Fifteen Years

I've been asked many times to write this story and many times tried and failed. Now I feel I can finally do so. So… here goes…

In 1989 I lost my mother, and the grief overwhelmed me so much that I gave up my chance at being the one thing I had always dreamed of becoming, an attorney. So instead of becoming an attorney, I went back to waiting tables and bartending. That's where this story begins.

I was really good at running the restaurant and even better at being a bartender. I was better at this than anything and so I decided to make it my life. Although I worked in "Boys Town" and had many homosexual, lesbian, and bisexual friends, I was an active member of Act up Chicago, and knew all about HIV and AIDS. However, I was still naïve enough to think that it would never happen to me. I mean after all, I didn't fit the "profile." I didn't shoot drugs, I didn't even have a sex partner, and I wasn't a lesbian

I watched as many of my loyal customers and co-workers became ill and then quickly die because of the so called "gay cancer." This encouraged me to volunteer at rallies and help any way I could. Then I met him. Mark and his "friend" were regulars at the restaurant that always sat in my section. They tipped well and were very nice.

My second job was at a biker bar down the street. Soon I was receiving flowers at my job everyday. This romantic gesture shocked and surprised me. Mark was a very sexy guy which made me wonder what he wanted with me. As time went on we began a relationship. After having just lost my mother, I craved the attention I was receiving from Mark and quickly fell into what I thought was love.

His "friend" was introduced to me as his boss, and for all my incredible knowledge, I believed it. After all, his "friend" had a wife and two kids from a previous marriage, when we met. 1991 was when my first beaten occurred. After the beating, Mark apologized by simply saying "I was drunk and I'm sorry it will never happen again."

Three weeks later, my friends and I celebrated my birthday by going to a strip club. Although I knew it was a gay bar, I would have never dreamed of seeing Mark there. So you can imagine my surprise when I saw him on stage kissing his boss. You'd think that I would have left him right there, but I didn't. After all, I was in "love" with him.

Soon after the incident, we left the state and that is when the truth came out. Not only did Mark explain to me that he was homosexual, but he was also working as a prostitute to support his drug habit.
Later on in 1991, I found out that I was pregnant. When I went home to tell him, I found him in with a needle in his arm and a man in our bed. Seeing this was enough to make me go back to Illinois and start readjusting my life. At six months pregnant I was asked by my doctor if I wanted a HIV test. Thinking I had nothing to fear, I said yes…

Three weeks later, to my horror, I found out that I was positive for HIV. Since I was pregnant there was no way I could go on medication. At the time the only medication available was AZT and there was also no information on pregnancy and the medicine. Basically, I was told to have my child and pray.

My daughter was born in the spring of 1992. She was then tested every three months until she was one year old. I was incredibly lucky that she was HIV negative. I on the other hand was not so lucky. In November my doctors began giving me AZT. While having heard many horror stories, mine is possibly the worse. Within two weeks I was hospitalized with pneumonia.

I spent the entire month of December in the hospital. When I finally came home, my family's attitude towards me had completely changed. I was given on set of silverware, one towel, and one set of dishes. The purpose of this was to keep me away from everything else. There was also a separate place for my laundry. I wish that I could say things got better, but they didn't.

Eventually I moved into an apartment with a much older man. The relationship was strictly platonic. I would cook and clean in exchange for room and board. When my roommate found out about my health status, he was alright about it. He even helped me crush my medicine when I began taking D4T. In spite of all the side effects, I took it quite regularly.

I didn't have a regular doctor until 1997 when I found out about Open Door. At first I was afraid to know what my numbers were. Although I didn't want to switch medications, I quickly learned it was necessary to find the ones that worked best for me. I learned through trial and error. The things I was scared about were side effects, dropped cell counts and viral loads. Then I developed what I call the PMO or positive mental outlook. I told myself that I wasn't infected, although I knew I was. I was careful not to have unprotected sex. I really feared getting someone else sick. Just the thought of that scared me more than anything. I couldn't live with that on my conscious.

After moving into my own apartment, I met my future husband in February 2000 and for the first time in my life I was beginning to come to terms with my illness. I told my fiancé back when we first met that I was HIV positive. Surprisingly he took it rather well and didn't run away. He took time to listen to me talk about the disease and how I got it. My heart fell to the floor; I thought that he should get tested. I agreed to take him to Open Door. I was so afraid that he would test positive, and that my new found happiness would be over. I'm happy to say that he tested negative.

My apartment was broken in to in June of that year and I was beaten and raped. The experience caused me to crawl into a liquor bottle. I felt used a useless and I didn't care anymore. I wanted to die. I quit taking my medicine and drank everyday and all day. In December of 2000, I went to a rehabilitation center and got sober and straight. I finally had to accept my life as being HIV positive. I went back on my medication in full force and didn't miss a beat. I made all of my appointments and took good care of myself. In February of 2001 I was pregnant with my son. He was born in October. For the first six weeks of his life he was taking AZT, and underwent several blood tests ten months later. Our son tested negative and is now a healthy five year old boy.

Through out the last fifteen years of my life, I've had highs and lows. There have been times when side effects from the medication really got to me so much that I would stop taking them. I just wanted to live a normal life. I couldn't plan any outings because I would have diarrhea or be sick any given day.

The day before father's day, I lost my father and I quit taking my medication. I spent two weeks drinking myself to sleep. He wasn't just my father he was my best friend. Then one day my husband came to me with tears in his eyes and told me that I needed to get back on track because he and my children needed me.
I guess that's where the story ends; the strong love for my family and belief of my father not wanting me to rush into death. I'm back on my medication and my side effects are minimal. I still keep a positive mental outlook on life by refusing to believe that I'm sick. I look at the love in my children's eyes every day and know in my heart that it is too soon for me to die. I know that one day it will happen. I just hope and pray each day that a cure will be found so that no one will ever face the hate, rage, anger, and prejudice that is the face of HIV and AIDS.

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