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Pickett Fences
Rising above the pain
by Jim Pickett
I have always said, “If I
ever stoop to giving cheap advice in my column, take me out
back like Old Yeller.” I have also never been one to engage
in shameless self-promotion. It’s not that I don’t adore masturbation,
but, you know, if I have my druthers, I prefer other consenting
adults toot tooting my horn. Okay? Hey, beep beep! Alright?
So please don’t be alarmed and dig out that shotgun you save
for special occasions (like Thursday) when it appears that
what follows is both the cheap advicing and the masturbatory
tooting I purport to loathe. Because it’s not. Because I said
so. And really, I’d like to spin this more as an exercise
in “sharing” and/or “caring.” I’m confident Ari Fleischer
would be on board with that.
For the last millennia I
have been working on a project developed by the Chicago Department
of Public Health called “The Faces of AIDS—Personal Stories
from the Heartland.” The Faces of AIDS is a series of books
(the second is due out the end of May), and a companion traveling
photo exhibit. As the title implies, the project documents
people’s voices, stories and experiences “from the compelling
to the commonplace, always honest and human” living with or
impacted by HIV in the “Heartland,” a sort of modified Midwest.
It’s been the greatest privilege
to be one of the writers collecting these stories. The strength
and beauty I’ve witnessed, the insights I’ve gained, and the
opportunity for understanding I’ve been given I can never
be thankful enough for. From Tulsa, Oklahoma to Topeka, Kansas,
from Lincoln, Nebraska to Springfield, Illinois, the same
sets of themes kept appearing.
Church, spirituality, doing
for others, and attitude, “making the best of what could be
tragic and devastating,” these are as important to health
and survival, perhaps more so, than rigid drug compliance,
doctor visits, or even eating right.
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"The strength and
beauty I’ve witnessed, the insights I’ve gained, and the
opportunity for understanding I’ve been given I can never
be thankful enough for."
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“It’s a blessing, HIV has
changed the type of person that I am,” says Mia in St. Louis.
“It made me a totally compassionate person, because I was
a bitch, big time. You could have your heart falling out of
your chest in sorrow, and I’d be, ‘So? This has what to do
with me?’”
“I have osteoarthritis
and a lot of other things that go along with being 50, with
neuropathy and all these little combined side effects,” explains
Mike, who lives in a town called Ardmore, Oklahoma, not far
from the Texas border. “I was coming back from the altar rail
[in church] once and almost fell. It was like I passed out,
I stood up too fast. But I never touched the ground. There
were so many hands to catch me. Where else could I find that?”
Father Jim, a gay, HIV positive
priest in Tulsa, makes his point succinctly. “The people who
survive are the ones who don’t just sit and say, ‘Oh I’ve
got AIDS, come and feed me, come and take care of me.’ They
are the ones who get up and take care of each other. The joy
of being able to do that sort of fills in the anguish of being
sick.”
Trever lives in Norfolk,
Nebraska and speaks about his HIV and drug and alcohol addiction
to upwards of 4,000 youth a year. He’s had doctors refuse
to work on him because of their religious beliefs “Trever
is gay, and that’s a conflict of interest.” Sharing his story,
doing something, fills in the anguish Father Jim mentions.
“Every time I share my story it reminds me of where I was,”
he states, “and helps me to realize where I am now. Today
I have people calling and asking for me to speak. I have a
God that I understand and that loves me for who I am, that
doesn’t hate me like I always thought. I’m rich. Being rich
is not about having 50,000 dollars in the bank. Riches are
making a difference in people’s lives.”
JoAnne in Chicago says, “You
make lemonade. This is the hand you’re dealt, you deal with
it. I’ve learned to be happy with what I have.”
And Laura in Oklahoma City
sums it up. “Instead of why me, I turn that question around
and say, why not me? I’m willing to take a stand and say,
‘I’ve got HIV, and this is how you can prevent yourself from
getting it.’ I use myself as an example. If I wasn’t able
to turn that around, I’d wallow in self-pity. It keeps me
sane. Attitude has a lot to do with your physical being. If
I didn’t have this outlet, I probably would have tried to
kill myself. Ya know, there are days when it’s painful to
walk because of my neuropathy. But because I have a purpose,
I can rise above that pain.”
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