When we come to those hard decisions, especially about our status, we have to pull strength from ourselves. When we have our bad days and are feeling abandoned or isolated, we have to somehow realize that we are never alone. How do we convince ourselves of all this? Psh, I’m still trying to figure that out too.
I wrote this immediately after the fight with my mom. I find that writing is a great way to process any personal crisis situation. I recommend this method to anyone and everyone. Anyways, my mom and I are now communicating and slowly rebuilding our relationship. It’ll take time, and I’m totally okay with that. I’m very excited about going home for Christmas…my first time seeing my family since this incident. I’ll post that story when I get around to telling it.
DISCLAIMER: This story remains true to what I felt at the time and I’m still a little hestitant to post such a downer. However, I thought it would be good to share a more poignant experience, along with the other empowering stories on here. Rest assure though, that happy ending is in the process of being written. Stay tuned folks.
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Original post: 2007 July 24
My mom comes to stay with me for a week every summer. I’m generally annoyed as she goes through my things, in an attempt to tidy up her son’s life. She calls it “cleaning” while I call it “snooping.” She always manages to find something incriminating. Last time it was an unpaid parking ticket and before that it was a credit card statement with charges from a sex shop. And as exepected, two days ago she found condoms and asked if I was sexually active. I figured I would be honest so I told her yes, I was. I said at the very least I’m being safe about my sexual practices.
That same day she went through my mail and found medical bills. She asked why I was going to SF General Hospital every few months for “outpatient services.” At first I played dumb and said that I sprained an ankle once, then I got a few blood tests done for work, etc. Anything to drop the subject and give me more time to find a better lie. I couldn’t tell her now…not when I’m unemployed, taking a 5th year in college, and waiting…
One of the most frustrating things I’ve found about HIV is that it’s a “waiting” disease. Even after making lifestyle changes (eating right, regularly exercising, maintaining mental health) a positive individual only delays the inevitable. Sure that inevitable may be 30 years away, but it’s still one big wait. Maybe tomorrow my T-cell count will drop below 200, maybe in a month my viral load will shoot up by log(x). My doctor tells me I’m healthy enough to stay clear of any medications right now. After the initial shock wore off, I couldn’t shake this feeling that I wasn’t doing anything proactive (to me that meant swallowing a tub of pills) to control my disease…like it was entirely out of my hands. But I digress…
She ends up calling the billing department. I’m given more time when they refuse to release my information over the phone. I NEVER in my life have been more grateful for patient confidentiality rights than just then…but really I knew it only would delay the decision I would have to make. My mom says we’re going there tomorrow to sort everything out. My heart sinks as I practice two very different speeches I could give my mom tomorrow.
Today she wanted to run a few errands: laundry, grocery shopping, bank, but first SF General Hospital. Knowing I can’t delay this conversation any longer, I drive to the laundromat first. Mom says we need to go to the hospital now and that we could go do laundry later. All out of excuses and lies, I told her that the bills are my concern and that I would refuse her authorization to my medical records. I get out of the car and get my hamper. She’s crying. I walk into the laundromat and separate the whites, brights, and darks into different washers.
During the rinse cycle my mom comes in, collected enough to say this to me: “Is this what I deserve for putting you through college and taking care of you? You’re pushing me away. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on with you?…If that’s what you want, I’ll go home right now, because you don’t want me in your life anymore….I’m taking you off of all of the accounts…and I wont call you anymore. Is that what you would like? I’ll go back to your apartment and get my things.”
Unwilling to process the severity of her words, I keep my back turned and add fabric softener into the machines. She drives back down to Long Beach after I fold and separate her clothes from mine.
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Maybe at one point when I’m established with a college degree, well-paying job, and a generally stable life, I will tell her. But at this time in my life, I stick by my decision not to tell my mother that I’m HIV+. If I don’t confirm nor deny my health issues, she can stay in that confortable bubble of ignorance. Why tell her that her son’s life expectancy is dramatically cut short? That she could end up burying her own son?
To tell the truth, I’m damned ashamed I contracted HIV. It was my own wreckless decision to have unprotected sex. It’s me who has to pay for the consequences. Why would I want my mother to suffer that? It hurts for me to admit that I failed her. I know she’s already disappointed that I am gay and need an extra year to graduate college…I can’t add to that list.
It hurts to have you think that I don’t love you, that I don’t want you in my life. But you couldn’t be more wrong. Please understand that I did this because of love.
I wanted to protect you Mommy.
Henry is a co-founder of the HIV Youth Project. You may contact him at henry@hivproject.org.
WHAT TO DO NOW?