Life Is a River

Is HIV Viral Undetectability Important?

Thu, 9 Jan 2014 20:58:00 GMT

I have been on anti-HIV meds since 1994. I have had HIV definitely for thirty years and probably more. In that time I have seen people sickened and killed by the meds. I have developed long-term complications as a direct result of the meds. More importantly recent studies of which I was a subject have shown that HIV doesn't sicken people by infecting CD4 cells as much as the virus' attempt to infect sleeper cells, which releases chemicals that cause cells to self-destruct. This self-destruction leads to complications such as early-onset dementia, heart disease, cancer and debilitating arthritis. The HIV meds do little to control the reservoirs of HIV that hide out in the sleeper cells located throughout the body. For these reasons, I personally do not believe the current mania for nuking HIV into so-called undetectability is either wise or effective.

A Year of Learning and Self Awareness

Wed, 10 Jul 2013 07:55:00 GMT

Over the last year I have worked with a therapist on issues relating to my physically abusive mother and my bipolar disorder; I had my first frightening episode of disassociation caused by my worsening dementia; and my garden won an award.

My mother was both physically and verbally abusive. Because of this abuse I have problems dealing with women. I was able to control those problems until HIV damaged those parts of my brain that filter responses to stimuli. As far as my therapist and my psychiatrist can determine this damage first became apparent in 1995 at which time I was HIV positive for eleven years.

My Horrific Seven Months

Wed, 13 Jun 2012 07:55:00 GMT

I haven't written for quite a while. My excuse is that I have been careening from one health issue to another and haven't had the strength to write. I have learned quite a lot from these illnesses. I am still struggling to reckon the past seven months.

In November I had a mild heart attack. I was at UCLA for an appointment with my neurologist, Dr. Elyse Singer. The trip to UCLA is always grueling for me. I can no longer drive so I have to rely on a disabled transit service. Since I am prone to profound weakness when stressed, I use a power wheel chair for the trip.

Openness

Fri, 2 Sep 2011 08:14:00 GMT

As I held my pruner in one hand and the guide book for pruning a bonsai in the other I read that a bonsai is pruned to promote openness. The guide book continued with the helpful hint that the trunk and branches of the bonsai are pruned so that they peek through the foliage. The bonsai I was about to prune is a western cedar whose growth was naturally stunted by a liquid amber tree. It is about four feet high and five feet across and was at one time an elegant addition to my back garden. Now, it looked like a badly pruned hedge.

I set about promoting openness in this little tree with my pruner and slowly an elegant, perfectly proportioned little tree emerged. The work took my mind off my visit to the doctor's office that day during which I was told my viral load was over 1 million and I had 100,000 copies of HIV per milliliter of my spinal fluid. As I promoted openness in my little tree, I thought about the meaning of that conditional noun and my current condition.

Where Was I When HIV First Reared Its Ugly Head?

Fri, 3 Jun 2011 12:30:00 GMT

On June 5, 1981, when the CDC report on mysterious cases of young gay men dying of Pneumocystis carinii pneumonia in Los Angeles came out I was a very busy student in my senior year of college. I had begun college in 1977 with the intention of being an English major; however, I found out soon I was rubbish at writing literary critiques. A woman I met at lunch one day told me that Actuarial Science graduates made loads of money so I switched my major to mathematics. I finished courses sufficient to take the first two Actuarial Science tests; but in May 1981 I realized the Veteran's Administration War Orphans benefits I was receiving due to my dad's 100% disability suffered in Viet Nam were due to run out before I could complete the coursework necessary to take the next eight Actuarial Science exams. I needed to have a job by March 1982 when my VA benefits ran out, so I switched my major to Business with a concentration in Accounting. To graduate, I needed to take four courses per quarter in the coming summer, fall and winter quarters. I was consequently swamped with course work that June.

Took My Chance

Thu, 10 Mar 2011 07:38:00 GMT

I have just returned from a wonderful trip to Egypt. Fortunately, I returned home a few days before the troubles started. I am not surprised the Egyptian people are dissatisfied with their lot and are in a state of rebellion. Poverty is everywhere and around all the monuments are slums. At the pyramids the slums are within a hundred yards and the Sphinx looks upon some of the worst.

Sometimes You Just Have to Take a Chance

Mon, 10 Jan 2011 16:52:00 GMT

In a few days I'm off to Egypt for three weeks on a trip I've dreamt of all my life. The trip is disabled friendly I am told. My partner's doctors don't believe he's up to a long flight so I am going by myself. All of my doctors have told me that my neurological issues may flare up on the arduous trip I am undertaking. But, you just have to tuck your chin in sometimes and take a chance.

Fighting the "Holiday Blues"

Thu, 16 Dec 2010 09:16:00 GMT

For many people with HIV/AIDS this season can be especially bad. We can be separated by our friends and families by distance or their refusal to accept our lifestyle or HIV status. If we haven't come out to our friends or families or told them we have HIV/AIDS, we can be forced to play pronoun games about the important people in our lives or have to be cheerful even if we are working through a recent HIV/AIDS diagnosis. For many, this time of year brings back memories of the friends we have lost due to AIDS. I for one no longer have any gay male friends from my 20s and 30s left alive. The virus itself makes us prone to depression, which gets worse during the holidays. This year, so many people are out of work or worried about losing their jobs that can only add to the burden of the Holiday Blues.

My partner and I have discovered a few ways to battle the Holiday Blues, which we hope can help you.

