My husband and I have a rather honest and open relationship. Probably to a degree which is beyond the point of sanity, actually, but that’s neither here nor there. He was rather open about his sexual history when we first started dating. He hadn’t exactly been the busiest boy on the block, but had had several previous partners. He openly admitted that he had not always been safe. I openly admitted that this information scared the shit out of me.

He was, and is, from DC. Compare and contrast rate of infection for South Carolina’s biggest city and those for DC. I’ll do the math for you: 2.04% to 23.19%. This also places DC as number five on a list no city wants to be on. So yes, scared, shit, me.

My panic, however, was quickly alleviated by the fact that he had been tested. Although, the test had been almost a year prior to the conversation in question. Further panic on my part followed, leading to the revelation that he had not had any other partners since that test. I then informed him that it can take up to six months after exposure for results to actually show up. He informed me that he had not known that. I resumed my general panic.

Of course, we then made it our top priority for both of us to go get tested. Funny, how much resolve we had on that, now that it’s six months later and we still haven’t. You know how it goes. You’re too busy, too tired, and then you forget about it. You’re not actually too busy or too tired, though. You’re too afraid.

I actually hadn’t thought about HIV/AIDS in relation to myself, until now, since that day. I usually don’t see it as something that can possibly touch my life, my “quaint little monogamous existence,” as some have called it. Therein lies the danger. Complacency, abetted by fear, no doubt leads to more cases of infection than simple ignorance and/or momentary (or not) stupidity do.

I’m going to go down to the health department on Monday to get tested, not because I have cause to be afraid, but because I need to know.

(Insert belaboring of point here.)