I shifted forward in my chair and waited until I had full eye contact with Henry before I spoke.
“You are probably always going to be HIV positive, yes. But that doesn’t mean you have to die from it. The medications now can control it so that it becomes just another chronic disease, like diabetes.”
“Don’t you get it?” he exploded, suddenly jumping out of the chair and pacing up and down the room. “I don’twantto live. Who wants a life where they can’t do anything meaningful? I used to be thebig man– did you know that?” He laughed, but there was no real humour there. “At least I thought I was. Living the high life, fast women, fast cars. IthoughtI was the dog’s bollocks, and then . . . bam! All of that goes away.” I watched as the angry energy drained out of him and he sunk back into his chair. After a minute of silence he spoke again, but his voice was much quieter than before. “The worst thing is . . .” He swallowed and cleared his throat before carrying on in a husky, low voice. “The worst thing is that I brought it on myself. I’m not one of those innocent people who picked up HIV ‘through no fault of their own’, I shot it into my arm along with the drugs I was taking at the time . . . for a laugh. Because I was bloodybored.” He looked back down at the floor and heaved a sigh as his shoulder slumped in defeat. “I deserve to die,” he whispered to his feet.
I closed my eyes slowly and felt my chest tighten. When I opened them, I saw a tear tracking down one of his hollow cheeks.
“You don’t deserve to die, Henry,” I said, softly now, but all I got was a sniff in response. “Do you think that just because you lived large and had a good time you deserved to contract a disease and die from it? Nobodydeservesto contract HIV. It’s not like you were injecting heroine into small children’s eyeballs and the needle slipped. You were using it as a recreational drug for yourself. You made a poor choice. That doesn’t mean you deserve to die.”
“I should go,” he muttered, his hands going to the arms of his chair as if to push up to standing again.
I acted on instinct and my hand shot out to cover his thin forearm. “And who says you can’t have a meaningful life? Lots of people with HIV live very full lives.”
Henry shrugged, but did settle back into the chair. “You know what I mean,” he whispered.
“Ah,” I said. “Intercourse!”
Henry blinked once before staring at me. “You arenotnormal.”
I waved a hand dismissively in front of myself. “Of course I’m not, but that’s beside the point. You want some punani, yes? I mean, I’m guessing you’re not gay. My gaydar is better than a Grindr app at an Elton John concert, and you, my friend, are straight. Also, I hate to generalize but gay men tend to copewaybetter with a diagnosis of HIV and are always super organized about their meds – something I suspect you are very much not.”
Henry rolled his eyes but I caught his lips twitching. I was getting somewhere.
“I’m hardly in a fit bloody state to go looking for ‘punani’, as you so eloquently put it. I thought you were a sexual health doctor. Shouldn’t you be referring to genitals in the correct way?”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said, leaning forward and propping my chin on my hand on the desk. “I’ll start again: You would like to seek out some receptive vaginas for sexual intercourse. Am I right?” He sighed, but the lip twitch was back again. “We-e-e-ll,” I drew out the word. “If you want to get into a ‘fit state’, you have to start taking your medication.”
The lip twitch faded rapidly and a scowl took its place. “What the fuck would the point be of that?” he asked. “Who is going to want to have sex with a bloke who’s HIV positive?”
I sat back in my chair and softened my expression. “I don’t know, Henry,” I said. “Maybe someone who finds him attractive, likes his (admittedly at the moment less than sparkling, but I assume circumstances have contributed to that) personality – maybe even falls in love with him. That’s who.”
Henry huffed and looked down at his feet again. “Nobody, however much theyloveme, is going to risk their health to have a relationship with me. And nor should they.”
“Henry, antiretroviral therapy can reduce a person’s viral load to the point where it is so low that itcannot be detected by measurements in the lab. You must have been told this when you were first diagnosed? If you have an undetectable viral load in your blood for at least six months, youcannottransmit HIV through sex. Undetectable equals Untransmittable. We call it U=U. I’m not saying you wouldn’t continue to wear condoms in those circumstances but–”
“Wh–what?” His eyes had snapped up to mine and I saw something flash through them, something that looked a little like hope.
“If you take your meds as prescribed (just one tablet a day), not only will your health improve, but you can start thinking about punani again.And, do you think they’re not working on a cure right now? HIV treatment has come so far in such a short space of time. Do you think in ten years time it won’t have progressed even further? You can’t just give up. The researchers working on it aren’t giving up, so there’s no reason for you to pussy out up the stairway to heaven just because you might have to have a few awkward convos with potential lady friends before you do the dirty with them.”
Henry started rubbing the back of his neck as his head dropped forward and he let out a puff of air.
“You’ve got totry, Henry,” I whispered. “Shit happens, life isn’t perfect. But you can’t just give up.”
His hand dropped from his neck and he sat up straighter in his chair. He squared his jaw and his eyes lit with a new determination. Yes, I thought, this guy could definitely be hot if his skin improved, he gained a fair few kilos, and he changed his attitude.
“Okay,” he said, his tone stronger than before. “Take me through the med schedule again.”
Chapter 2
Anything but easy
Kira
“Dr Murphy?” Nigel Derwent, the hospital director, was looking at me with a pained expression. The last time I’d really spoken to him was at my ARCP (Annual Review of Competence and Progression) a year ago. The suit I’d worn to that was a world away from the purple leggings and paisley tunic I was wearing now. “Great, just great,” he muttered to himself, and I suppressed an eye roll as he started looking up and down the corridor as if to try and find another, more suitably dressed, Dr Murphy.
“Sir!” I clipped out, before clicking my heels together and lifting my hand to my forehead in a full-on salute. Sometimes my brain short-circuited a little around authority figures and I lost touch with what was respectful and normal, and what was just plain odd. Nigel looked unimpressed. “Er, hi. You, um, wanted to see me?” I said, lowering my arm and biting my lip. “It’s just I’m in the middle of a ward round. The junior doc I left to finish off doesn’t know his arse from his elbow, so I might need to –”
“Right, right,” he said, and he swallowed as his hand moved to his neck to attempt to loosen his collar. “I, I . . .” he trailed off and gave my outfit another pained look. “We have aspecialvisitor. It’s a rather . . . sensitive matter, so before you go in I’m going to have to ask for your discretion.”
