Viral Stigma

                                                                                                 

          Yesterday for a brief moment if you were on the internet you may have seen a blog by me commenting on the news of a man who was being sought by the police for infecting close to 300 people with HIV. This was a news alert that was sent to me by a well known agency in Brooklyn and in my mind it was confirmed when I Googled the information and saw many others who were reporting on the same story. So with the information I did have I penned my thought on the subject making sure those reading the blog were fully aware of the man in question actions. I also found the opportunity to make a statement of what I felt about sex with strangers and whether they would ever self-disclose their status. In my quasi reporting I didn’t realize that I was helping someone spread a vicious claim that involved the dispersion of HIV stigma. It was a learning lesson on how viral stigma can be and how quickly it can make it way to others especially in this digital age.

            When looking at HIV stigma in a viral form it’s no wonder how we can push something out especially when it’s inaccurate. Even though we’re told at a young age not to believe everything you read, if we see it often enough we start to believe it. Although the Tuskegee experiment has merit it also has grown in the reporting of it as many who were not alive or may not even know the details of the study still use it as their base for why they either don’t get tested for HIV or seek treatment. Unfortunately many mistruths of HIV are perpetrated this way and the stigma aspect of it is retained by others.             

            By writing about this incidence involving the man who infected others with HIV, it was a reality check on the damage that can be done by not fact checking especially when it deals with such a stigmatizing subject. The story was a perfect stigma storm as it had an African-American man infecting others. He was wrongly reported that he used mobile meeting applications such as Grinder and Jack’d and lastly he had sex as an HIV man and was knowingly exposing people to the virus. So there it was, a stigma brew-He was black, having sex and had HIV. Boy those left wingers probably had a field day with this story.

            My angle in reporting the information was questioning how 300 people could get exposed to HIV especially with all the health warnings out there in addition asking people to think twice about your sex practice especially when having sex with someone you didn’t know. Unlike the creator of this story my intention wasn’t to spread misinformation but to help bring to light someone with destructive behaviors utilizing their status as a weapon. But by hitting that enter key I was amongst the chorus who was hoodwinked in attaching an innocent person name and face to something that wasn’t true.

            What’s scary is that someone actually created this story with a purpose. The purpose may have been to embarrass the individual or this was their form of cyberbully but whatever the reason I have to say I hope you got the satisfaction you were looking for. It must feel good to discredit someone and to vilify those who are actually living with HIV.   

            This incident showed by stigma going viral it may have the ability to influence those who don’t look beyond the headlines of the story. As I write this there are many who still believe the validity of the story and in their viewing it may have simply provided conformation to stereotypical thinking such as HIV is only given by black people and they sleep around. The scariest part is going back and seeing that many blog sites have not provided a retraction in saying that this story is false. We’re not talking   about little ma and pop bloggers but some major bloggers as well as several known health organizations who sent the info through newsgroups to many who work in the HIV field. And those people as I look at my mailbox also sent out notices and as stated before not one has sent an email to say we made a mistake.

            This isn’t the first time and probably won’t be the last but when looking at HIV and the internet and the way information is pushed out one has to have the ability to critically look at articles and see the truth behind the headlines. In talking about HIV people are looking for perspectives and dialogue on the subject. By reading false information it’s akin to being on the school playground and sharing information and by the end of the day the story has transformed into something entirely different and in this digital age it can be transmitted extremely fast.

            I still stand by my reporting that new technology that helps others connect quickly and anonymously, caution should be heeded and when protecting your sexual health recognizing that simply asking a stranger or reading on their profile that they’re negative shouldn’t be your buy in to going raw. I also stand by the fact that when having sex the conversation or main concern should be about HIV but also recognizing the other STDs that are out there. What I do regret is being a tool of false information and the broadcast of a bogus report.

            So in further postings I will still use my style in talking about HIV whether its personal or popular news but I’ll also take heed of the power of words and the effect it can have especially when you speak on a sometimes stigmatizing subject such as HIV. And before I let my fingers caress the keys and bring forth information it will be fact checked extensively all in my goal to not help stigma go viral.

