5 — FAIL AT BEING POSITIVE —. I just wrapped up a long conference…
By: Bebe Khuê Jacobs
Tags: Self Improvement, Asian American, Parenting Advice, Parenting, Family

I just wrapped up a long conference call with the famous duo French creative directors Fred & Farid. We went over 5 scripts they had for a Goodyear tire campaign. I had a project manager and 3 artists also on the phone. We will have to draw out storyboards for these scripts in less than 48 hours. They were very specific about what they wanted. The call was over an hour an half. It was now 2pm and I still haven’t had lunch. I was looking around my desk to find some snacks to hold me over. I was starving and my hands started to vibrate.

My mobile phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. It was 818 area code so I knew it was Burbank and probably the doctor’s office.

“Hello!”

“Is this Mrs. Ne-gu-en?” I could recognize the butchering of my last name.

“Yes. It’s Ms. Nguyen here.” I emphasized my name in perfect Vietnamese.

“Yes. Ms. N… Well, this is the doctor’s office.” Ah! The familiar voice of the woman who always put me on hold, my matchmaker for Michael Bolton. “We wanted to call you with the result of your pregnancy test.”

“Yes.” I was ready for it. I was already sitting down.

“So, the result is positive.”

“Positive,” I repeated.

“Yes, Positive.” We were playing ping pong with the word positive.

At that moment, it was unclear to me what she was saying. Maybe I was starving and couldn’t think straight. So, I muddled through, “Positive which means…”

“It means you’re pregnant,” serving up sunshine on a plate of perkiness.

“Pregnant,” I repeated and let that word swirl around in my mouth, chewed on it and swallowed it down. Then continue, “How accurate is this test?”

“Well, both tests came back positive. So, you’re pregnant. Very much pregnant,” and sprinkled with enthusiasm.

“Ok. So, I should go and see an OB.”

“Yes.”

“Should I get another test at the OB?”

“Another test for what?”

“Another test to make sure I was pregnant.”

“Well, you are pregnant according to our tests. You could ask to get tested again. I’m sure they will test you again.”

“Do you have a recommendation for an OB office in Burbank? One that is near. My office is not so far from your office, so, the closer, the better.”

“Hang-on let me check…” and Michael Bolton came on again this time his voice sounded like he was laughing and mocking me. My gosh, it shouldn't take long to look up an OB office. Bolton went from laughing to wailing like he was crying over a bowl of spilled phở. I moved the phone away from my face hoping the air between the phone and my eardrum would dampen the invasion to my consciousness.

“Hello! You there?” the nurse came back.

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“Here’s the phone number for Dr. R. They will take care of you.” I quickly jot down the phone number on one of the pages of the 5 scripts in front of me. Doctor R’s name didn’t sound caucasian, Spanish, Asian nor anything that I was familiar with.

I hung up the phone with the office manager from the doctor’s office. Maybe I was hungry and my low blood sugar kicked in, both of my hands were now vibrating and started shaking. I grab the side arms of my office chair to steadied my hands. The reality of me being pregnant was like a stone rubbing that with each rub, the image revealed more clearly. I know I have to make the phone call to let him know.

“Hi Honey! It’s me.”

My husband replied, “Hey! What’s up? You ok?”

“Why do you ask?”

He continued, “I dunno. You sounded serious.” Well, this was serious. Wasn’t it. There was no way around it.

I continued “Um… so I got a call from the doctor’s office.”

“Yeah? And?”

“The result of the tests came back.”

“And?”

“And, I am positive.” As I utter these words “I am positive” they sounded like I was cursed with being positive. I remembered the time I went to get my first HIV test because my long distant boyfriend at that time revealed to me that on one of his fun weekends, he went to Bangkok with his buddies and he did some business with one of the local girls. Then followup reassuringly “But, don’t worry. I got tested and I am negative.” I dumped his ass and left for the airport. Not only my pride was hurt that he cheated on me with a hooker but he was irresponsible and careless to possibly infect me with some lethal disease. And on top of it all, the jerk thought it was ok and was responsible enough to get tested. He should have been more responsible and kept his dick in his pants in the first place. When I returned back home, the very next day I went to get myself tested. At that time I was living and working in Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City), Vietnam in the late 90s and instead of going to a local hospital, my work provided international insurance so we got access to international health centers. The doctor on call that day walked into the exam room and asked what was my ailment. He was a page out of a J. Crew catalog, a young very handsome, very fit whitebread American. I checked out his left hand and there was no ring on his finger. I looked up and met his gaze and knew that he was also checking me out. I imagined that if we were to have met at a bar, we might go out on a date. But as handsome as he was, I was not attracted to him. There was no chemistry fizzing up. I appreciated him like a masterpiece of art on a museum wall and not a brilliant piece of art at the local gallery. I would admire it but would never buy it and took it home. I was in a phase in my life that I was only attracted to Asian men. You could fill a room with a dozen caucasian models, and somehow, I would find my way to that one Asian guy standing in the corner of the room to talk with him. I couldn’t explain why that was a thing I had for a long while.

