Sarah
Harris Youth club
GROWING PAINS
From the day I turned 18, things changed. I moved out of my care home and
into a flat and started to pay bills. My life was my own. And it wasn’t
just me who thought I was an adult, the NHS did too. I was now expected to
move from
paediatric care into adult HIV services.
I had attended the children’s department for five years and a bit of
me was excited about ‘graduating’ to adult services. But after
my first visit to the adult HIV clinic I was left sorely
disappointed. One of the best things about being seen on the children’s
ward and in children’s outpatients was that all the children had different
illness, from cancer to sickle cell. So none of the patients knew I was HIV
positive and I did not know what was wrong with them. The children’s
outpatients department had cartoons on the wall. The doctors made you laugh
and the staff were always smiling and welcoming. They asked you questions
about your school and your hobbies as well as your health. I looked forward
to going there even if it was for blood tests, which I hate. On my first visit
to the adult HIV clinic I struggled to find it. It was tucked away at the
end of corridor and I nearly got lost. At the front desk I told the receptionist
my name and the name of the doctor I was seeing. Then they asked for my hospital
number. I know it sounds arrogant, but why should a teenager have any idea
about bureaucratic hospital numbers? Surely your name and the doctor’s
name is enough? It was enough in the children’s department. But it wasn’t
enough for the receptionist who then demanded my home address. Obviously,
they need to know things about me but it was the way they asked. The interior
of the clinic looked like a scene out of Channel Five’s show How Not
To Decorate. It was far from welcoming. The receptionist told me to sit down
and wait. She looked miserable and didn’t seem to enjoy her job. But
worst of all, everywhere I looked I was reminded that I was HIV positive.
It was in your face. I know very well that I have this virus in my blood and
I am certainly not in denial about it. But I don’t want to be continually
reminded of it.
Another thing I found strange was that the outpatients was just for people
with HIV. I thought to myself: “Why are we being treated differently
from anyone else in the world?” I knew that there was another outpatients
downstairs, where everyone with different illnesses went apart from people
with HIV. It made me feel uncomfortable and I still feel that way. OK, I understand
that some people fear stigma and that they may feel better sitting with other
people going through the same thing. I feel that people living with HIV should
be treated the same way as everyone else and not discriminated against. Maybe
this arrangement even discriminates against people who are not HIV positive?
I found it strange and uncomfortable to be sitting in a reception where everybody
knew my status and I knew theirs. I found the clinic unwelcoming and the receptionist
rude. No one asked how I was doing. That said, the doctors and the nurses
were great; after all that’s their job. What I really needed was a supportive
and welcoming environment.
I personally think that the whole adult outpatient set-up needs a makeover,
especially the interiors of the waiting rooms. I know this will never happen.
I have only been to the adult HIV
outpatients twice but I never look forward to going. If I had it my way, I
would only go there once a year, but as we all know that is out of my control.
