Jonathan's POZ Blog

So I meet with my new doctor last week. My favorite doctor, Dr. Kagan, finally and inevitably moved from clinician to researcher. I knew this would happen. I have a special affinity for science geeks, and given the changing face of HIV/AIDS, it is inevitable that the smartest, most curious, most invested in science doctors leave the field of practice.

Especially when they are dealing with low income people such as myself. I wish I had a nickel for every time I was in the waiting room when a person of severely compromised intellectual and emotional capacity was screaming for more Oxycontin in the next room. And given the abysmal nature of the US healthcare system, doctors who take Medicaire/Medicaid patients must double and triple book simply in order to financially survive.

So I meet my new doctor the other day. She’s fun. She is also my first ever female doctor. Which is disconcerting, because I will be discussing issues relating to sex, to pooping, to that thing on my public bone that comes and goes. Stuff like that. But I was relentless with her, though I feared, being Indian, she would be taken aback by my forthright attitude. Better now than later, right? I always ask to be treated like the nastiest skank ever to offer a blowjob for cash in the airport bathroom. I require RPR testing, a complete STD panel, liver tests, all that. She was fine with all that, though pop culture references sometimes escape her (try explaining what a “skank” is when you have used yourself as a reference).

Oddly, I have not been at all sexually active since I had PCP. These last months have been spent sleeping, taking pills (rarely), eating when I can, what I can, and trying to escape the clutches of boredom-based depression. But as soon as my body is in shape, and my energy level goes just a touch higher, I intend to re-enter the dating pool. Or, as I live in Atlanta, the dating Pond. Seriously. Not a pool.

She was good, she laughed several times. She agreed with me regarding my assessment of the state of scientific progress (lots of stuff, but still carrying the baggage of drugs past). We discussed my haphazard drug regimen (I’m just trying to outlive the Star Trek Franchise) and we talked about the future.

To that effect, I got my results from my August blood work.

With less than ten or so doses of antiviral drugs (each dose gave me at least two days worth of sickness) my CD$ count went from zero to 114. My viral load went from over a million to twenty thousand.

My virus is so stupid.

So I got a genotype test, and my doctor promised to take me off of AZT as soon as possible. Which is good news, since I have been on that rat poison, on and off, since 1994.

So the lesson here, I suppose is, even a little effort… even the tiniest amount of adherence… can make a profound difference. Sometimes it’s not about following all the rules. Sometimes it’s about staying alive, and being as happy as possible.

It’s a quality of life thing.

My quality is improving.

Next month? Who knows. I like this new doctor so far. Someday, I will be able to pronounce her name.

Dirge without Music

Edna St. Vincent Millay

I am not resigned to the shutting away of loving hearts in the hard ground.
So it is, and so it will be, for so it has been, time out of mind:
Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely. Crowned
With lilies and with laurel they go; but I am not resigned.
Lovers and thinkers, into the earth with you.
Be one with the dull, the indiscriminate dust.
A fragment of what you felt, of what you knew,
A formula, a phrase remains, --- but the best is lost.

The answers quick & keen, the honest look, the laughter, the love,
They are gone. They have gone to feed the roses. Elegant and curled
Is the blossom. Fragrant is the blossom. I know. But I do not approve.
More precious was the light in your eyes than all the roses in the world.

Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave
Gently they go, the beautiful, the tender, the kind;
Quietly they go, the intelligent, the witty, the brave.
I know. But I do not approve. And I am not resigned.

I have some kickass candles. And I like lighting them, usually at least one a day (the votives burn for a whopping 12-18 hours each. Seriously kickass). I like the way they smell, I like the soothing nature of the slowly flickering light. I like the gentle warmth that comes out of them. Plus, unlike incense, they don’t leave a sooty black residue all over stuff.

I recently bought a batch from a vendor I encountered on Myspace. Yeah, I know. I haven’t had a proper date in nigh on a year, but my social networking profiles have netted me some primo wax. It’s a topsy turvy world, right? The company, Evening Eclipse, might or might not be one guy and hiss buddies making candles in his basement – or it might be a small shop somewhere off the main road in some city, somewhere. I don’t know, and am not sure I want to know. Thing is, they are really really good candles. They burn almost to nothing (a sign of good wax) and they smell very strongly, all the way down. Only Yankee Candles have gotten close to that quality for me. And these candles cost less. They also have terrific scents like Bat, Vlad, Zombie, Nightmare, and the like.

For someone with an affinity for the dark, that’s pretty cool.

Bat, for example, smells like cool water at the edge of a gloomy forest.

I usually get to choose the colors of the candles I order. I always get a white batch of Bat candles, to differentiate them from the muskier, more patchouli-esque darkness of the “Nightmare” scent (my second favorite so far).

So the white candle was the obvious choice today, for a lot of reasons.

Last night, I went to bed relatively early. Leaving my friend Adam sleeping on the futon, I wasn’t feeling so great. I slept fitfully, having to move around on the bed twice when night sweats drenched my sheets and pillows.

My dreams were strange things, Frank L. Baum as directed by Rod Serling. I dreamed of dark forests, black water not seen, only heard. Rustling leaves, and the feeling of a rough beast, only just out of sight.

It wasn’t a nightmare, oddly enough. There was no terror, no suspense. I simply traveled alongside some unnamed, unnamable creature in a dark wooded place, with the gurgling of moving water to track us both. The breath of the beast came in slow huffs, but I remained unafraid. Intellectually, I knew that at any moment, the worm could turn. I could become the hunted. I would likely stand no chance wee the creature to attack. But it did not, and my wandering self did not have energy for fear. The experience of the journey included the possibility of a terrible demise, and having committed to that chance, I walked the woods.

I woke up slowly, gently at 1:30 this afternoon. I had set my alarm for 1:45 just in case. Turning off the alarm, I rose, padded into the living room. Took my lighter, and set the white votive to burn in the round holder. The flame stuttered for a moment, struggled to find it’s way down the wick to the nourishing wax, then caught true flame.

The smell of leaves, of dirt, of cool water slowly began to waft from the votive. I sat back on the futon, and watched it. Wondered how many other people, across the planet, were lighting a candle at the same time. In memory of a fun, funny, smart, brave woman. A woman who walked the woods years longer than anyone thought possible, with rough beasts all around her.

Who fixated not on the dark and dangerous creatures who walked, stalked her. But rather, felt the crunch of leaves underneath her feet, and listened to the promising rush of water. She agreed to walk, not run. She took fear and turned it into strength. She walked every single step of her journey in a manner than both humbled and inspires anyone who was lucky enough to know her.

And when her journey came to an end, she left a legacy of love, and hope, and courage. Each death diminishes us all. But each death reminds me to live as fully as possible, to walk with my fear, not ignoring the beasts but not letting them dictate my journey. To keep lighting candles, keep loving, keep trying, keep moving, keep caring. Keep crying, when good people fall.

The candle is white, and smells like my dream.