It was November 2nd 2011 as I sat in the basement at G-A-Y Bar, proud that I was the one who volunteered to go first out of our group of four friends for the free HIV testing. I have OCD, so I would always get tested like clockwork every six months.
The health care worker looked down at the little plastic dish where he had put my blood sample about a minute ago, and then looked up at me as he began to speak. “I’d like to arrange for you to come into our clinic at 56 Dean Street for a follow-up test, as this one has come out positive.” I calmly explained that I would check my schedule to see when I could find a window of time to come in over the next two days.
That word ‘positive’ had yet to cause a negative reaction in me. In fact, at that moment there was no positive or negative feeling in me, I was numb. Three of my friends were in the other room waiting to be tested. It was time to force a smile, and lie to them that everything was fine.
I returned to 56 Dean Street the next day to get a follow-up test to disprove the previous day’s result, but proven positive they were. Over the next couple of weeks I was on a steep learning curve of CD4 counts, viral loads, and HAART therapy. I also learned that I was resistant to two types of HIV medications.
The doctor explained that the stud who infected me was probably at one time on these two HIV meds but still felt the need to enjoy the wonders of unprotected sex without feeling the need to inform others about the gift he was silently giving. There were tears, and I hated the fact I was now a statistic. But I also knew that we are no longer in 1982, and living with HIV is no longer a death sentence.
I have a treatable chronic condition that doesn’t have as good of a publicist as some of its fellow chronic chums like diabetes, or congenital heart problems. My latest blood results on January 25th saw my CD4 count drop from 377 on diagnosis to 241. In simple terms, this means that every night at 11pm I now need to take a pill that is a combination of three HIV meds. A few weeks of not so fun side effects awaits, but so does a long life if I adhere to this schedule without fail.
The only way to remove the stigma that still revolves around HIV is for more openness and understanding. Before Christmas, I sent a message to all my Facebook friends stating that I was HIV positive and wasn’t going to hide about it.
I also changed both my Gaydar and Fitlads profile descriptions to introduce any potential penis pals to this new and unwelcome squatter in my blood stream, and the non-negotiable safety precautions that this would require. The reason I’ve decided to be open and transparent about my HIV status with everyone has nothing to do with being brave as I am one of the biggest cowards you’ll ever meet. I do it because it needs to be done. Not by everyone, but by those who feel they can.
Then hopefully some scared 17 year-old kid diagnosed being HIV positive will realise that it’s not the end of the world. The virus won’t go away, but hopefully the need to hide that you’re living with it will disappear.
Twitter Tim: @ @timothy_lock
