Hunting for my infector: My own useless modern-day witch hunt.

"You tested positive for Herpes Simplex 2... is that a shock, or were you expecting that?"  I understood why the polite female voice at the other end of the phone asked me that, but at the moment, it seemed like an idiotic question.  I never, ever had any sort of reason to think I might have had genital herpes.  I'd been tested multiple times before (with negative results), was normally pretty cautious about sex, and even when I made stupid choices I'd at least ask my partner about their "cleanliness."  In fact, when I got this test, I was still supremely confident that nothing was out of the ordinary, and that I was just being paranoid.  So yes... a bit of a shock.

Let me rephrase that:  It was a huge shock.  I was on my mobile phone, driving, when I was asked that question.  I had to pull over and stop because I turned as white as a sheet and started sweating bullets.  After I was sure I wouldn't kill myself or anyone else if I passed out behind the wheel, I had a hard time talking... I'm pretty sure I was hyperventilating, but it's tough to say now.

"That's... the... coldsores... herpes... right?"

"No, that's type one.  You have type two - genital herpes."

I could feel the contents of my stomach gurgling... bubbling up, waiting to boil over and out of my mouth in a nervous vomiting fit.  I held it down and concentrated my best on asking some questions.  Questions that any newly-diagnosed person would ask.  Questions that I'm sure the polite female voice heard numerous times a day.  Questions from frantic people grasping at straws, hoping for some bit of inaccuracy or incompetence that they could hinge a misdiagnosis theory on.

With each question, I realized two things.  My polite female voice wasn't polite enough to placate me, and the odds that this diagnosis was solid were pretty positive (no pun intended).

After my phone call with the counselor, I tried my best to press forward and navigate through my now upside-down world.  I was able to muster enough courage to talk to my girlfriend about it, and became an expert on HSV-2 through exhaustive reading.

Now that I've come to terms with the situation, I'm fighting this incredible urge to go on a witch hunt to find out exactly who infected me.  Despite the fact that it wouldn't cure me, and despite the fact that it was I who risked exposing myself to the virus through some irresponsible sexual encounter along the way, I still want to know who it was. 

The worst part is I have no idea of knowing who it was, and not because I'm some kind of a "man-whore."  It's quite the contrary, actually.  I've never had random sexual encounters, and have only had unprotected sex with longtime girlfriends that I trusted.  Plus, again, I've never had any warning signs.  Because of all that, I have no accurate reference point... an incident that I can point to and say, "that was probably it."