            

The Funeral of Anthony (Junior) Hartfield

            Here I was holding my sister's hand as the wail of tears envelope the room. In front of us resting peacefully in a coffin was her oldest son Junior. Looking at my sister I thought she would be one of the collective of people crying but she had a calm composure that radiated strength. It was a surreal moment for me as I was home with my last visit being two years ago. Only just arriving in the state I had planned to see family but not in the dead of winter and definitely not for this occasion. I was planning to come in the summer and make up for missing out on seeing relatives as usually when I came in it was for a short length and difficult to see everyone. But now I didn’t have an excuse as most of us were in attendance, here to say our goodbyes.  
            In a quiet moment I flash backed to the phone call that led me here. It was the message my sister left on my phone. Through her sobbing she was able to tell me that Anthony who most of called Junior was visiting his father when he was shot by someone who was looking for the father. At that moment when you hear something like that all the sounds around you go mute and all you hear is the replay of the message left. It was impossible I told myself. Junior was only 20 and was in college. He wasn't the usual statistic fell by a gun shot. He was a young man everyone loved and now we were all crammed in one room to say goodbye.
            I had missed out on the last nine years of his life with my move to New York City. The times I had come to visit we were not able to connect and I take the blame for that as you always assume people will be around the next time. We see someone’s life through Facebook and substitute their postings with the face to face contact. I'm usually against communicating through social media but in this case I was able to live vicariously through Facebook and track what he was doing. From the standing room crowd I could tell he was fortunate to have so many there for him in his real life. I learned that nothing will be able to replace the value of looking someone in the eye and expressing how you feeling about them. Damn you Facebook.
            As a big brother I wished I could do more for my little sister at this time but I think just being there meant a lot. It was like a family reunion as relatives I hadn't seen in years were there. Cousins I grew up with but then suddenly disappeared were there. All around was the next generation of babies of kin that I was meeting for the first time. In my head I’m having conversations with myself as I tell myself how I remembered when they wasn’t even old enough to drive and now they’re grown with kids. It’s amazing the swiftness of time. For many the last time I saw them they had yet reached the age of ten. There were many moments of ‘Can You Guess Who I Am’. In particular I played this game with a dear aunt who I hadn’t seen in 15 years as she looked at me and I looked at her and she looked at me and finally through our fog we remembered who each one was.  The family was there in force on the cold day, there for my sister and her family.
            The one thing that worried me was how was my sister going to recover from this? Unknown too many in the room this was the second child she had lost. She had five in all. The oldest being Junior and tragically at three months she lost one of her twins who's young body was not able to fend off a winter's flu. Even back then it was hard as it’s often said a parent should never have to bury their child and here she had to do it again.  With what she already endured you can understand why I was wondering how this was going to affect her. I simply knew for myself it would be something that would be difficult for me. I hoped by seeing all the people in the standing room only service she wouldn’t have to suffer alone.                  

            One thing for certain all the family was there except for our older brother Raymond. I'm sure he had his own reasons but as I joked if there was a casino machine he would have been there. It would have been nice for us all to come together but he must have had his own reasons. Truths of the matter some people simply don’t like funerals. They want to remember a person a certain way and not have it construed by seeing them in a casket. So as far as siblings in attendance it was I, my younger sister Sade and the sister beneath me Donna. Donna had put most of the funeral arrangements together and with all the stress she went through to make it happen I thought for sure she was going to be bald like me. I made a reminder to let her know that all her hard work was appreciated and was very admirable in the short time it took to make it happen.
            As the service began the family was instructed to sit in the front row. There reserved seats for family and in particular for one important person. The matriarch of the family, there was my ma Martha McGhee. Now if you ever wanted to see a walking tornado you had to look no further than Miss McGhee or as others called her Martha Jane. You know that phrase ‘mama don't take no mess’ I think that phrase was created for my ma. She was a resourceful lady who raised all five us with the best of her abilities. As a single mother she would let folks know that she was able to take of hers and you just worry about yours. She was a tower of strength. I can honestly say we were raised old school style by the end of a switch. But it was never abusive and being that none of us were criminals you can say it worked. Yet as she was wheeled into the room in her wheelchair you could tell that years of bad health which included several strokes had taken their toll.
            On that day it was hard to see the fire in her eyes because of the sunglasses she was wearing. They were similar to the ones that Steve Wonder wore. Now if she was going to break into Superstition then that would have been something. But like us she took her place next to me and my sister. Not knowing if she was fully awake I was stunned when she spoke "I need a cigarette." Trying to tell her that she would have to wait to have a cigarette was a careful road as usually when you told Martha ‘no’ she usually followed it with a long line of cursive. So since I was the big brother it was my job to tell her no. Maybe it was because of the funeral and the moment we were in that she didn't argue. I guess things were going to be okay.

