That time of year again, already.
On this date 21 years ago, I was gasping for every breath, and my doctor sent me up the hill to the emergency room of the Montréal General Hospital with a note to tell them (and me, of course on the way) that he suspected that I had pneumonia, and a pneumonia that was an AIDS-defining illness.
I couldn’t have expected then, despite all of what my doctors (yes, they multiplied) told me in the months that followed, that I would still be here talking about this 21 years later. At the time, depleted of oxygen and having passed out at least twice on the weekend preceding the doctor visit, I really didn’t think I had the strength to fight anything.
When I tell my story these days, I always make a point of recognizing that I have lived my experience of HIV/AIDS with all of the privileges that one could hope to have. I’m an educated, middle-class white man in a developed country with ready access to healthcare and medication, and — probably most importantly of all — I have a solid support network of family and friends I did not hesitate to reach out to, and by which I have never been disappointed.
Far from taking my life away (that first gut reaction can be brutal, even in the face of all of the information and advice coming from the medical professionals), this path I am on has given me purpose, focused more than it ever might have been if I, and many, many of my friends, were not on this path.
I also have something else to celebrate at this point in the history of the epidemic. The knowledge, and probably more importantly the official acknowledgement, that a person with HIV treated successfully cannot transmit the virus sexually is a game-changer in how I and so many others feel about ourselves as “carriers” of a disease that still strikes fear into the hearts of those who have very little experience with it. I know that the fear of transmission is misplaced, and has been scientifically proven to be misplaced, and that is a big relief for me and many others. It is also a great incentive to carry on with treatments that are first and most importantly giving me relatively good health, but are also ensuring that I can’t transmit HIV.
But lest we think that it’s all over now, let’s just remember that it isn’t. I might have the additional advantage of being employed in an organization that wouldn’t fire me for being HIV positive, but I can’t say that my status wouldn’t be a barrier to seeking other employment elsewhere, as it is for many. The solidity of my support networks mean that I don’t have to worry about being very open about my status, because the people who really matter in my life know and accept me. I also have enough knowledge, confidence and resources to be able to insist on receiving the treatment that keeps me alive and healthy.
I’m not so much on the sex and relationship market these days, so I don’t have to face that kind of rejection or discrimination. Actually, when you don’t feel you need something, it is surprising how much power and confidence you can have in managing situations that might arise. I do have several of those meeting applications on my phone, but it seems that I mostly use them for window-shopping and then occasionally to give information about HIV to people who might have questions, or to those I need to remind of my status that is clearly included in my profile.
There are many more battles to fight. Too many people lack access to treatment and to prevention tools, not only around the world, but here, too. And way too many people lack the kinds of support networks that I could take for granted until I needed them and received confirmation of their excellent state. Yes, many battles, and I am glad to be able to say with confidence that I will be around a bit longer to help fight them.
Cheers, 21st anniversary!
