A Bitter Pill

        I hate taking pills. As I unscrew the tops from each prescription bottle and fill my hand with the various shape and colored pills I go through a robotic motion as they make a small mound in my palm. Funny thing is that after so many years of swallowing them you’d think it’d be easy. That I would operate on auto-pilot. That after fourteen years of taking many assortments of tablets, my mind would be okay with the fact that my health is dependent on something no bigger than my pinkie finger.

            I had gotten away scot free for the first 12 years of my diagnosis of not having to take them. I was reluctant to even consider them when I learned of my status. It already seemed my life was now out of control and the last thing I needed was a pill to dictate how to live my life. I didn’t want to build my life around a schedule of pills. Especially the pills that was available to me at the time. I didn’t always want to swallow something on a full stomach or take so many hours after a meal. I didn’t want dispense pills in a blue pill reminder that made me think of senior citizens. I wanted to sit in the driver seat but it seemed like more than ever I was being forced to scoot over and sit in the passenger seat.

         At the time I made a deal with my doctor that I would only consider the pill if my blood count reached a point where it was in the danger zone. He didn’t question me but respected my feelings as he knew that if you’re not in a frame of mind to follow a daily regime, you’ll do more damage if you’re inconsistent with your medication. The rule of thumb is that your body will build up a resistance to the HIV drugs if you take them only when you feel like it. Having your body resistant to medications leaves you with few choices of antiviral drugs that will keep the virus at bay.

      “Someone once asked me that if there was something that could save your life why not take it?” It wasn’t that simple to me as I had several unspoken fears. The first fear was me not knowing what the drugs would do to my body over time. Knowing that my liver and kidney has to take the blunt of the medication and praying they have the tenacity to hang in there as I get older.

        The second fear was the side effects that some of the pills can cause. I heard from other people about their ill such as headaches or upset stomachs. I didn’t want to endure that. I didn’t want to take a pill to take a pill, an endless merry-go-round with no gold brass ring to catch. I basically didn’t want my medicine cabinet to look like a drugstore.

        Speaking of drugstore, I was scared at the time of the stigma of simply getting my prescription filled. What used to be my secret would now be known by strangers behind the counter as a young person barely out of high school rings up my co-pay. I could have looked at it as business as usual but to me it was my business and my circumstances were unusual as I still questioned why me.

  

       My choice was finally taken out of my hand when the agreement I made with my doctor came to pass. My blood work numbers were starting to not look good and if I didn’t do anything while I had the ability and my body was strong, I would probably reach a point when it would be too late.

         I learned then that you are considered to have AIDS when your CD4 number went below 200. Although mine hovered around the 300 range, in a weird way I felt that as long as I had HIV and not AIDS that I was okay. I rationalized that I had it, but didn’t have it. That balloon of my reality soon burst when my doctor informed me that my CD4 was below 200. I had AIDS. It was now time for me to look at my pill option.

            I still don’t like my pills but the reality is that without those pills I would be in a different situation. And I probably would have waited until I was lying in the hospital bed, when things were now considered to late. My argument is that I wanted control over this virus but the truth was that by letting it go unchecked, it was in control. And not in a good way.

            I learned to love chocolate milk as it seemed to be the only thing that helps the pills go down without me gagging. I also learned to talk to my doctor to find a regiment that was easy for me to handle. If something didn’t make me feel right I could work with him to find something that did. Luckily in all my years there has only been one pill that didn’t agree with me, and it was quickly replaced. I felt I made the right choice and was using something that could help. And whatever felt stigma I perceived would happen, would have to be removed from my life as I wanted to live without the authority or perception of others.

         Do I still have fears and concerns? Yes but as I see my viral load remains undetectable and my CD4 being the highest it’s ever been, I feel better knowing that finally I’m no longer ignoring the actuality of my health. And for me the bitter pill I swallow is knowing that although I have HIV and I have to take medication, I also have control.

A Letter to A Father I Never Met-Repost

Dear Dad or Father or the person who donated his sperm,

I'm writing to say that I wished I had a chance to meet you as I've always wondered about the other half of me. I'm sorry i missed out on the memories we would have had I'm being positive when I say that they would have been good ones. As a child when I saw men shoes I wondered how you would look walking in them. Maybe me with you walking hand in hand.

I want you to know that I turned out okay despite your absence. Ma had to take up the space you left behind and it wasn't always perfect but she did the best that she could with what she had. I've done a lot of good myself since I've been on my own. I think you would have been proud of me.

