Tim Barrus: New York Times
AIDS did not go away.
There was no one to help. Or to listen.
Caregivers. This was not going to be a vacation. This was not going to be just pop a little pill. Many people can pop that pill and they are fine. For some, the piggyback diseases are daunting. Full-blown AIDS is more than you can handle.
Avascular necrosis, bone death, can require care. The pain meds are in the kitchen, but you’re in bed. And you can’t remember when you took the last one anyway. The forearm crutches fell on the floor when you went to grab them. You can’t get in a bathtub. The pain from bone death is like being constantly beaten with a baseball bat.
I showered outside with the garden hose.
Nakedness was the least of it. People looked away. I am used to people who look away. They are irrelevant.
Your friends, your spouse, your helpers, almost everyone you used to know, are dead. All of them. You so wish you were dead as well. There is no one to talk to. AIDS agency workers are not only too busy (they are constantly at public health clinics), but you quickly realize they have no idea what they are doing.
Everyone might wear the same T-shirt, but it’s a meaningless solidarity. They can’t find the pills or the cure. What caregivers.
The world shrinks. To one room. The food dwindles. Then, there is no money for food. You didn’t know you had cancer. AIDS is not over. It just no longer has a voice. Caregivers are ghosts. The helplessness is intimidating. You have to get to the clinic every other day. But how. I kept a loaded gun under my pillow. It wasn’t for a thief climbing through a window.