            A large group of people started to line up and give condolence to Emily who was sitting next to me. Each one greeted her with kind words followed by a hug. It was then Emily leaned over to me and questioned what someone was wearing. That was all it took for us to both critique the clothes that some had on. It was done in a playful way and nothing was said mean-spirited but it was good to see her mood. It was during that time I noticed the woman in the sweat suit. Although Emily was being comforted by others, for myself the Joan Rivers come out in me and ask myself what was she wearing?

            As the people were hugging her a white gentleman came over and leaning to Emily gave her a hug. The only reason I mention this was because when he hugged her it was like they were zapped with a freeze ray. They both didn't move as he hugged and hugged and hugged and hugged. At one point I thought they had feel asleep as both didn't move a muscle or make a sound. Finally when it seemed like he came up for air I gave a look to my sister to make sure she was okay. I also had this look of, “is there something I don’t know’. Seeing the tears in her eyes I realized this man was special and she needed he hug. Later after laughing with Emily learning he was the basketball coach of Anthony.

            As the funeral went on the tears got louder. Out of the wails filling the chamber Martha Jane came back to life when she asked, "Is it over yet?" I prayed she wouldn’t have a Martha fit this time when we told her that it was just beginning. I knew it wasn’t because she didn’t want to be there but as I stated before, with the strokes she had some of her cognitive skills had also disappeared. Basically she was not longer a political correct person. In fact not only was she not but I believe she literally got kicked out of all if not most of the nursing homes based on her raising hell with the residents and nurses. As a child of segregation she had no qualms of calling white people ‘crackers’ and being that Minnesota was majority white she did a lot of ‘cracker’ calling. Thank God for assisted living care. Now she could have her own civil rights march in her place without offending anyone. In the moment telling her no it wasn’t over she went back to looking straight ahead hidden behind her glasses. I almost wanted to say to her,” I’ll let you know when there's a commercial break'"
At one point during the service they asked for only six people to give personal reflections of Anthony. Looking at the stream of people lining up I saw at the end of the line that one woman who wore the sweat suit. Looking closely at her she looked to be in her forties. She almost looked as if she was at home watching Maury Povich and was reminded that Anthony’s funeral was happening. Her hair was very different from all the other ladies in attendance. Where you could see they took time and consideration with theirs, for her it looked like you just grabbed it all in one hand and snapped a rubber band at the end of it.  But this was a funeral and not a fashion show and it was nice for her to come and show her respects. Who was I to judge as each one said something nice and the woman in sweats came on last. My spider sense told me this wasn't going to go well and then she opened her mouth.
            She began with," I only met Anthony a week before his demise" At first I couldn't believe she said demise then I wondered what the word was and quickly realizing that she only knew him a week and showing her respect in a sweat suit affirmed to me that this wasn't going to be good. And she used the word demise. Who uses that word?

            She continued. "I know that when I met Anthony he gave me a compliment. You see people think I'm younger than what I look because of my age. I get that a lot. And ladies we need more young men like Anthony because he's such a gentleman. He was there to see my daughter. He was outside and let me tell you even though it had snowed he shoveled a path for me. And even though I was wearing a short short dress, you know shorter than normal, I really appreciated it. When I was ready to go to the car I put on my coat that was shorter than my dress. And with my high heels on he helped me by taking my hand."
            At that point I'm thinking to myself this must be the comedy part. Maybe she was hired to break up the sadness. I was even waiting for a clown with a cane to come dancing on the stage and drag her away. As I'm digesting everything this woman put out mama who had been quiet suddenly let her head fall back with her mouth open. Then her left arm which was on her lap fell to her side. In my mind I'm asking how can you fall asleep at a funeral?!
            At this point the woman has left the podium and mind you she had talked about Anthony coming to see her daughter but where was her daughter and before digesting that the pastor took her place so my chance at a rebuttal to her crazy speech was lost. Looking back at ma she still has her head tilted back. Before trying to wake her up a crazy thought flashed in my head thinking she may have left us as well. If so perhaps we can get a discount if we roll her up and have the pastor say some kind words about her.
Showing she wasn't ready she let out a small sigh which was my cue to tap her. Bringing her head down and safely behind her glasses she mumbled,” Is it over? I want a cigarette."
With my best therapeutic skill and without causing a scene I directed her attention back to the front where the pastor was giving his sermon.
            As we both put our attention on the pastor and getting lost in his words I felt my eye twitch again. This time on the pastor. Not to be too hard in judging but his sermon was pretty much a condensed reflection of what everyone before him said. He talked about Anthony's smile, his personality and his love of basketball. Then he seemed to have no more words to plagiarize as he started to talk about gun control and other things that didn't have anything to do with Anthony. At one point he asked the congregation to raise their hands if they need saving and proceeds to tell them he couldn't do it on that day but to come to his church next Sunday to get part two of being saved. It reminded me of the food samplers at Costco who hand out samples but if you like what you tasted you have to buy the full product. So there is a commercial break after all! I guess ma can have that cigarette.

