'The Hike' - Chapter Thirteen - Fake Diagnosis
You should be careful about how you consume water in the mountains. There is a possibility of triggering an unbearable thirst that will drain all your supplies and leave you wanting more—dehydrated. Even though I was at the beginning of my journey that day, the dusty road under the scorching August mountain sun played tricks on my mind, making me revisit memories I once dreaded.
Right before I started walking this path, I had a routine check-up for STDs and was absolutely healthy—a great feeling to experience after visiting your doctor. The other day, I went to the dentist, and he told me that everything was fine, which blew my mind. I mean, it was a confirmation that I was doing something right, but let’s get back on the road.
Unfortunately, gay health culture in Bulgaria is not in great shape—it just isn't. I still know people who have no idea what PrEP is. Although the first lecture I attended about the gay Manna was in Bulgaria, people still don't realize how progressive the gay world has become. This means you always have to be on your toes if you're into bareback and living in Bulgaria. I only realized how poor the culture was after I left the country. After a terrifying but ultimately false experience, I needed time to process everything—the time I took on this adventure. Let me share my experience with my false diagnosis, which has a Bulgarian origin.
I guess this is my cross to bear, and I bear it like no other. My cross turned out to be full of air—not once, but twice. But more on that later. Let’s keep things chronological. Some would say I overanalyze, that I’m too dramatic, or—my favorite—that I should focus on the positive. How I loathe this advice, especially when given by people who are blind to what you're going through. As if controlling your emotions is as simple as flipping a switch. "Stay positive," they say. Well, sir, thank you for that profound wisdom—I will definitely do that. I get angry even as I joke about it. It's fascinating how people dismiss each other’s feelings while expecting constant validation for their own. Can we change that?
Before the pandemic, I went for a routine check-up for all the sexy venereal diseases—just to be sure nothing was happening. I think a Grindr date tipped me off that I might have something and should get checked, which was the responsible thing to do. Of course, being the cheap bastard that I am, I went to the free clinic. Now, I don't blame the people working there—what they do is essential—but the negative connotation I have with that place ensures I won’t be returning anytime soon. Luckily, insurance now covers these check-ups—very classy.
At the time, I was barely familiar with this aspect of gay life—fresh as a daisy. After taking a quick HIV test, I realized I would never be the same. The test turned positive—the one thing you never want to be positive about. After two more rapid tests, they took my blood and sent it to a lab for confirmation. They told me the chances of the diagnosis being incorrect were less than 2% or something. Those rapid tests turned my life into hell for the next few days.
I barely remember how long it took for the official blood test results to come back, but in my mind, it felt like two weeks. Probably less, but man, looking back, it felt like months. Writing about this period in my life brings back those dark emotions I once faced. You have to understand—for the next couple of days or weeks, I was a zombie, contemplating ending my life. At the time, I knew nothing about the diagnosis. Now, I know that HIV is nearly inconsequential if you're on therapy. But back then, I didn’t.
I had to call everyone I’d had sex with and tell them to get tested. The one thing that kept me from going over the edge was one of the guys I had slept with, who turned out to be HIV positive but undetectable. And if you don’t know what that means, I don’t have time to explain—but basically, it means he was on therapy, got regular check-ups, took a pill daily, and could not transmit the virus. This guy took me under his wing, told me everything would be okay, poured me some whiskey, and explained it all in what felt like the longest night of my life—in the most gentle way.
I will never forget him. Though we lost contact, that night, he saved my life.
Two weeks later—or however long it was—I got a phone call that snapped me out of my trance at work. The guy from the clinic told me my results were back. I was clean. He said I should come in for another test to be sure. The bubble I had been living in exploded.
I remember crying at work, my colleagues looking at me in confusion. Two of my favorite coworkers came over to hug me. I immediately asked my boss if I could go home and explained—without going into too much detail—that I had received a false diagnosis. She was clearly troubled by my sudden request to leave, but bless her heart, she let me go. Begrudgingly.
That afternoon, I slept like crazy—exhausted from the storm that had been raging over me for the past two weeks. My body had been in constant turmoil, and the struggle had been very, very real. Mentally, I was drained. But now, with this news, I could finally let go.
I should receive an award for keeping it together when, clearly, I wasn't.
Now, I get tested every three months. I take PrEP, and if you don’t know what PrEP is—please educate yourself. It’s life-changing. Yet, every three months, no matter how many precautions I take, the nerves always creep back. It’s the same anxiety, the same fear. I am gentle with myself because I know this trauma will stay with me forever.
This was my experience—a strange one—but if you have symptoms or even the slightest doubt that you might have HIV, go get tested. Most rapid tests are accurate, so don’t dismiss them—but I’m just grateful that in my case, they weren’t. It’s always better to get your blood checked in a proper laboratory, like I do now, every three months.
HIV is serious. But it’s most dangerous when undetected.
Get tested—more than once. And by more than one expert.
I wrote all this to process my anger. Now, of course, I realize that my outcome was the best possible one. I can move on with my life.
The gratitude I felt that morning, as I walked toward the next forest, was sublime. It filled my heart with joy.
I know the stigma surrounding HIV. And I know it's fading as awareness and prevention methods improve. But I also know how hard it can be. So, during this journey—and almost every day since—no matter how "inconsequential" the diagnosis may be now, I feel a deep gratitude for my health and the health culture I’ve embraced.
You can’t learn something like that from your small-town Bulgarian parents, even if you ask them to do some research.
I came completely unprepared for the gay world, I had to teach myself how to navigate it, how to survive, how to develop the mechanisms that ultimately saved my life.
I just wish I had used some of that knowledge to stop myself from drinking all my damn water so fast. You know.
I could see the forest ahead.
But it was only the beginning of the day...
And my water was almost gone…
Iliya Badev
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