The Diagnosis, “you have AIDS.”
The day I found out I had AIDS was a nightmare. April 12, 2006, I had spent 2 weeks in the hospital waiting to find out why I was constantly getting sick. I was sitting in the hospital room with my mother a little anxious and very concerned. My mom tells me in an upbeat voice “be patience, everything will be just fine.” This day was a happy day for my mom, she had become a U.S. citizen and was now officially living the American Dream. So she had good reason to be upbeat but then all of a sudden her happiness slowly faded when the doctor walked into the room and said, “WE KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE."
I still remember my mom's reaction, she placed a finger to her mouth trying to hint to the doctor not to tell ME this way… She wanted me to talk to a therapist first. But she never had a chance to plan it with the doctors beforehand.
I asked him, what do I have???
He said, “TU TIENES SIDA” (you have AIDS.)
Immediately, I started screaming and crying, it was horrible to think that I was gonna die of such an illness, in such a place, a hospital. My mom and the doctor tried to calm me down, but it just didn’t work. I even stood on the hospital bed and screamed out of pain and fear. I don’t remember another day in my life where I cried so much. After the diagnosis of “AIDS,” my treatment at the hospital continued for another 2 weeks. Treatment consisted of a catheter direct to my heart, medication (that caused diarrhea and panic attacks) and my resting time was reduce to probable 2 or 3 hours everyday. During most of the day, I was having lab work done or some kind of the annoying check up they do at the hospital when someone is “really” sick. I waited for someone at the hospital to tell me it was all a bad dream, a big fat lie, but that never happened.
Finally, after four long weeks at the HOSPITAL, my mom got me out of there! After I left, a nurse would visit me everyday at my apartment to help me with the medication. The entire ordeal of being diagnosed and having to take medication was horrible, it was too much for me to handle at the time. Whenever, I went to see my doctor at the clinic I felt awful because it felt as if he was judging me and that didn’t make me feel any better.
And the medication with all the horrible side effects, sleeplessness, diarrhea, anxiety and fatigue was a bit too much at first. At this time, I was weighing 100 pounds at 5’6, I started feeling more and more depressed as the days would go by. I cried myself to sleep every night. I stop doing things that made me feel good, like hanging out with my friends, using the computer, watching TV, and long walks at the park. Basically, I allowed this disease to stop ME from living my life. I felt filthy and was disgusted with myself. Constantly, I found ways to punished myself because of my status.
It is been three years and I am a totally different person, it’s just amazing what time can do for one’s sanity. The pain is still there and it will not go away, it is something that will be with me for the rest of my life. But I don’t look at it the same way I did three years ago. Life can be Beautiful and Painful all at the same time but it depends on what you make out of it, it is a gift that you can’t give back.
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