i am not the 46-year-old brooklyn gay man recently diagnosed with a possibly new drug-resistant strain of the HIV virus.
but to my co-workers who know my orientation, he might as well be me.
well, not really. but you know what I mean.
last week, new york's city health commissioner announced in a hastily called press conference the discovery of a multi-drug resistant, much more virulent strain of the HIV virus.
since then, there never was a day that the other nurses I work with in this bronx hospital brimming with aids patients, gay or otherwise, would not, in various semantic guises, take the chance to dole me out patronizing warnings.
I should be careful, extra careful, this time. it's all they say.
ever since the HIV virus was first isolated in the early eighties, the pandemic that ensued has always been considered by most of the straight world a homosexual scourge.
in fact, in late 1981, immunologists use the brutally accusative GRID (gay-related immune deficiency) for the plague. others didn't even bother with the pleasantries. they just called it "it." either, a gay man had it or he didn't.
the poster boy for the renewed gay witch hunt is this 46 year old man from brooklyn. we know nothing else of this man other than he is an admitted abuser of crystal methamphetamine.
back in the days of unmanaged aids care, a heroic gay nurse, bobbi campbell, took pictures of his kaposi sarcoma lesions. he then posted these horrifying pictures behind the display windows of a pharmacy in the gay district of san francisco.
this morning while I was readying to leave work, one of the nurses of the oncoming shift dragged me to the medication room.
placing her right hand over my forehead, she, without asking for my consent, launched into this apocalyptic prayer.
her audacity, well meaninged, I would love to assume, stupefied me. initially, I couldn't understand, hard as I tried, what she seemed to be mumbling. I only caught her last sentences.
"please, lord, send down your spirit to this young man to guide him back to your fold. send him back to the righteous way."
after exclaiming amen, she just left. she did not even look at me, like I was a patient way beyond her help. and I, I just stood there. not a word came to me.
on the bus, I browbeat myself to exhaustion for my inglorious lack of spine. although it was decidedly overcast when I reached home, I still pulled down the shades in my bedroom.
my room, darkened and messy, felt less impervious to the goings on outside. craven, yes. but it felt righteous being here. for now.