In 1996
Mr Savage, my high school anatomy/physiology teacher...
 |
| who apparently does NOT age at all |
... assigned his students a research project. Pick any disease, learn what you can about it, and submit a paper. As far as I recall, I earned a good grade and the honor of publication in our school district's annual Creative Writing book.
I chose to research and write about AIDS because my uncle had contracted it sometime in the '80s and throughout my teenage years I formed a meaningful friendship with him through regular phone calls and, luckily, a visit to his home in San Diego.
Uncle Richard passed away on August 9, 2014. From his memorial:
Richard lived his life
with enthusiasm, a hearty laugh,
and love for his family, friends, and rock and roll.*
* Not mentioned among his joys: Clinique face cream, white jeans, and Madonna. The man had GREAT taste.
_________________________________________________________________
Siobhan Reynolds
Grade 11
Homestead High School
As a teenager, I know that HIV stands for Human Immunodeficiency Virus, and that AIDS stands for Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. I know that I am sick of hearing about how I can't get AIDS by shaking hands with an infected person, swimming with him, or even getting bitten by the same mosquito. I know that I can only get AIDS by sharing needles that haven't been sterilized, through unprotected sex, or by being born to a mother already infected with AIDS. I know as well as the next educated Joe that AIDS kills. There is no cure. Period.
As an observer and researcher of HIV and AIDS, I know that some of the symptoms are a fever that lasts for weeks; sudden, unexplained weight loss; swollen glands; diarrhea that lasts for a month or longer; excessive tiredness; night sweats; blah blah blah. I know that once AIDS has been contracted, there is no cure for these and other symptoms and I know the reality that AIDS kills. Period.
As a student who cannot escape the media and publications dealing with HIV and AIDS, I know that "Death from AIDS is 19 times higher for African American women than white women." I know that "People aged 20 to 29 are the fasted growing age group with AIDS. Many of these people were probably infected as teenagers." I know that I have read and reread cute little pamphlets titled "Caring For Someone With AIDS," "When a Friend has HIV," and one called "Caring for People Affected by AIDS."
As a kid watching my uncle waste away day after day, fighting a losing battle with AIDS, I know that all of these statistics are bogus. They numerically reflect numbers that are so large that they are inconceivable to ever reader. Does the number 126% mean anything to you? How about 5.5 times? No? Me neither. All I really know when it comes to the bottom line is that once you get AIDS, any way that you got it, you are stuck with it for the pitifully short life you have left.
When I call my uncle in California, it is a good day if he remembers my name, even though I have known him for sixteen years. It is a good day if he remembers what he has done so far that day. It is a good day if he remembers any of what he's done the way it actually happened. He is bedridden, yet sometimes when I talk to him, he tells me he went for a jog. Sadly, those good days are one our of ten. On a bad day, he loses track of what he meant to say three words into the thought. On a bad day, he forgets that he lives in California or even that it really is warm and sub where he is. Every day, though, my uncle focuses a day's worth of energy into a five minute conversation with me, his niece. He wants to impress me. He never wants me to see the way he really is, how torn his mind is between reality and the world he thinks he's living in. He doesn't want me to think that he is in pain today, or yesterday or ever, or how weak his body has grown. He is stronger than I will ever be, though. He has withstood the most relentless of all diseases; he has suffered through pains and an endless barrage of medications that won't make him better.
It is only when you experience this disease that you understand what that little pamphlet meant when it said, "Be there." Only when you hear their pain an see their mind disappear that you understand that all you can do is make them comfortable, whatever that is. Only after speaking to them, do you understand what it means to week without knowing exactly why. Only after you love a person who doesn't know how to love you anymore do you know what unconditional love us.... It lasts forever, even through AIDS.
