Manny
Rebirth

Time of death: 6:30 pm, December 28, 1998.

It was forthcoming; I should have foreseen it and probably prevented it but easier said than done. Nonetheless, my life, as I knew it, ended that night on New Year's Eve. Every suicide attempt is predestined by occurrences that elevate and accelerate your existence to the point where you can no longer hold on to the thin thread you've had a delicate grasp on.

It was the end of summer when I was wrongly terminated from a six-year job that I was consumed in and helmed by an abusive, controlling and insecure celebrity boss. The many successes borne were diminished by fear that the next task would be impossible to accomplish (which they always seemed to be.) I remained at this arduous job because bills needed to be paid, the economy was dormant and boss aside, the staff had embraced each other and supported the other like the dysfunctional family we were. About every other month someone was fired, sometimes rehired to be humiliated with termination once more. It was a chaotic existence in which everyone was dispensable; all was predetermined except that no one could guess the order in which these incidences would take place. It kept us alert and fighting for job security. I thought myself fortunate that I had excelled and found favor where others had failed.

My staff also attained the same fate as I through association and for trying to take a stand for job betterment and equality. Though "the family" supported a stance, fearing a loss of job, the majority decided betrayal was more convenient so my staff and I walked through the door that gets slammed and rarely reopens. My best friend and assistant, who suffered the same loss eventually reneged his stance, begged for his job was rehired and rewarded me with his betrayal. In retrospect, I could have done the same but principles and a foreboding sense never allowed me to entertain that idea. After all, how much better was it ever going to get?

Refusal of unemployment on the grounds that I quit and many humiliating battles in court with a staff that no longer held me in esteem and denied ever being family ensued. Every court date brought me a lack of sleep, more stress and a loss of health. Job interviews were brutal as fatigue; a hollow appearance and a raging fever were not conducive to success. "Are you okay?" became synonymous with you are overqualified and or we've decided to offer the position to someone else. The thread was breaking and the only end I saw held no comfort.

Faith and honest representation did not allow me to win the battle in court. As devastating as that was I had other pertinent matters to attend to. I was bleeding internally, fought excruciating pain in my arms and legs and endured an explosion in my brain that split my personality and composure apart. As if there wasn't enough overload in my life, besides my ailments, I decided to try to nurse my relationship with an ex-lover that came in and out of my life, was mentally ill, unemployed, always helpless and self-absorbed. Though the relationship was doomed, even from the start, I was too alone and afraid to allow myself such independence and rational thinking. I needed someone to lean on even though there was no solid weight there. His ego needed inflating and as helpless as I was I continued to feed it.

My ill health reached it's pinnacle the day after Halloween. I had gotten drunk with my ex the night before either to avoid my problems or enhance them. After a sleepless night in which every awaken dream was a repetitive cycle of everything my brain absorbed during the day and the sense that if I had actually slept that I would die, I arose to the morning in tears and a sense of dread. The time had come to forfeit pride that this was a passing ailment and give it the attention it had been screaming to obtain.

I had no income so I borrowed a page from every destitute New Yorker who got sick and went to the local hospital with the hope that they could bill me and I could pay it back at a later time when I was better and financially able. I waited over seventeen hours to see a doctor and spent most of that time on a bed in Emergency because the pain was unbearable and there was no energy left in me to fight it. No IV was procured and no blood tests administered. After much complaining by myself and at times, ex lover, the doctor emerged, checked my vitals, obtained my history and deduced that I had a viral infection and when I complained that I never felt a cold this extreme he chided I was acting like a baby. Go home, take some aspirin and tea and wait it off. I should be fine in a few days. I left disappointed but used the lame diagnosis to administer false hope to what I didn't know was a doomsday situation.

That night I entered my studio apartment and found it in total darkness. Com Edison had unplugged my electricity for lack of payment. The wait at the hospital did not afford me anything to eat and no money later cemented that I would have to eat the scraps I had at home. Unfortunately, my stove was electric and everything that was edible was in need of heat. I drank some warm milk, laid with my lover in bed, stared at the darkness for hours and surmised that there was no way I was going to make it out of the black.

The next morning my lover left for the comforts of his mother's home and with the promise that he would return when he could finagle some cash and food from her. I was hurt and relieved by his absence then focused my attention towards survival. I hit the streets with change aplenty and called Con Edison to stall them and fight for my lights to be turned on. I complained I was disabled and had spent the night at the hospital and that they couldn't just turn out my electricity without proper notification. After much rerouting and endless repetition of my situation they came to a compromise in which I had to pay at least 10% of the bill if I wanted service to resume. I promised with the conviction of a man on death row that I would and service was scheduled to restart sometime that evening or early morning. I called my friends and my mom to inform them of my dilemma and for them not to worry. Mother particularly empathized and promised to send me some cash. I went home to lay in stillness and desolation and await the power's return. I awoke hours later to lights on and electronics playing at annoying speeds of sound. The day's calamity had been averted and postponed for another day. Hopefully, for a day that would greet me in better health.