            Looking over at Emily she was still that tower of strength. Although she softly cried I knew the ocean of tears were deep inside and would be coming. I knew that she would have her Florida Evans moment and when all the people in the room have went back to their lives and the quietness had crept in, she would be crashing that punch bowl to the ground and she may not be saying ‘Damn, damn, damn’ but probably a simple ‘Why’. I just hope whenever the moment comes, if I’m not there, she has people around her for support.

            After saying the final goodbyes and standing in the cold bitter winter air at the cemetery there was no laughter but only tears as this will be the final goodbye. As someone sang, Eye on the Sparrow, it became clear why many didn’t like the song. Not because of the song itself but because it captured such a sad moment. With the final words of the preacher a wind went through the gathered crowd causing everyone to move closer. I believe it was Anthony knowing he had brought us together and whether it was laughter or tears we were all in union that day to honor his memory. He would be so impressed at all the people who he affected and loved him dearly. He would have been so proud to have all his family and friend meet each other and realized the connection we all had because of Anthony that in fact we weren’t strangers after all.

            As I watched the people escape the cold air and the cars drive off one by one, I’m reminded of the young kid with a big smile who loved to laugh. And knowing there were elements of his service where we had the opportunity to laugh I know he would have loved it. I remember as a child he would always try to get my sister Emily to smile and laugh and all the times he tried he would be successful. And yes even on this sad day he was able to get his ma to smile and laugh and I was lucky to share in it. And I’m sure he would want us to continue in his name to greet life with a smile and to laugh. And equally we would want him to know that on this day we never said goodbye as we will always and forever have him in our hearts.

Ending this story Junior, but never my love- Uncle Dray   

Closer to HIV

      I know that using the language infected and HIV are a serious topic and shouldn’t be treated lightly but the truth of the matter is that rates continue to climb despite many years of prevention messages that are created in the country. Thankfully there are many who are aware of their sexual health and make sure they heed the prevention messages but sadly there are others who throw caution to the wind and simple roll the dice when it comes to HIV. So since there are countless messages out there telling you how not to get HIV, for those determined or turning a deaf ear to the topic, I have come up with six simple ways you can get HIV if it’s your intention. Yet I emphasize I hope you truly look at the messages and turn it into a situation where you can remain HIV negative. Although this was done tongue in cheek the underline message of not getting HIV is very much real. So without much further ado: Six ways to get closer to HIV

Step One: Ignore all the safe sex messages.

The posters of HIV prevention that sits on the wall and the palm cards given out with condoms probably don’t speak to you. Besides the person in the ad is (choose a race) and they are (choose a sex) and they look to be (choose a sexuality) so they can’t be talking about you. I mean seriously why do they create such ads in the first place and why take the fun out of sex. And why do the people in the ads look like they don’t have HIV. And if they do look this way then having HIV must not that bad right?

Step Two: Ignore any signs of depression and feelings of low self worth.

Why take the advice of a shrink when that person doesn’t know you anyway? Continue with the belief that all psychiatrist want to do anyway is to make you start popping pills and get commissions form the drug companies. Tell yourself the feeling of helplessness and sadness will all go away once you have sex especially with a stranger. That the act alone will make you feel wanted and sexy even if that feeling only lasts for several hours. Send the message to yourself, how else you going to be validated if someone doesn’t want you sexually. I mean after all that is the only worth people have right? But hey there are more strangers in the world to get you through the next several hours. Besides if you really want to express things you would only tell a therapists there’s always Facebook.

Step Three: Tell yourself that everybody else is doing it.

Why else would they make it so easy to have sexual hook-ups? The ease comes from technology such as Grindr and Jacked that gives you a GPS to your next conquest. Plus you have the complete honesty of the people on these sites right. Seriously if they say they are HIV negative, why not believe them. Plus look at their picture. No one who looks that hot would lie about their status. Plus everyone should know that it’s hard to resist when you can have sex as simple as ordering a pizza. On these services you can even choose to have take out (meaning to travel) or have it delivered (coming to your place) But please disregard that this technology makes it hard to even be in a relationship when meeting people for casual sex has no level or depth and the immediacy of it gives you a quick fix unlike a relationship which has to be developed but is rewarding in the end.     

