All American AIDS

I am an AIDS Widow: It has taken me more than a year to say it. Few people know the real cause of my husband's untimely death. Not among our friends, not even in our family. We were married for 13 years, have two beautiful children and lost twins at birth. He did not cheat on me, didn't use IV drugs, had never had sex with a prostitute or with another man. Because of these things, he "did not fit the profile" according to his doctor, and this is why he went undiagnosed until it was far too late for any hope of extending his young life. We were told that he had probably contracted the disease 15 to 20 years before his diagnosis; before we ever met, before we had planned our future and the future of our children. His exposure was finally traced to his only probable risk factor, a blood transfusion following a motorcycle accident in his early twenties. His sunglasses crumpled into his forehead that day, and he lost enough blood that this precautionary measure was taken. I always thought the scar gave his face character. He was not tested for the same reason. I had been tested when pregnant and was negative - still am, a fact which strangley causes me pain and guilt. We assumed after all the years together that he must also be: surely he would have passed it on to me, right? Wrong. Someday, in another blog, I will speak of caring for him at home alone, how easy it becomes to find out who your real friends are, and what it means to be without insurance in America.

A few months after his death, I logged on to my first social network site, Twitter, to follow comedian Eddie Izzard as he ran marathons to raise money for the charity Sport Relief. He literally saved my life on more than one occasion, posting some casual comment about blisters or exaustion that seemed so personal that I was sure I still had at least one friend. I also found support and new friendship in some of his fans. When Mr. Izzard spoke about Nelson Mandela's 46664 charity, I was glad that AIDS fell within his high-profile charitable thoughts. I gladly donated some of my husband's life insurance money and I proudly wear the band registered to his memory. But the circumstances of his lack of diagnosis nagged at me.

No offense intended to Mr. Izzard or anyone else who raises funds for AIDS research and treatment; their efforts are both commendable and appreciated. But AIDS doesn't just happen to people in third world countries. The African children featured in Mr. Mandela's website aren't the only children who will be robbed of a parent by this disease. A newletter from the 46664 Bangle Project (info@thebangle.com) states that Washington, D.C. has an AIDS rate that rivals some parts of Africa, but the common misconception in so-called civilized countries is that AIDS has been relegated to poor countries with even poorer health care. Please be clear, this fact is fiction. Not only did my husband live in the US his whole life, I actually work for the hospital that failed to diagnose him during the last three years of his life. Months before he was diagnosed, his appearance would have made him a poster child for the disease, but the physicians who treated his myriad of symptoms overlooked this due to his lack of the appropriate "lifestyle." Also in question was our lack of insurance. Noone wanted to look too hard or test too much due to the question of our ability to pay. His eventual diagnosis came two months after our health insurance kicked in. Do I seem bitter? Yes. Betrayed? You bet. Africa isn't the only country that needs to dedicate more of its resources to AIDS education and prevention. I would like to think that my family's story might cause an epifany amoung his own care givers. I would hope that my lowly blog might raise awareness amoung its readers. But I'll take one - one person who gets tested and perhaps diagnosed when medications can make a difference. My husband's specialist told me that with proper treatment, an HIV+ patient can expect to live a normal life span, to die of heart disease or stroke like anyone else. Please tell your friends, your family, your co-workers our story. Tell the people you love who "don't fit the profile." You've nothing to lose but the pleasure of their company. Trust me, I know.