I wished i knew your name. I've asked ma but she gives me a different name each time I ask. maybe something happened between you both. But it's not my place to ask.

I do look in the mirror and wonder if we look the same. As you can tell I have a shaved head as my hair started to recede when I was young. Did the same thing happened to you? But people say it looks good on me so I guess it's cool.

I hope you know I'm not mad at you or at least I'm not mad at you anymore. To do so would take up space that is reserved for love and at this point in my life love is all I want to share.  When I was young. I would hear jokes about black fathers having babies and leaving and I knew it was true because it happened to me. I guess raising a child is scary or there were other reasons you left. The saddest I felt is whether you knew it or not my other siblings had a different father. Fathers that they could call or go visit. I was the only one who couldn't do that. I remember as a child they gathered around me and started to tell me how i didn't have a father. It hurt but I didn't let them see. I cried when they went away. So I guess that was one of the times i was mad you weren’t there.

But I'll have you to now that I've grown stronger since then and the tears have stopped falling. Why do black men leave? It's a question I've asked myself as I'm not the only one who has grown up without a father.

But I want you to know that I’ve climbed some mountains I thought were too high to climb. I got my advanced degree and have a great opportunity to put my words in places for others to see.

I want to even go as far as to say I made a difference.  I may have stopped looking for you but I haven’t stop looking for the good in me that I can give to others.

Whatever your reason for leaving just know that if I have a child I'll always be there and I'll always show him love. I didn't say that to make you feel guilty but to let you know I learned something from your absence.

Sorry for the typo's but i just wanted to write something from my heart and like life realize not everything is perfect. But thank you for bringing me into this world and the gift of life you gave me I'm going to give it to others whether through my words actions or my essence.

So think of me and when you do feel I hope you feel proud knowing the part of you that you gave to make me has sprouted up and stands tall as a strong black man.

Well ending my letter but not my love

Your son

Hidden in the Open: A Photographic Essay of Afro American Male Couples

         I recently came across a wonderful collection of photography that showed gay men of color who are coupled or posed together in intimate ways that doesn’t cross the line of decency. The wonderful thing about this online gallery is that it dates back to the 19^th century, giving one a glimpse into what is often not seen, black men in a relationship.

            Compared to the sexualized images that are displayed today of black men, it’s refreshing to see that the concept of black men being in love or being in the company with each other especially during a time when it was more than a crime, it was a double strike for harm: being gay and being black. I cannot imagine what such a relationship endured and what obstacles had to be overcome to maintain such a relationship.

            To know that for the men in the pictures forces were in place from both sides: one side that would do harm based on the color of your skin and the other side, your own black community, who may inflict the same harm based on your sexuality choice.

             Credit for the photographs goes to Historian Trent Kelly who has done a great job assembling these pictures taken from the last 140 years of gay black history. By gathering the pictures as a collection he archives a lost history which is often not seen. As Mr. Kelly states in a previous interview, “Some of these images are sure to be gay and others may not. The end result is speculative at best for want in applying a label. Not every gesture articulated between men was an indication of male to male intimacies. Assuredly, what all photographs in this book have in common are signs of Afro American male affection and love that were recorded for posterity without fear and shame.”

            I’m humbled by the smile of two men in one photograph taken in the 30’s as they stand side by side, each displaying a joy washed over their face. It’s a testimony that love can endure and that it’s also timeless. That love can be macho, that it can be timeless, a template for today.

            I have heard from some people I know stating why they are not in a relationship. Often I hear about the stigma and the overall difficulties of being gay and a person of color in today’s society, but to see these pictures and placing it in the context of the time when it was taken you have to wonder if the barriers that exist today are as difficult as they were in the early twentieth century?

            Mr. Kelly further states the reasoning why he started the project as he felt that Afro American gay male and couple has largely been defined by everyone but themselves. As evident by the sexualized images of Mapplethorpe or even the mentality of the public as gay black men are often stripped of their identity and today placed in either a grouping of being an abomination or a category of sexuality with a new identity that removes their face and are viewed based on their ‘BBC’ or other less flattering and newly adopted negative tags such as ‘thug’ If you’re looking for such an image in these collections I guarantee you, you’ll be disappointed

.           There are truly some people I personally know who actually are under the impression that gay black men didn’t exist until the arrival of Langston Hughes or the oft mentioned, James Baldwin. But in fairness there is not a huge collection of images of black men in the past showing affection. And their stories are often not told. Usually the only images of black men in general that we are treated with are ones of us hanging from the tree with a crowd of revelers smiling.  

