April 15th. Death & Taxes.

April 15^th.  Tax Day.  Ben Franklin's words resonate: In this world, nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes.

March, 2008.  Working in Pacific Palisades, CA. A phone call to a friend is made – who happens to have recently gone through a scary brush with thyroid cancer.  Staring out to the Pacific Ocean - “What happened?  How did you notice something was wrong?”  “I felt a lump in my neck and knew that something wasn’t right.  I went to see the doctor and got a biopsy.  It was cancer.” She says.

While describing symptoms, one cannot help but personally check for lumps on one’s own neck.  Fingers slide along the left side…around the front.  Adam’s apple.  No – that’s natural.  Then the right side.  “Wait – what is this?  A lump?  Oh shit”  

WebMD lump on neck.  “swollen lymph nodes” and further research deduced “symptoms of HIV.”

        

A few days pass – ignoring something that was clearly self-diagnosed. “Doc.  Hello – I need to schedule a physical.”  A week later:  blood drawn.

        

April 12^th: “Hello.  Dr. Green would like to schedule a follow up visit.  How’s Tuesday, April 15^th – 9am?”

Later that evening:  

-       “Mom –follow up appointment with doctor on 4/15…lump on my neck…blood drawn…WebMD says possibly HIV.”

-       Mom: No. it’s NOT HIV.  It has to be something else. Don’t worry.

-       “What if it is HIV?”

-       Mom: It’s not.  Let’s not even think that way.  I’ll be in San Francisco for work on April 15th.  Call me when you’re out of the doctor’s appointment.  Love you.

April 15, 2008:  Arrive at the doctor’s office.  Beverly Hills.  Doc comes in.  “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news…”

The room went quiet.  Deafening.  Shock isn’t even a word that can describe what was felt.  Perhaps “numb” helps to understand.

Depart office.  Underground parking lot.  Sitting in my car.  Crying.  First phone call is to Mom…who leaves her meeting to talk.  No words needed to be said.  The sobbing spoke volumes.  Phone reception in underground parking structure isn't good. 

I leave the parking lot.  Immediately park on the side street.

I call work.  “can’t come back to the office today.”  I make up some excuse. I needed to not deal with anyone else...but me. 

Dormant and pulled over on a Beverly Hills side street for about 60 minutes.  Couldn’t move or drive.  All I could do is talk on the phone, particularly to Mom who couldn’t stop calling me to talk. 

Mom:  "I'll fly down tonight."
Me:  "no.  Why?  So we can both sit here and cry together?  What's the point of that?"

Energy mustered to drive home.  West Hollywood.  Phone calls to all siblings.  And Dad.  Toughest conversations.  The choice to face this head on with family was made quickly.  

Best friend hops on a plane out to LA.  She's there for me.  Seems strange to rely on someone else. Comes with to first doctor's appointment.   Leader in resistance.  Hour long doc meeting.  Reassurance sets in.  I'm in great care.

Later that year, Dad passes away - suddenly.  2008 was, by far, the worst year of life.  It's been a tough rebuild ever since.

Shame and guilt creep in and continue for 7 long years.  Like a drug or an addiction.  Self-esteem hits highs and low… mostly lows, especially when self-disclosure comes in.  Particularly with dating.  The proverbial Scarlet Letter.  People have walked away because of this.  No control over it.  Some have stayed...and walked away later when they've realized they can't handle it.  

 

Healthy.  Always stayed ahead of this, medically.  It’s the emotional part that’s the toughest to catch up with.

Each day is a continuation of the last.  Each day gets a little better.

This disease doesn’t define people.  Stigma does.

What is past is prologue.  

"Something always brings me back to you. It never takes too long...
...one thing I still know is:  You're keeping me down."

I hope this changes soon.