“How can I help you today?” The doctor’s voice carried me back to the exam room.

I looked at him, took a deep breath and went straight to the point. “I need an HIV test.” I could see his face turned red.

“Oh. Ok.” He adjusted his composure and continue, “Do you have multiple partners.”

“No. I was with one partner. But just found out that he slept with someone else.”

“Oh!” I could see crinkles on his forehead and his eyes revealed confusion, compassion and that he felt sorry for me. How could someone cheat on this sweet innocent pretty girl? I met his eyes with the “Fuck yeah! What the hell was the fucker thinking?!??!”

“He said he went and got tested and he was negative. But I want to be sure. I want to get tested.” I continued getting back to business.

“Have you had an HIV test done before?”

“No. This is my first test.”

“How many sexual partners have you had?”

I quickly counted in my head “Four!” Was that too many? I was raised Catholic in an Asian household. I was supposed to be a virgin until I got married. I would burn in hell for my sin.

“Were you monogamous?” The doc’s voice called me back.

“Yes. They were all monogamous relationships!” that is until this last one! That fucker! I mumbled out loud, “that is until this last one.”

“Ok. I see.” He had been jotting down notes on my files. Wondered what has he been scribbling down? Sinner. Sinner. She will burn in hell. Or was he drawing little hearts around my name?

“Your previous relationships, did your partners got tested for HIV?”

Hm… I thought back. Cursing in my head “Shit! I don’t know.” My first boyfriend was a virgin. We both were so he was safe. My second boyfriend was the French guy who devirginized me. Shit! I never asked him. My third guy was a Taiwanese dude. Shit! Did I ask him? I thought I did, but I couldn’t remember. Could I have been that careless? Then this Asian American shithead who just got tested. I remembered I asked him if he got tested and he said he was negative before we stop using condoms. If he just tested negative, shouldn't I be negative? I didn’t trust the guy. So, I needed to be sure for myself.

The doc probably saw where my head was. He continued, “I’m sure you’re fine.”

“I don’t remember. I don’t think I’ve asked them?” I was mortified by my stupidity. AIDS was real. AIDS was killing people and you could get HIV if you weren’t careful. How could I have been so stupid!

He repeated, “I’m sure you’re going to be fine. And probably nothing to worry about. We will run the test, but really, I’m sure it will be negative.”

I was worried and was angry with myself for being so careless and stupid. I was less furious at the fucker now and more mad at myself.

“The nurse will draw some blood for the test. The results will come back in a few days and I will call you.” He sounded like a concerned friend instead of just a doctor. Someone who promised to call me and made sure that I was ok.

A few days later I did get a call from the doc himself. “Hi! This is the doc from the international health clinic.” Yes, I recognized his warm concerned voice.

“Yes. I remembered you.” That was the truth. I did remember him and his kind reassuring words that helped carry me through the few gap days between the test result.

“So the test came back and it’s negative.” He said with confidence.

“Oh! Thank you! That’s good to know.”

“I told you there was nothing to worry about.” Yes, you did. But still, until I got the test result, I was dreading to hear you said, “You’re positive.”

“Honey! Are you there? Can you hear me?” My husband’s voice beaming from my cell phone.

“Hi! Yes. I can hear you.”

“So, you’re positive.” as if he just handed me a sentence. I was dreading it. I was scared that this is very real.

“Yes, I am positive.” accepting the verdict.

“Are you ok?” He could have reveled in the bet that he won. But instead, there was no mention of the bet.

“I’m ok. I will need to make an appointment with the OB and they will run another test.”

“Another test? Why? To make really sure that you’re pregnant?”

“Well, it’s probably just part of their procedure. And even with this test being positive. We still need to get a sonogram to make sure that the embryo is ok and all these genetic tests and the first trimester. Lots could go wrong.”

“I will make an appointment for this week or early next week when they could squeeze me in.”

“Should I take time off and come with you?”

“Nah! You’re working on the Westside. It would take too much time for you to get over here. Let me go to the first appointment and make sure I get tested again.”