            What’s affirming is to see the confidence that is displayed in the pictures of two men who can be in the same company without the air of machismo. In this month of celebrating Pride I hope people who view these pictures, especially Afro-American’s can come away with the knowledge that we have been in love with each other for centuries. That the love we have shown each other has endured segregation, men in white hoods, the taunt lynching rope, the biting of the dog while marching for our civil rights and the emergence of a four letter word called AIDS.

            I thank Mr. Kelly for assembling these photographs. Although they have existed for years by assembling them together for easy viewing he has done something that is very beneficial not only for the black community but for the gay community as a whole. He is has made sure we have not become the ‘invisible man’ and by archiving our history he provides a glimpse of what our future can look like.

            If you can, make sure you look at the collected photos and maybe come up with ways that the love displayed today can be archived and stories told, never to be lost anymore.

Photographs of Afro-American Men 1920's-today 

Father's Day

            Chuck was a man who clearly had dreams just like anyone else. And like everyone else he was also a person who wanted to love and be loved in return. In honor of Father's Day I reflect on Chuck and recognize that it will be close to a year since his passing.
             I met Chuck or rather Chuck met me at a HIV support group. I later learned from him he had intentions once he read a recent story written about the group with a photo of me published along with the article. Whatever his intentions was we hit it off despite the fact that he had twenty years over me, me being in my early thirties-he in his fifties. It wasn’t like he was robbing the cradle but was my first time dating someone older and there were reservations because of the age difference but since we had so much in common, and not just our status,  we become a couple.
            I had always admired Chuck as he was a driven person and refused to let his status stop him from living a full life. He had a successful career of which when Mondays came around he welcomed it as he loved what he did. He shared his love with his dog Tasha who didn’t give me that same love right away as she would yap at me and keep a clear distance. But one day after slipping her a whole beef rib, she warmed up to me right away. The power of the rib! And the bulk of Chuck’s love went to his son. A young man that could brighten up and remove any bad moods Chuck would experience. As a single father, his son was always first in his life.

            Chuck was known for many things but there were two that stood out. One was his cooking. He loved to get in his kitchen and whip up a gourmet type meal without the need of a cookbook. Although the meal may sometimes be served close to midnight as it had to be perfect, it was always worth the wait. I would joke that he should stop calling it dinner and call it breakfast. One of those meals consisted of me and him sitting in the kitchen while he did his magic making sure I stayed out the way. He was limping that day as he would sometimes have trouble with his back. Noticing it, I told him I could order out. You would have thought I stole his check as he gave me a look that telegraphed, “Are You Crazy.” Even offering to help prepare the meal he gave me the same look with a playful tightened grip on the knife that warned me that if I dared moved off the stool I was sitting on; there’d be hell in the suburbs.

            He explained it was one of his new meds giving him a slight numbness in his leg but he’d be damned, as he told me, to let a pill smaller than his pinkie stop him from enjoying what he loved to do. I then asked him something that was always curious to me. In a tactful way I asked him was it hard to have HIV in his fifties and did he worry about the future. I’ll never forget how he stopped and real plainly told me, “Ain’t nothing in this life easy, you going to have things that will want to make you give in. But that’s when you start living. And I’ll be damned if anything think it’s going to come along and make me give in. I have a son to raise” As for the future, he let told me, “Until the future get here, live the life you have now”. Even in his time of need it wasn’t about him, but his family.

            It was one of many things I admired about Chuck, the honesty he had with his son. His son knew he was gay but because Chuck made himself available to answer any questions, he erased the mystique of it. Chuck shared that the hardest thing was trying to explain why he needed to take the many pills he did and why sometimes he didn’t feel so good after taking those same pills. He assured his son that he was not living a death sentence. He did when HIV wasn’t considered a disease that would be one you could manage as protease inhibitors were not available and side effects were more the norm. Yet he would never let any of his ills stop him from his fatherly duties and spending time with his son.

            I used to never allow myself the thought of having a family. Especially being diagnosed in my teens, I had a harder time believing that I would be alive in my thirties. But now that I met that age benchmark and realizing I wasn’t going anywhere, Chuck opened my eyes to the possibilities and in a way he modeled to me how to have a full life in my fifties and beyond without my status draining the enjoyment of my life.

