I'm hearing these alien words that terrify me. Terminal, seroconvert, infection, inconclusive, possibility. They say stay strong, keep your chin up. They don't understand just the possibility is enough. Who wants a woman you can't take to bed? Who wants to fear when I bled? Alien words, alien feelings, foreign bodies inside and out of me. But don't worry, they say. It's controllable, a pill a day. Pills. That's what they give me. For the depression, the infection, the anxiety. I feel as helpless as the child I will never bare. "What the hell is going on" I blare. Testing, testing, testing they say. As I ***** to cope and my legs give way. Fragility, infertility, susceptibility. But don't worry, it's all just a possibility.