Step Four: Don’t talk to your partner about safe sex

I mean after all they are your partner and the rules of commitment are that once they place themselves in a relationship then they have to be 100% monogamous with you. Those are the rules. So despite the feeling they may not be totally monogamous based on their previous history, you find comfort in the thought that since they’re with you, “they’ll change.’ Or maybe it’s you that’s changed and feel it’s not necessary to tell your partner that you had a hook-up in the last week. You’ve changed because it would have been two or three people but it’s only one a week, so appreciation of this milestone should be recognized by your partner. Besides you don’t have feelings for the hook-up so it doesn’t count as you never kissed them. And yeah, what they don’t know won’t hurt.

Step Five: Have a back-up plan

Everyone knows that there’s supposed to be a pill you can take after sex that will prevent HIV. You truly think you know all about what they cal P.E.P and P.R.E.P but you only saw what you wanted to see, which was a condom in a pill form, but your reading didn’t go further. Even though you didn’t bother to read everything it requires for it to work, you just trust what your friends from the club tell you. And besides it’s cute that they package a condom with a pill. So easy and simple. Yes it would be easy to look it up on the internet and see that it’s not 100% proof and that you have to take it for four weeks so you have it build up in your system but we’re in that age when we want everything now, quick and easy. Even when it comes to the care of your health. And it needs repeating, it’s not guaranteed to work. But why would they put it out there if it didn’t work, right?

Step Six: HIV is nothing but a conspiracy anyway

You hold on to the belief that HIV is part of a conspiracy by the drug companies and the governments so why take it seriously? If you’re black you probably blame the white man after all there was Tuskegee and even though you don’t know the complete history of Tuskegee let alone know how to spell it correctly, you still buy into the conspiracy theory. If you’re white you probably think it was brought over by a flight attendant and besides ‘only black people’ are getting it. But there may be comfort in your knowing one thousand and one conspiracy theories yet have a difficult time knowing the one way to stay safe. And you may even hold on to this thinking with the idea that HIV is not as big a issues as it once was and the only ones pushing it has an agenda.

Believe me there are more ways to truly become infected but these abbreviated steps can lead you closer. Heed the messages but it’s your sexual health. The message is clear that HIV is still here even if it’s not making the headlines like it once has. These are not guaranteed but if you’re looking to move closer to HIV at least you have a roadmap.

Why Django Doesn't Matter

Why Django Doesn’t Matter

            Listening to the voice on the other end of the phone I stood in disbelief as I heard my sister tell me that my 20 year old nephew was killed. The ‘what happened’ were followed by the ‘whys’ as she shared what little she knew of the situation. Although she didn’t know much at the moment, she knew that my nephew was a victim of a break-in and probably surprising the person, who was entering the home, was shot in the chest.

            It was ironic as just several days ago I had posted on my Facebook page how we shouldn’t be discussing the movie Django Unchained but instead talking about the murder rate in Chicago of 505 people killed mostly by guns and the victims being mostly black and Latino. How we should redirected the intelligent conversations of black intellects who wanted to dissect a movie rather than having a conversation of dissecting why men of color were dropping like flies by guns, killed by their own.

            And I will admit to myself that even in sharing the high body count from Chicago I like others probably felt removed from what was happening as I was in New York City. But after knowing how my nephew died I saw it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that my nephew was far removed himself as he was in Oklahoma City. It didn’t matter that he as a young African American male didn’t have a police record and was on winter break from college. It didn’t matter that young black men like him are being murdered every single days in numbers that eclipse the mass shooting that have made the headlines. Not to compare the terrible tragedies but to show the magnitude. Yet my Facebook feed and other articles pertaining to the black community today is dominated by the discussion of Django Unchained and the cinema representation of slavery by a white man.

            For me Django doesn’t matter.

           

            In retrospect this time next year the movie will be a distant memory while this day next year will have brought back the pain and agony of the loss of my nephew. We won’t be talking about Spike Lee voicing his opinion about a movie. We will have instead moved on from our discussion of how many times the ‘N’ word was used in the film and whether or not Tarantino has the race license to put this on celluloid. But it seems that what we won’t be talking about is the high numbers of Blacks being killed by firearms in this country. I make that prediction as not only are we not talking about it now, I can’t recall any conversation of gun violence in black communities that match the level we’re giving to Django during the past years.

