by Logan
Greg, one of my best friends from childhood, was diagnosed with HIV when we were around 19 years old. Living in an uppity suburb of New Jersey, HIV was rarely spoken of. And AIDS was no longer seen as a death sentence by that time, so I hardly gave much thought to the virus.
Growing up, we were taught that HIV was contracted only by gay or poor people. I was about as concerned with HIV as I was with Ebola or some other “rare” or “exotic” illness, so Greg’s diagnosis was a huge shock and brought my perception of HIV down to earth. He was exceptionally secretive about his HIV status. The shroud he and his family placed around his illness added a sense of shame to it—as if he had some fault in contracting the disease.
Greg started taking medication, and the sense of urgent concern started to neutralize over time. I asked him about how he managed his disease. Did he ever skip his meds? Did he experience side effects? When did he tell his sexual partners he was positive? Did he always use a condom? Did he only have sex with other positive people? His answers were, respectively: no; not really; only before anal intercourse, and not all the time since he was “undetectable”; not always; and not necessarily.
It seemed the initial stigma-fueled alarm and secrecy faded as he grew more confident in his treatment. He became more relaxed about his infection, and so did I.
For Greg, for the sake of those living without access to treatment, and for those who will be infected in the future with new, possibly more virulent strains of HIV, a true cure is needed. This demand for a cure and the associated cure method the RFTCA is pursuing is what we need today in 2016 and beyond.
From Facebook to Instagram and the Twitterverse, all across the country, the RFTCA is changing the conversation around a cure for AIDS and getting people to shout.