Day 2

A fever dream, from the arctic explorer, lost in the wilderness, in which he fancies himself on another life, in another time. A freelance writer and recovering actor in the American south. And whilst he enjoys the snark of this particular series, another world, arguably a real one, does creep in from time to time.

It is cold here, but not snowing.

Woke up a few days ago with a montrous crick in my back/neck. Sleeping the last few days seems to be making it worse, but Ibuprofen helps some. I am writing this stooped over, as it seems to the the only comfortable position. Perhaps later, I will try a soak in a hot tub, though everyone swears by icing the area with a bag of frozen peas.

Been awfully busy these lst few days, scraping the pennies together and making the most of this dreadful economy to form some sort of meaningful holiday for myself anf the people I love. I'm glad I don't love more people than I do. Would be nearly impossible.

For the last few months I have been stashing a few dollars here and there in an envelope in my sock drawer. To be fair, it was marked “New Orleans trip or car repair.” Since neither of these things came to pass, it rolled over into holiday stuff. Evrybody gets something. Even if it's a small, insignificant something. I am going to try to bake my way further into their hearts, with homemade apple muffins and pumpkin pies. Assuming that, in the next few days, I am able to straighten up and walk around like a person.

I have been amazed, this month, at how thoroughly I have adhered to my medication schedule. No missed doses, only a handful arguably late, and my numbers are showing scary good results. I feel very guilty for those who start antiviral therapy (or restart it) and watch numbers slowly, painfully, over years, inch upwards (or downwards, in the case of viral load). My CD4 cells have leapt to over 200 in less than three months, and my viral load is close to negligible. I am aware that, over time, this wild strain virus might emerge, and start to rise again to dominance, like John Stamos. But that is a bridge I will cross... or burn.... when it comes. Right now I am doing much better, and trying to find a new place for myself in a world I am suddenly (cricks in the back notwithstanding) capable of rejoining.

A friend from far away called me yesterday, and we talked for over three hours. She mentioned that I had been really seriously sick for an awful long time, and that she was thrilled that I was feeling better, fundamentally better, finally. It's funny, because I never considered myself that sick for that long a time. That's the thing about AIDS. Rarely does it stab you in the throat and dangle you off the side of a building. More often, it simply, slowly saps away strength and strength of will. I found my world slowly shrinking, like a puddle of water in the street after a summer shower.

My edges drew in over months, maybe years. And at some point, moving from the bed to the futon seemed to be my life, with occasional trips to the mailbox and reluctant outings to replenish supplies. It's funny how that happens. I have seen it happen to older people, who slowly become isolated, prisoners of their own circumstances. It's not something that happened quickly. And, I am learning, it is not something that is quickly abandoned. With isolation comes fear; of poverty, of strangers, of driving, of an overwhelming and uncertain future outside the door. Breaking through that wall is as hrd, if not harder, than anything a home builder can do with a sledge hammer.

But I seem to have make cracks, which is good. I dragged my friend Richard to Thanksgiving to visit my Mom. I dragged him to a party on Halloween (it was at this huge venue that was having a costume party. It was also the bar's Latin Night. I can almost sing “Monster Mash in Spanish!). I am dragging him to a meetup and holiday get together this afternoon for volunteers and supporters of the local ferret shelter. And later this month, we are going to North Carolina again, to have another holiday with my mom. His own family lives in Kansas, and he cannot afford to go right now. I seem to be doing an awful lot of things with Richard lately, from near nightly phone calls to road trips to, well, going to a pot luck at a place full of weasels and nice ladies. I feel that sometime I ought to figure that all out. I love him a lot, and he seems to like me okay. The upside of being very sick for a long time is that a person does not have the energy to think about stuff like that, what it is, what it means, what it intends. Only now, crick in the back notwithstanding (did I mention it hurts?) I am not so sick today.

With the slow return of health comes a world of complications. The meds give me headaches and nausea, but nothing at all so bad as medicine past. And none of that dreadful, insidious drain of energy and strength like I had with AZT.

A quick piece of advice to other pozzies, especially those starting meds: Research! Find out what, if any classes of drugs to which you are resistant, and demand on the least invasive, least intrusive, least negatively impactful therapy available. Life with lipoatrophy, lipodostrophy, chronic diarrhea, reduced energy and diminished quality of life is not necessary anymore. The meds, even the most benign ones, do have side effects. And everyone is different. But the terror that has for decades been associated with the meds can be mitigated. Just do homework. And the most thorough and in-depth (and current) source for that information is AIDSMEDS/POZ.com. Seriously The best and brightest have built that site from the ground up, relying not on parroted copy/paste jobs lifted from other sources, but from the science itself.

How long this will last, I don't know. To be honest, I am not particularly thinking about that. Worrying for its own sake is a waste of my time. And suddenly there are things, outside things that are real, and pressing, and sadly neglected for years. Getting out into the world again has been a great, if scary step. But the flipside to that is that the world gets in, now.

A little of my old spunk has returned, which has both gotten me out of the house and into some trouble. Back in the day, when I ran a small but eerily effective HIV outreach and prevention organization, I had a sad tendency to imagine myself as something of a James T. Kirk. I was known for speaking my mind at board meetings of regional organizations, was quick to point out flaws and wastes of money and useless propaganda. I tended to go where angels feared to tread, and often paid the price for my intemperance. The newfound energy I have, it seems, has shown just how little has changed. And perhaps it is time to examine that as well, if I am to do real and lasting good. Good, of course, being subjective.

But I am thrilled to have the energy and the investment in living to get into trouble. And I am happy to have found a voice again, even if I might need to tweak it.

For now though, for today, I have Mango bars and Oatmeal marshmallow treats to arrange on a platter, and a shower to take. In two hours the ferret shelter is having a meeting, and Richard will be here in about an hour. There is a face to be shaved and a ferret or three to cuddle. And maybe I ought to look for that bag of frozen peas.

It is cold, but not snowing.