            I had to hold my tongue when a co-worker reported that she was offended by dolls that were made from the likeness of characters from the movie Django and being sold. I wanted to spurt out that I’m offended that the life of my nephew who was only twenty and had a full life ahead of him had his life taken senselessly by the act of a gun. I’m offended that we want to sit around the fire in Kumbaya moments and distill what the white man has done to us yet we don’t want to acknowledge how little we have done for each other. I’m offended that the life of a black person holds less weight than a movie that I can buy bootleg on 125^th street for five dollars.

          

          I feel the black community itself needs to become unchained.

             

           We need to remove the shackles of oppression we have placed on ourselves and each other in the community. Our feet and hands have to become unchained as it won’t take just table talk of society ills and theory’s why black men are killing each other.

            We already know why they’re killing each other. They’re killing each other because we want to take the easy way out and talk about a movie instead of taking the necessary ‘actions’ of fostering our young black men and guiding them to futures that young men of other races are afforded. And the word action is in parentheses to highlight that action and not talk is what’s needed in order to stop this senseless gun violence and disregard for each other. No more usage of ten letter words to affirm the letters one has behind their names or the expunging of Wikipedia facts of why blacks kill each other. We need action in the form of men and women talking and caring about young black men whose pants are sagging or hanging on the corner smoking blunts. We need to do this despite the fact they are strangers and we have no relations to them. In our actions we must make them visible and valid. Most importantly reminding them despite who they are and their circumstances that they still matter. We give them what has been often denied to us, hope.

            Django doesn’t matter and it never will. Anthony Hartfield Jr. Age 20, promising basketball star, college student and the older brother of a sister and a younger brother. That’s what matters. That’s what I want to talk about.            

   

The New Doctor

         Today was my first visit to a new medical provider. My usual doctor had left awhile ago and the new one that took his place I just never connected with. Maybe it was him and his bedside manner which was different from my previous doctor that I found disarming. Maybe it was me. Maybe I expected him to be like my previous doctor and so my expectations were set unreasonably high. It was turning out to be a bad relationship where I eventually said to him the infamous break up line, “It’s Not You, it’s Me”. And like that a clinic that I have been visiting for the last ten years of my status, I was no longer a patient. Whatever the reason I knew that I had to make a change as I just wasn't connecting with him.

            In my look for another doctor I quickly discovered it was going to be about the same difficulty as looking to find someone to be in a committed relationship in New York City. I used the dating comparison as searching for a new doctor is akin to looking for a new relationship. For example you want to make sure that you find someone that you're comfortable and compatible with. Of course you're not going to bed with that person but until the union end this person will know every intimate detail about you. They literally will see your scars and all as you both work on making yourself as healthy as you can. You won’t whisper sweet nothings but you will, hopefully, be sharing private and sometimes embarrassing ailments, things you don’t even share with yourself. Since it involves your health of course you want to make sure you feel comfortable as proper health advice can not be dispensed with half information.
            I thought my search was going to be as simple as Googling, "who is  a good HIV doctor" and figuring the first one that popped up was going to be the best because Google always put the best search result at the top right? I was proven wrong as going through the results was now becoming complicated as I discovered many medical providers had limited hours and saw clients only on a particular day of the week. Some made you go through endless electronically phone prompts just to get to the receptionist and sometimes when you finally got to the receptionist you knew that person could benefit in Customer service 101, 102 and 103. Some didn’t accept my insurance or were based in locations that would be to difficult to get to without using a passport.
            In my circumstances I was in a unique position denied to others based on the health care system in this country. Being insured I had a choice between a clinic and a private doctor. Both I feel have their benefits as well as drawbacks. Coming from a clinic setting where everything you need is under one roof, I felt that maybe at my stage I would be ready for a private. The clinic I had been attending suddenly seemed to change on me. Where before you felt the doctor was giving you the time you needed, it now felt as if I were on a conveyor belt and the clinic's mission was less about the patients and more about how many they could get through the door in order to bill. The nurses that used to be so jovial and seemed to like their job now looked stressed as they tried to keep up with the pace. You know something is wrong when you’re coming for medical services and on each visit the nurses while waiting for the doctor uses your visit as a therapy session for themselves. Thinking to myself, who do I send my bill to?
            There were some moments when I thought I had found a new provider only to again not have that moment of connect. I even wondered why they don’t have the ten minute dating routine with a room full of doctors so you can quickly find out who you’ll relate to as you move down the row of tables and make quick introductions. Maybe I’m onto a great new idea!

