Pickett Fences: Seven’s
Up
by Jim Pickett
July 2002
Dear Mom, Dad, and Kevin,
I have HIV.
I have thought through a
zillion ways of approaching this unwelcome announcement, indeed
I have been thinking, and thinking and thinking for seven
years… since the day I tested positive for HIV, the virus
that causes AIDS, in August of 1995. All my options just got
more and more convoluted, and I kept contemplating and procrastinating,
and now I just want to spare you the dramatic buildup.
I have HIV.
Before I get into why it
has taken me seven years to tell you, my family, what I tell
people I do not even know in my writing and speaking activities,
I want to say that I am okay. I am doing fine, my health is
great. I have an excellent doctor who is a specialist in the
field and with whom I have a strong relationship. I am currently
taking a drug regimen that is keeping the virus at bay and
is not giving me any side effects. So while I know that you
will worry—and this was one of the reasons I have waited so
long—I want to say that you don’t have to, that I’m doing
okay. Really.
Worry, because I know you
will. But do not worry too much. Deal?
Let me explain that AIDS
comes after a long time, after HIV has wreaked years of havoc
on the immune system. A decimated immune system leaves one
open to a host of illnesses and opportunistic infections that
are collectively called AIDS. My immune system is nowhere
near that. We discovered my infection very early on, and therefore
have been monitoring it closely and treating it before it
had a chance to do a lot of damage. Since I found out, I also
have been more careful about taking care of myself, not letting
myself getting run down, keeping the partying to a minimum.
Remember that I have come much closer to dying from asthma
in my 36 years than anything else.
Besides being healthy and
feeling good—rarely, if ever, do I get so much as a sniffle—the
rest of my life is nothing to sneeze at (okay, I couldn’t
resist.) I enjoy what I do for a living immensely and I am
in love with a very special man who has brought intense joy
into my life. I’m not letting the fact that he lives in Spain
and doesn’t speak English dissuade me. It definitely ain’t
my first time at the rodeo, as you well know I have been following
in Liz Taylor’s bloated hoof prints, but I want you to understand
that I am happy, taking it day by day, enjoying every moment,
feeling like the luckiest man on earth… every moment. I am
living a truly blessed life, filled with adventure and exciting
challenges and populated by an amazing, brilliant, neurotic,
funny and not a little insane group of friends and colleagues.
Today I rode my bike thirty
miles.
I have HIV.
When I found out, seven years
ago, I was devastated and thought my time was up. I was scared,
and I cried. I was angry, and I yelled and I screamed. I was
depressed, and I laid in a ball in a corner of my bed and
prayed it would all go away. It didn’t. And ya know, neither
did my will to survive. Which, surprise surprise, is pretty
damn strong. I wonder who passed on the stubborn genes? We
all have our struggles, human existence is not always a pretty
picture, so this is something I have been given to deal with.
I can be a miserable bitch about it. Or I can simply try to
make the best of it. I guess I am doing a little bit of both,
but leaning towards making the best of it. I hope.
I feel incredibly guilty
that I have not told you ‘til now. I have had a million excuses—always
a birthday or holiday that I didn’t want to spoil. I mean,
I didn’t want Arbor Day to be forever tinged with this disclosure!
And there was always other family drama that I didn’t want
to add to with my own. Forgive me. I spent a lot of time worrying
about this, spent a great many hours in therapy talking about
this, and still, it took me seven years. I kept waiting for
the right time, and realized there is no right time. And that
the right time is now. And here we are…
I don’t want to hurt you.
I don’t want to freak you out. I don’t want you to worry too
much about me, or worse, pity me. Or even worse still, fear
me. You are not at risk being around me—I am sure you know
that—but I just want to put it out there.
Please forgive me for waiting
so long. The irony of tons of strangers knowing my status,
while my own family doesn’t, is not lost on me. Believe me,
I see that it is rather schizophrenic. And yes, you are the
last to know, of the ones I feel it is important to share
this information, and I guess that’s because I have wanted
to protect you, to shield you, to spare you any suffering.
But ya know, despite HIV—and also in many strange and beautiful
ways because of HIV—I am leading a wonderful life. A life
I never dreamed of, and a life I would never exchange.
You are my family and I love
you.
I hope you will take some
time to let this sink in. You have a right to be sad and angry,
as I was. Freak out a little. Let yourself feel those things,
but don’t let them consume you. Please. And please, come to
me with your questions and concerns. There is nothing you
can ask me that will offend me or send me screaming into the
streets, so let’s talk.
We have a lot of catching
up to do.
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