Tomorrow is the 25th annual AIDS Walk/5k Run, and it will be my 14th AIDS Walk - and the first one I'm actually running. Most people know my story and why I participate in the walk every year, but I felt like sharing it with anyone who didn't know - and for anyone who doesn't know the full story.
In March of 1998, my little brother Mike checked himself into the hospital because he was having trouble breathing. He'd been sick for a couple of months with bronchitis. The doctors diagnosed him with pneumonia, but they had their suspicions about the type of pneumonia. They wanted to test Mike for HIV, but he kept refusing. In the meantime, they were treating him for regular pneumonia. My mom begged Mike to take the test and finally, he relented. It came back positive. The type of pneumonia that Mike had was Pneumocystis pneumonia - or PCP - very common in patients with AIDS. Now the doctors could begin treating him correctly.
I will never forget the first thing Mike said when the diagnosis was shared with us, he asked us if we still loved him. This would be my first example of the stigma attached to the AIDS virus. Of course we still loved him - why would we not? My family rallied around Mike and for six excruciating weeks, we watched the disease ravage his body until he weighed a frail 78 lbs. He had to be put on a ventilator because he could no longer breathe on his own. His beautiful blue eyes, however - remained lively and bright; sparkling with mischief as he flirted with the nurses or joked with us. He was still Mike - a very bright light and one of my dearest friends. I could not even fathom my world without him.
I learned very quickly about how people react to people with AIDS. One nurse refused to touch him unless she was wearing gloves, her face showing how distasteful she found it. I recall confronting her in the hallway, my voice shaking with fury and my eyes bright with tears: that is my BROTHER in there, dammit. Treat him like a HUMAN BEING or don't treat him at all. I never wavered in my love. I never saw my brother as anything other than someone fighting a life threatening illness. I never expected anyone else to see him any differently than that.
On April 14th, 1998, his lung collapsed. It was the third or fourth time it had happened - he already had several chest tubes in from prior incidences. The doctors gently took us aside and suggested that we not put another chest tube in. That we not cause him any more pain. That we accept the inevitable and let him go. As a family, we made the choice to forgo further treatment. They made him comfortable and with all of us surrounding him; my brother passed away. He was 24 years old.
I did my first AIDS Walk that year with my sister and my nieces. I think I raised $125.00. I vowed to do it every year for as long as necessary. I have done it every single year since then - even in 2000 when I was so sick I could barely walk - I walked. Over the years I have learned about families abandoning their loved ones upon learning they had AIDS. I heard of people dying alone in hospitals - without the comfort of family love surrounding them. I had people tell me that they would not donate because it was a 'gay disease'. I had one guy tell me that people with AIDS deserved it.
I wish he could have met my brother, maybe spent an hour or so with him. I'm pretty sure that would have made him think differently. My brother was a trip. He was funny, and vivacious, and brave. He was strong, and loyal, and loving. I do not know how he got AIDS and I honestly don't care; but I do know that he definitely didn't deserve it.
So when I do the AIDS Walk, I don't just do it for him - I do it for every other family out there who has been where mine has been. I do it for the people who are newly diagnosed and struggling to comprehend how different their lives are going to be. I do it for the meal services that provide meals to patients who cannot provide for themselves. I do it to cover medication costs for patients who cannot pay for their medication. I do it for the families who participate in the walk with t-shirts and signs with photos of people they've loved and lost. I do it because I hope that one day I won't have to. AIDS doesn't discriminate - it can happen to anyone. And if I can help prevent even just one family from going through the heartbreak that mine has, then that is a major victory.
This is my brother Mike. He was an awesome human being; and he died from AIDS. I miss him every single day. Tomorrow I will run my very first 5K for him. To keep his memory alive. I love you bro-bean.