            After several hit and misses I accessed my situation and figured since I was feeling well I didn’t need a provider. That as long as my old doctor would give me refills I could just manage my own care. And it was easy to get refills from the old clinic as it never dawned on them that I had moved on so getting refills was simply a matter of going online and filling out the form. The growing disconnects between doctor and patient became as evident as the introduction of the new technology was similar to how people have started to relate on Facebook. Why interact with you in person when we can do it on Facebook? Isn’t online wonderful? What I was doing though wasn’t such a good thing and although managing my own health saved me time, I was also setting myself up.

            Because I had been a person with who rarely got sick if ever, I found comfort in the fact that I didn’t need to share with a doctor. I never stopped to connect the dots that the reason I was feeling so well was because I did have a relationship with a doctor. My visits were not simply a time to just chat with the doctor but also we were being preventive and going after things that looked like it would be a problem down the line. How you look at a doctor is so crucial to health especially if you walk in telling yourself you’re being proactive rather than reactive. For a lot of us we’re in that reactive stage where we’re waiting for something to feel wrong but by then it may be too late or options of treatment are lessened because a visit was delayed.

            This New Year I finally found a doctor I felt comfortable with. He was someone who listened and didn’t look down at their watch. It felt reassuring to know that I wasn’t going to play around with my health and doing research makes a difference as not all doctors come from the same cloth. And another thing that one has to look at is the receptionist area and how they treat you and make you feel. I can’t tell you how many good doctors I probably would have been a patient of if only they didn’t have an unskilled or overworked receptionist area. It makes a difference.

            So hello new doctor and I know we’re in the honeymoon phase but you complete me as I now have all the needed elements to manage my HIV. Here’s to the first date and for many more to come.

More Than HIV

              I had the most interesting dialogue with a co-worker who expressed to me that he was carrying guilt. He shared with me with tears in his eyes something that has been on his mind for awhile. He was carrying guilt that he just had to share with someone. His guilt stemmed from the fact that he was HIV negative and most of his friends were HIV positive. In sharing this he was asking himself what was wrong with him as if he didn’t know whether to take it as a curse or as a blessing.

            Immediately I wanted to say to him “are you crazy!” but I have a feeling my face was already registering that look as I couldn’t comprehend how he could feel that way. Before I passed judgment I listened to him fully explain his reasoning and from it he shared how he just lost a close friend who had AIDS. He shared how he felt helpless as he couldn’t do anything for him. He knew that he could be there as a friend to comfort him but he didn’t have it within his power to take the virus away and heal him.    

            After his statement he finished it with a remark that was sad to hear but I knew where he was coming from. He shared that as gay black man wasn’t he predestined to get HIV? And why does his friend have it but not him? And that brought on my “Wow” moment as in a surreal way I knew what he spoke of. It was something that I had heard before from different lips and now stuck in a moment when I was hearing it again. How did such a feeling get ingrained in the psyche of my friend, enough to make him guilty of being healthy?

            His sentiments were the same as others who felt in that if you’re black and gay, it’s not a matter of ‘if’ but more a matter of ‘when’ you will get HIV/AIDS. This message seems to come from the knowledge that if it pertains to anything black and gay the message is one of HIV/AIDS. As if the only visibility gay black men have is when it’s in the context of HIV. Even in the dialogue of gay marriage, equality or any other predominate issues the mainstream gay community is discussing, we’re left out of the conversation. But when talk turns to HIV/AIDS, then suddenly we have a room at the table. It’s at that moment we’re part of the conversations and our voice has a value.  

            Within the last few months we have been inundated with repeated statistical information that says how infected we are. We’re overwhelmed with the only images we see of ourselves as we hold up a condom or pose next to a huge bottle of protease inhibitors. I’ll admit as a person who was featured in one of those HIV ads, I even drunk the Kool-Aid and in making monies from the ad, I never once stopped to think how I was contributing to the images of gay black men only seen as having HIV. Yes there’s that value of having someone to relate to but the machine that produces one dimensional skewered images of gay black men as contagious beings only reaffirms my friend’s shame in being healthy.

            It seems that since we’re so predestined to get HIV does it create a mindset that cause a person to think, why should I be safe when I’m going to get it anyway? I personally know of a young man who had the crazy thought that if I’m destined to get it, I rather be the one who chooses when I get it rather than loose any sense of control and let someone else determine my fate. In this view he expresses his ownership of his power which has been diluted for centuries, yet instead of affirming it’s used to confirm on how we see those who are gay and black.

            I know it sounds crazy, but here I was having a conversation with a friend who was carrying the same guilt of ‘why not me’ instead of saying ‘thank God it’s not me’.