             Eventually Chuck and I broke up but we didn’t part ways. Even after it wasn’t a friend with benefits situation; it was simply a friendship that recognized, although we shifted our relationship on one level, we could still be friends on another level. Soon after Chuck’s son grew up and moved out the house and then after Chuck’s beloved dog crossed the Rainbow Bridge into another life.

            I can’t say how the silence of the house affected Chuck; I just know he was a person who loved to be surrounded by laughter. Luckily the laughter was replaced with the help of his grandchildren. He was truly one of a kind.

             Chuck went home at the age of 68. He will always be missed. I know Tasha is glad to see him. To me he wasn’t just a good friend. He was inspiration; he was a person in love with life, he was the greatest cook in the world. But most of all and as we will recognize on the special holiday for men like him, he was the greatest father.

Happy Father’s Day Charles.

This Woman's Work

I recently had a great conversation with someone I consider a strong presence in the HIV field, Dee Bailey-founder of Watchful Eye, a program designed to get people tested, educated and involved with HIV. In my conversation with her she discussed all the unique ways that they have addressed barriers that prevent people from getting tested.

She was excited in her talk as she shared how they provided HIV testing beyond the clubs, using unique methods such as partnering up with Universoul Circus, a traveling circus, similar to Barnum and Bailey’s but made up of an all African-American showcase of performers. I was amazed as she discussed how she was made honorary ringmaster during intermission and how from the big circle and surrounded by community members of color she was able to inform the audience the importance of testing. Also making sure available testing vehicles were positioned outside the circus for those interested.

And not to let any opportunity pass her by she also aligned herself with the free concert series which are held in Brooklyn. I’ve always felt that this was a great way to conduct testing as it was a captured audience of people who arrive hours early just to get a good seat as they wait for their favorite Soul or R&B artist to perform. By casting a huge net of HIV prevention, not only are MSM’s tested but the general population have the ability to know their status, which includes those who may not identify as MSM even though they may participate in the actions.

Hearing the passion in her voice as she described her ‘out of the box’ prevention methods I was reminded how much of a role woman play in this battle. Although it’s known that HIV is not just a male issue let alone a gay male issue, it’s a reminder that women are not only infected but affected by what is going on in the community. And as gay men we owe credit to women for helping us overcome obstacles this disease presents before us.

Although Dee is a soldier in this battle she still presents that tenderness quality that puts one at ease. I know that for many men who felt the stigma of getting tested, with her passion displayed, got the test not because she was trying to meet a quota but because they knew genuinely cared for their well being. It makes me of the role women have played in my own life as I have tried to get a grasp on this virus. In fact even if I remove HIV, women in many ways have been influential in the milestones in my life. From my mother filling the shoes of an absent father, to my female friend who I trusted enough to tell her I was gay, to my closet female friend who took me in her arms when I cried out my HIV status. Not to say that I couldn’t trust a straight man with my information but at the time I felt most straight women I knew weren’t wrapped up in a ‘machismo’ identity which prevented them from providing emotional support to a gay man.

A female friend was the one who answered my call when I felt I was at the end of my rope and was contemplating ending my life. I wasn’t told to, “Man Up” but instead was listened to. Her words of encouragement and comfort let me know that although I was in a storm, I wasn’t there alone.

She let me be me. I didn’t have to put on airs or puff my chest out as a sign of manhood. I didn’t have to stand up straight and could rest my weight on one hip without judgment.

I found safety in the ability to sing along with the Broadway tunes and secure enough to ask her, “Does these jeans make me look fat?”

Dee Bailey and I were on the same page when we talked about how sometimes in this fight with HIV that sometimes it’s not just the disease that we have to fight but sometimes it’s the funders such as the Department of Health who place such strict guidelines on who should or shouldn’t be tested. Both feeling, it wasn’t how you identified but the fact all are identified as being at risk for HIV.   

In this battle there are so many not just on the frontline but who are also behind the scenes pushing legislature, directing community based agencies, educating through at, radio, drama and the spoken word all to create a greater understand what this epidemic is.

So I say this not to just Dee but to all the women infected and affected by HIV. Your gifts are recognized and for those in my life I appreciate all the love and understanding. I can only speak for myself in telling you how this journey in life has been a less lonely road to travel and without you.

And Dee you represent what we need more, not just a female presence but the innovation you create in confronting this disease. You let us know that this woman’s work is not done until this disease is gone.