Welcome to My AIDS/LifeCycle Homepage

June 6 - June 12, 2010, I'm participating in AIDS/LifeCycle.

It's a 7-day, 545-mile bike ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles to make a world of difference in the lives of people living with HIV and AIDS.

Why?

As the 80's icon Sophia Patrillo said: Picture it - Fullerton, December 1985. A freshman at Fullerton College (me) decides to organize a school wide Blood Drive. 250+ students show up. There is a line to donate. I take the symbolic first stab in the arm to kick off the event.

February, 1986 - I receive a form letter from the Red Cross that my blood has tested positive for HIV and that I should seek medical attention immediately. How could this be? I am only 19 years old. I can count my sexual partners on one hand and know each one by first and last name. I don't use drugs.  I haven't been to Haiti. At the time, I wasn't even sure where Haiti was. This can't be right.

8 days later (the soonest available appointment), I go to the Jeffery Goodman Clinic on Highland Ave in Hollywood, California (yes, Highland) and get a confirmation test done.

Two agonizing weeks pass - I go back to the Clinic for my results.  This is an improvement from the prior 3.5 weeks it used to take.

20 minutes pass as I sit in the waiting lobby glancing at other distraught faces. In the 80's, the Federal government was a bit intrusive with their powers of the CDC. The Republican party is in the White House. They can't bring themselves to saying the word "AIDS" but they sure wanted to know the names of people that were getting it.  For our own protection, we are each given a number. (talk about waiting for your number to be up.) When my number is called, I am taken into an all white room that contained one table with one chair on each side. I remember thinking how sterile it all was. Even for an old building on Highland.

I am greeted by some twenty-something case worker. While she sits there chewing gum.  She is wearing too much make-up even for 1986 drag queen (ah the 80's... the era of shoulder pads, cosmetics and over-powering colognes). The case worker confirms that I am in fact, HIV+. Another case worker who promptly empathizes with me and suggests I get my affairs in order.  Statistics showed I have 6 to 9 months to live. I immediately started smoking. (what the hell - it's not like it's gonna kill me now - right?) I tell no one of my diagnosis. It is the new plague.

After the 3 day panic attack - I rethink my values and promptly quit school, quit my job and run up my charge cards buying expensive gifts for dear friends and family.  I get my "I love you's" up to date and while I start to write a will, I realize - I have nothing to pass on.  Nothing except my new found debt and sick sense of humor.

As life goes on, I realize that being HIV+ is discouraging, but I still have all this damn laundry to do and should really get to the laundromat. It was that laundry day, I realized my life will go on a while longer and I shouldn't lay down in the coffin quite yet.

Needing to find some sanity and find people who may understand my turmoil, I attend a few HIV+ rap-groups. It's sort of like going to AA except we are all LOOKING for drugs.  (haha)  I speak highly of rap-groups. As anyone that has ever attended a rap-group for any reason can attest - you'll leave your group each night thinking to yourself "At least I'm not as bad off as I thought, but somehow I'm more depressed than I was before I showed up". It is then I learn, first hand, where the expression "Misery loves company" came from.

November 1986 - Political extremist, Lyndon LaRouche (D) authors Proposition 64 - a proposition that would have all HIV+ people in remote area concentration camps. Looking like it will pass, the U.S. government starts looking for deserted islands to put us (yes, folks, no joke, it's true!)

In 1988, afraid I am destined to die alone, I end up with a domestically violent boyfriend and feel grateful to have someone... anyone... in my life that says those words we all want to hear "I love you".  He convinced me that no one would want to be in a relationship with me, I endure the beatings, the breaking of my nose and all the mind games just to hear "I love you" once in a while. After being beaten, bruised and cut, I find the courage to break-up with him thinking that if AIDS didn't kill me, he would. I leave with him reminding me that I was lucky to have him in my life and that no one else would want to be with me because I'm infected with HIV. He steals my Day-Runner Organizer (remember those?) He calls everyone in it and tells them my HIV diagnosis. If they don't answer, he leaves a message on their answering machine. As my friends and family start to find out of I am positive... Some cry. Some hug me. Some are afraid to touch me. Others just disappear out of my life.

In 1990, I become active against AIDS and do volunteer work, spoke at a few high schools, participate in AIDS walks, Dance-A-Thon's, join ACT-UP!, make frequent visits at The Center for Living and attend spiritual mass with Mary Louise Hayes at a church on Hollywood Boulevard (whatever happened to her). Being a recovering Catholic, I didn't quite understand the part about I was my own God. (that was way too much pressure!) It brought back the pressure I felt as a 6 year old watching Smokey the Bear on Saturday morning TV stating "Only YOU, can prevent forest fires".  (Only me? WTF?  I'm six years old for Pete's sake. I can't even reach the pedals of a fire truck little enough the pedals on my new purple Huffy bike with the banana seat, white grips and tassels on the handle bars.... but I digress.)

That same year, I went to nine funerals. Some of my friends died of AIDS related illnesses while others died by a toxic dose of an experimental drug called AZT. (You have to remember that HIV was so new - all HIV medicines were experimental.) Like many others, I had stopped taking pictures of friends -- it was too painful to open my photo albums. I, myself, was healthy but exhausted and thought I might be stressing myself into illness. I felt I should rest a while and let the newbies take the helm for a while. After all, there were so many newbies at the time. (too many)

In 1991, it had been 6 years since I packed my bags to go on that final trip and I was still living. I found myself unemployed and rent due. I got a job as a bartender thinking it was the best thing for me at the time. No stress, cash in hand and a new way to meet people. For 10 years, I served more unneeded alcohol to more unneeded alcoholics than I probably should have. All the while, attending funeral after funeral.  No one was immune.

It has been 25 years now.  I have been HIV+ longer than I was HIV- in my lifetime.  25 years of 6-9 months to live... and I'm still here. Most Republicans considered HIV as chronic instead of fatal.  Thanks to advances in medicine. I'm healthy, happy, partnered for 10 years to the most wonderful guy, employed with a fantastic organization with many co-workers I think of as family. My viral load is undetectable, T-cells are higher than ever, there's money in the bank, a great low rate mortgage on a house in the valley and two dogs that greet us every evening with such excitement - as if they hadn't seen us in months. Not a bad life for a dead guy, eh?

I get sad when I remember that not a single one of my 1986 friends have made it this far. I have no one in my life that shares the above memories. They are all gone now. But -- not ME! I'm still here. And I have no reasonable explanation for it. I'm not supposed to be here.

Don't misunderstand - I'm not cured.  There is no cure! Without proper medication, every common cold can still become a killer to those of us that are HIV+. The epidemic rages on. Regrettably, AIDS is now the leading cause of death for people age 15 to 59 worldwide. 20 million people have already died and 38 million others are living with HIV/AIDS. Global statistics show, 5 people die of AIDS every minute. Every minute of every day, a child contracts HIV and every 14 seconds, a child is orphaned by AIDS. Once every 8 days, that newly orphaned child is an American.

So yes, I am asking for help. Help me celebrate my 25th anniversary. Help me raise money so others can tell their story. Help me raise money so they can HAVE a story! Give what you can. Only YOU can prevent people from untimely deaths.

Please DONATE! (scroll back up, click the orange button under the picture) Time is money but money can buy some people time.
God bless us all (Just like HIV, God doesn't discriminate),
Thank you for reading,

Brendan

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