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by Nelia Dingcong Bernabe
December 3, 2010
Wednesday was World AIDS Day and this year’s theme was Universal Access and Human Rights. A few sobering facts: it is estimated that about 33.3 million people are living with HIV, including 2.5 million children; 2.6 million people were infected with the virus; and about 1.8 million people died from AIDS in 2009.
General awareness of AIDS in the United States started in the very early 1980s, even as early as 1981. Back then, public anxiety grew stemming from the lack of information in what was considered a new disease that delivered a death sentence. Those with the virus and the disease resorted to silence and lived in fear of being discovered. Intolerance and outrage were meted out to the afflicted. For years, they were scorned and shamed.
According to reports, AVERT, an international AIDS charity, estimates that more than one million people in the U.S. alone have been diagnosed with the AIDS virus since the beginning of the epidemic and more than half a million have died. AVERT also reports that 75 percent of adults and adolescents living with AIDS are men.
The onset of this decade has highlighted the great strides we have made in the medical front, in educating the public, and in people’s attitude towards those who have the virus and disease. And remarkable strides we continue to make.
But before we arrived at this pivotal shift in attitude, famous names like Ryan White, Rock Hudson, Anthony Perkins, Freddie Mercury, and Liberace come to mind. They died before seeing the incredible results of what painstaking research, collaborative effort, and human compassion could do. Then there’s Magic Johnson who continues to defy the odds for almost two decades now.
However, I couldn’t let one World AIDS Day go by without talking about my friend E who died of AIDS 16 years ago.
One would think that it gets easier through time but it doesn’t. He was this virile gay man who had so much going for him from the time I met him, three years prior to his death, up until he got really sick.
I remember how the illness devoured him slowly. First, it was his legs. He complained that they hurt. We thought it was just because it was wintertime and he had to work in the shipping dock and got exposed to the cold. But then he started limping. Then it was followed by two trips to the hospital for an upset stomach. When prodded about his condition, he dismissed it as a stomach virus. Then more trips to the hospital ensued.
Back in 1994, talks about AIDS were hushed and the mere mention of the word was akin to moral defamation. It was such a taboo that asking a person if he has AIDS would have been a friendship killer. I kept my mouth shut but I had a lot of questions.
When he was hospitalized for the third time, I remember asking him why he has been going to the hospital a lot. This time he said he had pneumonia. Upon hearing that, I knew in my heart that my friend was not going to get better. By our third visit to the hospital, he had lost a few pounds.
“E” managed to get back to work very briefly after his third trip to the hospital. When he came back to work, I remember him becoming such a stickler in the use of his silverware and sharing his food. He was a great cook and for a long time, he spoiled us by bringing food to work almost every night.
The short time that he was able to work became the breeding ground for our suspicions to ripen. He stopped sharing everything. He started isolating himself from everyone. He separated his food from ours. He became withdrawn. He started losing more weight. He asked a chunk of questions about our medical insurance.
Then one day, he stopped coming to work. We had more unanswered questions but our suspicions escalated. A few months went by and his birthday came. My visit to the hospital to see my friend on his birthday was life changing as it was an experience I will never forget. This time around, the feeling of dread weighed heavily in my heart. As I walked the quiet corridors of the hospital that afternoon, I could not help but feel really somber and nervous.
His room was located at the very end of the hallway and as I approached the closed door, I could not help but notice all the neon orange biohazard stickers that were strategically placed. My heart started racing. I quietly pushed the door open and nothing could have prepared me for what I saw next. It could be described in two words: utter shock.
There lying on the sterile hospital bed was my friend or what was left of him. He was skin and bones and unrecognizable with his sunken eyes and expressionless countenance. He looked defeated as he tried his best to look at me with that undeniable now-you-know-the-truth expression on his face. After I said “happy birthday” right when I walked in, I was speechless for 20 minutes as I mustered all my strength to not fall apart. His voice was faint and he could hardly move. He had lesions all over his body. He was in diapers.
A few days after my visit to the hospital, my friend “E” died a peaceful death I was told. At his wake, I sat motionless as I stared at his handsome framed picture on top of his casket reminiscing about the fun times that we shared. Although his untimely death was unfortunate, I found comfort in the thought that my friend lived a full life. He had fun and he lived it in his own terms.
My friend would have been so proud to see the remarkable progress that’s been done and that’s ongoing. Wherever he is right now, I am pretty sure he’s happy to know that the disease that killed him is no longer a death sentence nor does it carry the same stigma and shame that he had to endure. Progress is a wonderful thing! It’s been 16 years but my friend E will never be forgotten.