Paying Attention

Tue, 7 Dec 2010 08:43:00 GMT

My partner and I live just north of Los Angeles in the slightly inclined stretch of land that becomes the foothills and then the startling uprightness of the San Gabriel Mountains. In winter, the mountains are often dusted with snow. After a snow, when the sun peeks between the horizon and the clouds, the mountains are tinted yellow, orange and pink. In the summer, the setting sun tints the mountains violet.

We bought our house on a whim. Jim had remained behind in Edinburgh to sort out our move back to the States and I had the job of scouting out houses near my new job in Pasadena. I had seen several houses with a real estate agent, none of which met our criteria that the house must not need any renovation, should be on a cute street, and should be a house built in the 1920s. As an afternoon of house hunting dragged on, I began to despair of ever finding "The House" when the agent and I pulled in front of the house we came to own. Upon seeing it, I immediately remembered our rented flat in Edinburgh, Scotland.

Beth

Wed, 8 Sep 2010 21:49:00 GMT

Beth was the most remarkable person I have ever met. I first heard of her in spring 1991 in an article in the Sunday section of the Marin Independent. At the time, I was living with my partner, Jim, in an apartment in Tiburon, California, on the edge of Richardson Bay with a view from the Bay Bridge to the Golden Gate Bridge. In the evening we could sit on our deck and admire the view of San Francisco while waves lapped against the beach beneath our feet. Life was good for Jim and me. We had satisfying work and a wonderful group of friends. Yet with all this, I remained angry that I had been infected with HIV.

I don't mean by anger an emotional response to an insult that was to plague me beginning in 1994 as a result of my developing HIV Associated Dementia, which I have written about in earlier blogs -- a soul-deep anger at the Universe that seemed to have violated its contract to treat me benevolently. Before my HIV diagnosis, I believed that we lived in the best of all possible worlds and that behind all the blessings of this world there was a loving and kind god. My HIV diagnosis in September 1984 was a deathblow to that belief system. I became very depressed, which in some ways is anger directed internally.

My Journey to Gay Pride

Tue, 29 Jun 2010 20:35:00 GMT

I knew from an early age that I liked men's bodies. In central Florida where I attended junior and senior high school in the '60s, chain gangs regularly scythed the tall grass that grew alongside the state highway that intersected the road I lived on. I spent many afternoons hidden in tall grass looking through my father's army binoculars at the sweaty, shirtless convicts in striped prison pants as they toiled in the hot sun. When I went to the circus, I loved to watch the male trapeze artists in their tights and bare chests. Gym class was only bearable because of the showers afterwards. I still remember a blond god of a boy who caught me looking at him and took his dick in his hand to show it to me.

But, like so many gay boys, I felt very guilty about my feelings for men. By ninth grade, these feelings of guilt and shame began to affect my behavior. My grades declined, I began to argue with my mother, and I started hanging out with a rough crowd at school. I spent a lot of time in my room fantasizing about a world where people like me could live without hassle.

For Me, HIV/AIDS Is Not a Chronic, Manageable Disease

Tue, 8 Jun 2010 19:37:00 GMT

I am not a researcher -- I can only speak from my own experience -- but far too many people mistakenly believe that HIV no longer causes chronic illness because of the potent anti-retrovirals available. Over the last five years in particular, I have become aware that both doctors and the non-infected public have the ill informed opinion that HIV/AIDS is completely controlled by medications. The belief that HIV/AIDS is no longer a health threat has caused many to become complacent about avoiding infection and has also caused many to view the illnesses of the HIV infected as unimportant.

Most people do not know that the anti-HIV meds do not eliminate all the virus from the body; they merely reduce levels of the virus to undetectable levels, or less than 75 copies per milliliter of blood. At these undetectable levels, the blood of a 180 pound man may contain as much as 431K copies of HIV. That viral load does not include the unknown thousands of HIV copies lurking about the body. At these levels the virus still has an inflammatory effect on the body.

My Father Was a Very Complex Man

Wed, 12 May 2010 17:30:00 GMT

My father was a very complex man. Incredibly handsome, he was always attractive to the ladies. Tender, he would never allow my mother to beat me when he was around. Accomplished, he could find deer or fish when no else could. And, he was brave beyond any bravery I have had to muster because of AIDS. Watching the HBO series, The Pacific, has renewed my pride of my dad's bravery in the Pacific in WWII.

My father fought in the Pacific Theater of WWII as a member of the Army Corps of Engineers. He was stationed in the Aleutian Islands off the coast of Alaska in 1941 when the Japanese viciously attacked the American bases on those islands as a diversionary tactic to their larger attack on Pearl Harbor. After that battle, my dad followed the Marines' advance on the Pacific islands rebuilding damaged airfields for US planes.

My Story

Tue, 23 Feb 2010 20:48:00 GMT

I was born into a military family. As a kid, I moved around a great deal. My older brother was the lucky one -- he got to travel around Europe. I was the one who moved from Mineral Wells, Texas, to a series of postings in California and Washington state. My father retired to Central Florida where I finished high school. I went to university in Atlanta where I met my beloved partner of 30 years.

On the Saturday before Labor Day 1984, I learned I was infected with HIV. I was living in Atlanta at that time. I was 31 years old. The news came in the form of a certified letter from the Red Cross delivered by the mail carrier who was the daughter of the pastor of the church I attended in Central Florida as a kid. She had moved to Atlanta to be with her girlfriend and became a letter carrier who by happenstance was assigned a route that included my house. I remember her saying, as she handed the letter to me, "A certified letter from the Red Cross. Isn't that strange?"