As any bystander could surmise but for the life of me I couldn't as I lived it, my health did not get better. There were countless trips to many hospitals and clinics and no answers for what was ailing me. Friends and family helped with food and some money and watched as I deteriorated. If you want to acknowledge how sick you are just watch a loved ones reaction when they see you in this state. I actually felt pity for them and it broke my heart that all I could offer was being a burden.

My ex-lover's reaction drew greater acknowledgment. He would make the weekend visit every once in a while bearing gifts of food and mild concern but refused to admit that there was anything physically wrong with me. According to him I was being weak, it was a minor ailment that would pass if only I allowed it. The relationship was cemented when during a phone inquiry of how I was doing he diagnosed that my illness was due to smoking and nothing more. I could not accept it. I didn't even have a cough to substantiate that fact and neither had any doctor that examined me. I argued the point that he was belittling how I was feeling and that he should consider that my illness is more serious than that. Acknowledgement not being one of his strengths he hung up the phone in frustration and we never spoke again.

I was on my own with much kindness from friends and family to repay. I accepted a job from my friend Renee, in her law firm as a legal secretary. I was still ailing but I mustered enough stamina to fulfill the commitment, obtain good money and give my concerned loved ones a rest. It was one of the least stressful positions I had obtained and the workload was minimal, yet my brain was rattled, the pain in my legs and arms ever increasing and sleep was minimal. I would rush home to take a warm bath to soothe the pain, ate something inconsequential and laid in bed until morning arose and I substantiated another stab at work. Even though my performance was adequate I came to the realization I couldn't do it and my friend concurred. I was back at square one and the worry continued.

I obtained the inability to swallow as an added symptom to what was ailing me. One of my saddest memories was inviting my parents for a Thanksgiving dinner in which they watched me with unease as I struggled to eat one of my favorite dinners. I've always been a big eater so the look on my mother's face after I bragged about eating everything on my plate and then failing terribly to do so spoke volumes. This was no ordinary illness.

My mother was a constant companion, cheerleader and mass of support. She would sleep on my floor in an inflatable mattress, clean my home, cook meals and replace light bulbs that I was unable to reach because my arms were in so much hurt I couldn't lift them. Her agitation eventually overcame her and she offered payment from her meager savings for a private doctor that would evaluate me properly. Though it pained me to be saved once again it was an offer I couldn't refuse. I needed to end this and I needed to know how.

I found a local physician with a tall fee but a good reputation. She was attentive, thorough, thoughtful and empathetic. She asked if I ever took an AIDS test and I hesitantly testified I hadn't. She scheduled one and a follow-up visit for results. Though it was refreshing to receive suitable care the thought of having AIDS concerned me. I was no stranger to this epidemic, I had friends who had contracted it and I endured the immediate deterioration and eventual death of one of my greatest chums to this disease. Denial had penetrated my form of thinking and I thought that even though there were partners aplenty and more instances of unsafe sex than not, I believed I was invincible to it and that it would never enter my lifestyle. As I progressed home I pondered it but did not allow it to penetrate me.

I took the test, waited fervently while succumbing to eviction notices, a weight loss from 180 to 135 and my last attempt at employment. I was set to get my test results the day before Christmas Eve but a mix-up at the lab added another week of nail-biting delay. I was scheduled for part-time office work at my aunt's establishment two days before my results probably to rescind thoughts of the inevitable and to put value in my life.

I appeared early for my appointment and waited what seemed an intermittent amount of time to greet the doctor and obtain my final results. The more the doctor stalled the more certain I became that the results would not be favorable. When she finally showed with her most compassionate face on as I struggled to push my heart away from my throat and she blurted the results I thought I would faint. Not only was I HIV+ I had full-blown AIDS. It was as hard for me to bear as it was for her to say and I was appreciative that she was the chosen one to do it. Words became sentences as I held back tears and struggled to remain calm as the doctor explained how since she wasn't an infectious disease expert she would have to recommend me to Columbia Presbyterian Hospital where there was a department that specialized in treating my illness. It was a somber farewell and when I went to pay the fee at reception I was told that the doctor had waived the fee. I could not be more appreciative and touched by her kindness.

I fought tears all the way home as in what appeared to be the longest walk of my life. As soon as the key opened the lock to my apartment and I smelled it's warmth I wept like I never thought I could. I did this until I was sure there were no more tears to shed and called my mother. We wept together and I wept again as I spoke to my sister and friends. The support that they conveyed before was further established for the future. When the tears dried and the words of comfort took a recess I looked around my apartment, feeling very small and realizing that this home that once entertained much hope was now my coffin.

The man I thought I was died that night. My body could not sustain him, as he was responsible through neglect for the slow suicide and I was well rid of him. I rang the New Year watching Bruce Willis give up his life for the love of his daughter in Armageddon as people around my complex cheered and stomped 1999 and I wept uncontrollably through this manipulative film.

My rebirth would come almost a year later so for the meantime I was a mummy of my former self, ready for embalming via meds, regimens and a complete change of lifestyle; dead but alive through artificial means.