I truly feel that dialogue has to be restated and recreated for gay black men to let them know that they are not simply vessels for this virus and that their worth far exceeds a three letter acronym. We have to stop reducing them to a statistical number and bring value to them that can not simply be put in an Excel graph. We have to create our own visibility if need be and not be hidden in the shadow of a media campaign that has us in the weighted darkness of a condom. We have to let folks know that I am recognized by the organ in my head rather than the organ that lies in my pants. I’m more than that!

            I left my friend with the message that despite what he thought he was blessed and having the virus myself, I wouldn’t wish it on him. He had to know and start believing that his negative status was a blessing and not a curse. And he had to know that his negative status was not a matter of chance. That he is not a lottery ticket whose number had yet to be called. Recognizing he lives in a world where the views of HIV/AIDS is shifting where they see negative as a negative and positive as a positive.

That he has accepted the fact that he is more than HIV.    

Me and HPV

I recalled quite vividly the first time I had something going on with my bum, or as we say in America, my butt, my rump shaker, my donkey donk! You get my drift. After each bowel movement I would have this pain like someone threw gasoline back there and lit it with a light. So after a week of this happening I decided to self-diagnosis myself. I have to say that this was a time when I was very sexually active and in a way I thought maybe it was an after effect of the encounters. There’s a joke in there somewhere.

            But after a week and going on two I told myself it was no longer funny that something must be going on. Even the shape of my bowel movements started to take on this Picasso type shape. I didn’t immediately run to my HIV doctor as I didn’t think there were any relations. Also quite frankly at the time even though I was comfortable with my doctor, there was still a hesitant part about me that didn’t like to discuss my sex life? Was it because I was feeling guilty of having several sexual partners and the stigma of being classified as a slut? It was something that held me back as I didn’t go to him and instead self diagnosed myself.

            Doing my own examination I felt several small bumps and one medium sized one. I was relived as I told myself that it was nothing but hemorrhoids. This was an easy fix of just going down to the pharmacy and getting some over the counter cream. So after spending 5.60 and a slightly embarrassing purchase at the check out counter I followed the instructions and waited for the pain to go away. And I waited. And I waited. But the pain never went anywhere. In fact the bumps started to feel bigger. Perhaps my underwear was too tight and my rear couldn’t breathe. I was my own Doogie Howser MD.

            The funny thing about having HIV for years is that you get used to pain, whether it’s being pricked by a needle or certain parts of your body hurting. And in that familiarity you simply bear the pain until it passes. I was trying to do the same. In fact I lived several months with the pain as I just psyched myself up whenever I knew I was going to have a bowel movement. But when the blood starting to make a daily visit I knew I couldn’t pretend something wasn’t wrong any longer.

            The doctor told me right away what it was. HPV, or spelled out in its entirety commonly known as Genital Human Papillomavirus. Damn what is it about these acronyms that only I seem to get. What little I knew about it I just assumed it was something that only females get. Upon further explanation by my doctor he explained it’s not another gay disease but can affect those who have multiple partners and/or weakened immune systems. And also it’s not something that just shows up in the anus but in the genital areas. The tricky thing about finding out if you have it, especially if you’re a man is to just have a doctor do an anus Pap test as although there are tests for women currently there is not one for men.

            The crazy thing was that I probably had it for a while as according to information about HPV most men don’t develop symptoms or health problems. According to the CDC, “Since HPV usually causes no symptoms, most men and women can get HPV—and pass it on—without realizing it. People can have HPV even if years have passed since they had sex. Even men with only one lifetime sex partner can get HPV”. So my highly sexual active lifestyle was not the reason as again it states even having one partner doesn’t make you immune. In other words, if you’re sitting on a high horse because you have only one partner, still check it boo!

            But what do you look for? The following are things to look for:

·  Genital warts:

• These will appear on the groin, thighs, penis, scrotum, or anus.
• The wart may look like a lump, be flat, or have a cauliflower-shape.
• Warts can appear a few weeks after contact with an infected person.
• The warts may appear singularly or in clusters.

·  Anal cancer:

• Bleeding, pain, or itching of the anus.
• Discharge from the anus.
• Swollen lymph nodes in the anal or groin area.
• Unusual bowel movements or a change in shape of your fecal matter.

      I had my bumps removed with a quick in and out procedure. They returned a year later but since my last treatment nothing has returned. It still is recommended to make this a yearly endeavor and after my experience with HPV I have no problem being preventive. If anything HPV reminds me is that there are other STD’s out there besides HIV and it’s all about protection. And although we want to pretend we know more than the doctors, waiting until something gets to a bad state are not good. And that’s information you can sit on!