hiv

Something bad is happening.

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

By the time I graduated high school in 1983, AIDS was no secret.

It wasn’t getting the national attention it should have, Reagan was still pretending it didn’t exist, and gay men were dying across the country.

In Central Kentucky, I felt isolated. I felt protected.

I won’t say I was as careful as I should have been.

I went off to college, also in central Kentucky, and it was very much the same. Still not as much attention as it should have been getting. Reagan might have mentioned. it by then, and by this time the number of deaths were staggering.

Still, I felt isolated, protected.

In September 1987, I moved to Atlanta.

Suddenly, I wasn’t in little “ole” Kentucky.

Suddenly, I knew gay people. Suddenly, I was out of the closet.

I was much more careful, but not as careful as I should have been.

By the time I left Atlanta, it was a full-blown national nightmare.

I moved back to Central Kentucky.

I was terrified. I’d met men who had been diagnosed with HIV and AIDS, it was very close to home.

And yet. It was 1989, and I had never been tested.

I’d seen the posters around town. In the bars. On the bulletin boards at school.

Finally. I said I’ll do it.

I drove to the health department on Newtown Road. Around to the back. In a satellite trailer, similar to the ones they use at high schools now.

I went in, took a number.

I was scared to death.

I waited about 16 hours. Actually, I don’t remember how long it actually was. It seemed like a decade.

I was taken back. I was asked some questions. I was told the test could be anonymous.

The nurse was very sweet. Caring. Gentle.

She drew the blood.

I was given a sheet of paper with a number on it. As it was anonymous, it would be how I’d be matched to my result when I came back.

In two weeks.

What the fucking fuck?

If the wait to draw blood was a decade, the two-week wait was a century. Everything was in slow motion those two weeks. Work. School. Rehearsal.

Two weeks later, I made the trek back out to the trailer.

I was taken into a room with a counselor. I was told they always have a counselor just in case it’s positive.

The envelope was opened.

A breath was taken.

I was told

It was.

Negative.

The emotion that rushed over me, was immense.

How could this be? I was only kind of careful. Surely it was wrong.

But it was not.

Fast forward 35 years and I’m tested at every physical. It’s part of my routine blood work for cholesterol and my A1C.

I’m still not sure how I remained negative.

I spent almost 12 years in New York City. I was always kind of careful.

I’m forever grateful.

So many people in my generation were not so lucky.

The care has come a long way, but there are still people worldwide, who are suffering and dying from this horrible disease.

But who would I be if you had not been my friend?

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

I’m old.  

Much older than I ever thought I’d be.  

Seriously.  

I remember reading about HIV and AIDS in the early 80’s thinking that it was a big city disease. 

This was long before I told the first person that I was gay.    

I would sneak off to Lexington, where the boys were, and although I’d think about the stories on the news, it was definitely a big city problem.  

Then I moved to Atlanta, and I found myself in a big city, and the reality of the disease was everywhere. 

You didn’t go on a date, have a one-night stand, or even kiss a guy, without thinking this might be the one. 

Not the one you marry, but the one that passes along the death sentence.  

This worry continued when I moved back to Lexington, and became a BIG worry when I moved to NYC.  

I’ve known hundreds of people who were positive.  I’ve dated lots of men who were positive.  

I spent my adult life not wondering if I’d become infected, but when.  

But somehow, I’ve managed to skirt under the wire and remain healthy.  

This is not a post about AIDS.

It’s a post about me being old, and believing I’d never live to see old.  

But here I am two months away from turning 59.  

How the hell did I get here?

I say all of this, because tonight a friend from college, one of my best friends from college, texted to ask if I had time to talk.  

I didn’t, but I hadn’t heard from her in several years, and I worried something was wrong.  

So.  

I called her.

Even though I worried something was wrong, I knew why she was calling.  A beloved professor from our undergrad days passed away this week.  

He taught theater, in a very small theater department, at a very small college.  

Even if you weren’t in the theater department, chances are you knew.  The school was that small.  

I was correct.  She was calling to chat about George.  

We reminisced for a long time.  He had been a big part of our formative college years.  The department was so small, that if you were cast in a show, you were also building the set, selling tickets, and you might be expected to go in search of a dining room table. (We borrowed my parent’s dining room table for You Can’t Take It With You).  

At one point, I said it kind of sucks to be so old that the older people in your life start to move on.  

And it is.  

It’s been 40 years since I started college.  And it’s been 39 since I met George. And even if we weren’t talking every day, you still see their lives happen through friends, through college posts and social media.  You are still in each other’s lives.  

But that story is changing. 

My parents have moved on. 

My Aunt Doo has moved on. 

My friend Chris has moved on.  

My friend Tony has moved on. 

I’m starting to know way too many people my own age, that have gone on a trip they won’t return from. 

This idea of a journey is not new to me.  My friend Tony from Atlanta was the first truly close person to me, to die from AIDS.  We hadn’t spoken in a few weeks.  I was scheduled to visit him in Atlanta.  He had been positive for a bit.  He took a turn for the worse and past in three days.  

When I learned of this, it felt as though he’d gone on a trip, and I was just waiting to hear from him when he returned.  

I’m still waiting.  

………………………………………….

My friend and I joked about our age for a few minutes, then I changed the subject and asked about her daughters, her mom, her job.  

I invited her to come visit Maine.  

After a bit, we said our goodbyes and hung up.

I sat at my desk thinking about the conversation.

About my professor.

And I thought to myself, that I don’t find myself sad about the permanent journeys my family and friends have taken.  I find myself glad that I was a part of their life on earth.  That for a brief moment, we shared the same spacesand the same stories, and that they probable never knew the ways they made my life better.    

For someone like me, who struggled in college, to find myself,  they made my life tolerable.  

They taught me to love myself.  

To find the best in the world.  

All of these people laid the ground work,  that has allowed me to create the life that I have today, and  be happier than I have ever been.  

Life is good.  

And it’s because of George. 

And Chris.  

And Ton.  

And my mom.  

And my dad.  

And my Aunt Doo.  

All of these people created space for me.

Ultimately.  

They loved me

I am eternally grateful for all of them.

PS.  Thank you for the phone call, Liz Smith.  I’m grateful for you as well.