My life now consisted of countless hospital and doctor visits, social workers, welfare, therapists, more lawyers and more symptoms. The first medicine regimen my body rejected and it would take months and several trials before finding an adequate one. I was diagnosed with thrombocytopenia (low platelet count) which was responsible for the internal bleeding and which I endured steroids then transfusions to keep under control. Depression and panic attacks soon followed along with irritations of the skin and a bout of dementia. Some symptoms like sleep found solace with Ambien and depression was diffused with Paxil. I went through chicken pox (due to an HIV med,) pneumonia, kidney failure and stones with the added diagnosis of a bi-polar disorder.

I was reborn by a new contraption called WebTV. I felt frustrated and alone but was afraid to reach out through any physical means. I was fighting agoraphobia and was not ready for the world to meet the mummy. I believed via the web I could communicate with people like myself without confronting them. Thanks to public assistance and SSI I had acquired enough income to pay my bills and rent plus a little over. I purchased WebTV against better judgment and guffaws from my family that thought the money could have been put aside for a rainy day. I brought it home, hooked it up and as I awaited connection, guilt overwhelmed me and I promised myself I would return it in the morning. I didn't deserve it and I was acting spoiled. 45 minutes later a connection was established and a world I never knew opened up around me. I read everything I could on this disease and went one step further in trying to find other people afflicted like me. I found a personals site that included some men with HIV and before losing my nerve I placed an ad looking for other afflicted persons for friendship and support and establishing that absolutely no sex was a requirement as I vowed I would never and mummies don't have sex. I received several responses, much knowledge through interaction, support from the same and a glimmer of hope for survival. Several weeks later I received a response from a Chicagoan working in New York who held the same principles and was adept at making me feel at ease. There were constant e-mails then lengthy conversations on the phone. I panicked when our first meeting was set and regret at starting something I couldn't finish overcame me. The worst of our meeting was getting there following the worst panic attack ever. When I saw him waiting on Queens Boulevard with a rose in his hand and a bit of nervousness exuding from his body language I was reinvigorated to finish what I started whatever the outcome. I could not hurt this dear sweet man who had won me over with his intelligence and his perseverance. We met then dated each other exclusively as he traveled back and forth from his home in Illinois to New York. This continued for several months as I was overwhelmed by the beauty of a man who had so much to give and had chosen me as the beneficiary.

Eventually brakes screeched to a halt in our relationship as his tenure in New York came to an end and his home and child in Illinois procured his attention. He offered me the opportunity to join him in Illinois with a promise of a better life and healthier environment. I couldn't even ponder the question and politely declined. Though I dreamed beyond my studio walls I never went farther than the state of New York. I felt that if I left I would betray those that I cared for and who supported me through my darkest hours. I couldn't leave even if the prize promised happiness. My destiny was of struggle and survival not advantage and good fortune. Him staying in New York was only an option until he realized as I would too that there was a little boy in Illinois who needed his dad more than I needed a lover. I couldn't and didn't want to compete with that and was very sad and confused that my white knight would no longer shed light on my existence.

My mother, of all people, put everything in perspective. I had endured numerous doctors, countless medications and insurmountable humiliations in New York and all I could say about my health was that it was stable. Didn't I want more? This wonderful man was offering a chance that would never appear twice and I was rejecting it. As much as she would miss me his choice of life held more promise than my coffin in the ghetto. She told me I should go. I never would have guessed she'd say that and I never would have dreamed that after pondering it for days I would change my mind and agree to move but there was as much mystery in Illinois as there was staying in New York. In New York I was familiar with some of the surprises it had to offer but in Illinois the mysteries were endless and hopeful.

I said tearful goodbyes to my family and friends, packed my meager belongings in a truck, drove 17 hours to Elgin, Illinois and I broke down halfway with regret and mourning. Assurances from my white knight kept me going and the closer we got to our new home and the farther I got away from my New York coffin, I realized that the biggest mourning of grief was saying goodbye to the corpse that I let inhabit and monopolize my life.

All fresh starts are not without their struggles. Adjusting to a new home is one thing but I had a different family, procedures and lifestyle to contend with. My lover assured me every which way and never reneged on any promises that were made in New York. My first attempt at medical care in Chicago with Howard Brown was unsuccessful but my last attempt with Open Door Clinic was anything but. It was the little clinic that could and Dr. Hirsch and his staff did for me what 50 New York doctors couldn't do, they made me undetectable. They welcomed me with open arms and I found in them and in particular my social worker the family that I lost twice in New York.

It's not to say that I never ailed again or suffered from symptoms no more. I am no miracle man. I was reborn countless of times by the kindness of strangers, family (old and new,) one man and a black and white schnauzer named Maui that was more therapeutic than any with a degree. I finally became the man that I could respect enough to let me love another whose worth was even grander.

I wake up every day with a fight in me, not because I have to but because I want to take care of this fragile new body with it's better head on its shoulders. If I had to do it over again, I would reject reliving it but the outcome I would embrace without regrets because it saved me and allowed me to finally enjoy living.

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