman who has it!’ Vic pulled at her hair. ‘Oh my God, oh my God, does this mean I’m going to die? Oh my God.’ She stood up and started pacing around. ‘Oh fuck! How? Does this mean I’ll get AIDS?’ She sat down again.
When she had quietened down, Sandra spoke in a calm and deliberate voice. ‘You will get the best treatment there is at the Chelsea and Westminster. I can promise you that. We are going to look after you. OK?’
Vic was inconsolable. ‘How can I have HIV, though? I’ve had the same boyfriend for six years.’ She shut her eyes for a second and her thoughts turned to Danny. But they had used a condom, so it was impossible that he could have given it to her, surely.
‘Your assigned consultant will be able to answer all your questions,’ the nurse replied in a soothing tone.
Victoria sniffed loudly, feeling sick to her stomach and desperately wishing for this not to be real. ‘Am I going to die, Sandra? I’m so scared.’ She gripped the woman’s hand. ‘I just can’t believe this is happening to me.’
‘Would you like to call somebody?’ Sandra’s voice was as soft as it was strong. ‘It’s fine, I can leave the room if you want to do that.’
‘No, no. I’m fine,’ Vic blubbered. ‘What happens now?’
‘OK, so we need to take some more bloods and a urine sample, and I have to ask you a few questions.’
Vic’s mind was racing and she started to ramble to herself. ‘Fuck! Oh my God. Nate must have got it off that stupid bitch from work, or someone else for that matter, and given it to me.’
‘Like I said before, there will never be any judgement here.’ The nurse took Vic’s hand and squeezed it again. ‘And the important thing is to get you sorted. Can I ask if you can remember having any flu-type illness recently or in the past few years?’
Vic stared at her, remembering how ill she had felt at Orla’s. ‘Yes! Just recently.’
‘Did you notice a rash at all?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘OK.’ Sandra nodded knowingly. ‘Exactly which dates was that?’
Vic took out her diary with shaking hands and relayed the dates to Sandra. ‘Is that connected, then? The rash. I have to say it’s the most ill I’ve ever felt in my entire life.’
‘I’m sure it was. And yes, it’s a good thing if it is connected because it means we’re diagnosing you early,’ Sandra replied matter-of-factly.
‘Is… is there a cure, or one on the horizon?’
‘Not yet. But the research going on around the virus is massive and the drug treatments we have available enable people to live a long and healthy life now. It’s not a death sentence like it used to be, Victoria. I promise you that.’
Vic tried to think straight about what to do next. Her voice was now a whisper. ‘How do I tell Nate? How do I tell him? Or maybe he knows already! I take it having unprotected sex is how I would have got it?’
‘You’re not a drug user, are you?’
Vic shook her head. ‘The odd toke of weed if it’s on offer.’
‘You don’t inject yourself with anything?’
Vic screwed her face up. ‘No way!’
‘Sorry, I have to ask,’ Sandra replied sympathetically. ‘Then yes, I would say you got it via sexual contact.’ She scribbled down some words on a pad in front of her. ‘We can contact anyone you’ve been in sexual contact with if you’d like us to, as it’s very important they are tested too.’
‘I fucking hate him!’ Vic wailed. ‘I want to talk to him first – is that OK?’
‘Yes, of course. The sooner the better, really.’
‘I can’t take it in.’ Victoria sniffed. ‘It’s like I’m going to wake up in a minute and it’s all been the worst nightmare I’ve ever had in my life.’
‘You’re going to need support through this, and don’t be frightened to take it. And make sure to ask as many questions as you need to. Here are some information leaflets.’
Victoria put them straight in her bag without looking at them.
‘So, will I need to take some form of medication now?’
‘We have an appointment for you back here with Dr Anna Raglan tomorrow at four, if that’s OK.’
‘Yes, yes, of course.’ Vic shook her head manically.
‘Let me scribble that on here, so you don’t forget.’ Sandra wrote the appointment details on the top of a leaflet and handed it to her.
‘This leaflet is for the Terrence Higgins Trust. They are the leading HIV charity and have a direct number to call for emotional support, advice and any information you may need. They will also be able to set you up with a counsellor if you’d like one. There are various support groups you will be able to attend – if you want to, that is. If you feel that you desperately need to speak to anyone outside of their opening hours, Samaritans are available twenty-four seven as well.’ She jotted their number down too and stood up. ‘We will get you sorted, I promise you.’
‘Thank you.’ Victoria sniffed, her face streaked with tears. Nausea suddenly enveloped her.
‘Here.’ Sandra handed her a wad of tissues that she had wetted with warm water. ‘Wipe your face, and would you like a drink of water before we continue?’
Vic shook her head. ‘No… thank you. Let’s just get on with it.’