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25 years ago today.....

Shivering in the dark, I reached for the telephone, knocking it off the bedside stand. Luckily it did not disconnect. I retrieved it from the floor, and heard a small and scared voice reached out to me over the wires; it was Millie, a nurse from work.

I swung my legs out of bed, sitting upright in the cold darkness of my bedroom. I wrapped the sheet around me. It didn't help much. There was something in her voice which commanded my attention, and chilled me more than the unheated room.

"Did I wake you? Silly question- I guess you would be asleep since its' three in the morning. but I had to call- I can't sleep. It's about the patient today...."

I was worried some too; todays' patient was not usual. No- one could understand what disease he had, but one thing was certain- he was a breeding ground for more infections than ever seen before in one patient. He was not conscious any longer, and I knew we were losing the battle for his life.

We knew little of his history. He had come from New York, not wanting his condition to be known amongst friends and family there. He was some important designer, and a well known figure on the club scene too. Here, in faraway Phoenix, he was known by a code name; "lima 22", a mere scrap of a person slowly wasting away, ill enough to warrant intensive attention and a medication list that had kept Millie running. At least one antibiotic or something was administered every half hour round the clock. He didn't look so important now, tubes running into every possible place in his body.

"Well, Millie", I answered, holding back the shivering. "I confess I've been thinking a lot about what happened today, too!" I wonder if she could hear my teeth chattering.

It took a lot of dedication just to walk into the patients' room.... isolation, double-gloves, double gown, face masks and splatter shields were mandatory, and we had been only too glad to comply. Whatever he had, we did not want. We silently prayed what we had as barriers would keep us safe, but we couldn't be sure.

I lit a cigarette, exhaling blue smoke into the shadows, then continued: "Millie- it was a tough break- I wish it hadn't happened either, but its' past-nothing to do about it now...." I continued to reassure her, but it wasn't working.

Finally she said " I don't care what the lab results show when they come back! Promise me one thing- if I catch what he has, you have to promise to kill me." The thought hit me as absurd, but only for a moment. I knew from her tone she was serious; she was scared to the marrow, and didn't want to go out the way Lima 22 was. I respected Millie enough to know no amount of reassurance would change what she said, but I tried anyway.

It wasn't but two seconds, and she cut me off, and again demanded that I swear I wouldn't let her live only to suffer.

I had only finished my last semester, and had begun working, trying to pay off the sizeable debt. Hey- I didn't even have enough money to pay the light bill.... as a result, the room was dark and cold, and would stay that way until the feeble morning light could enter the small window. Heat was an impossible dream, and the blankets didn't hold back the chill enough to sleep well.

What had occurred was that during wound care, the patients' arm bumped Millies' face protection away at the same instant a sizeable pocket of smelly pus spontaneously burst, spraying her in the face and eyes... it missed me, but she got it in her eyes and mouth. She nearly vomited at the time. how she managed to control that urge was beyond me. The smell was horrid, even a few paces away.

I knew there was no way around it, so I said, "Yes, Millie, I'll do that favor for you.... at least this way we won't lose touch after the summer is over".

I could almost feel the stress reach out of the phone and clutch my heart. "You have to really mean it- you're not just saying it, are you?"
Again I reassured her, and she seemed to calm. Some small talk followed, and she allowed me to hang up and return to sleep; but no sleep would come.

After all, it wasn't like this illness was understood in the least. For all I knew, I could have caught it just by breatheing the room air.... I had really never seen anything like it, and I had previous experience with some bad bugs when working in the tropics a few years back. This was worse than anything I'd seen.

I stubbed out the cigarette, blowing one last smoke ring whimsically into the darkness, and had to ask myself if a medical career was worth it. If it held such dangers, my compassion would melt away, and no amount of money or prestige would motivate me to stay.

I wondered how long it would be before we knew what caused this, what we could do about it, and had at the time, no idea about how massive an issue it would become in the years ahead. We didn't even have a good name to call it by.

This was twenty-five years ago, when the silent bombshell went off, and changed the rules forever. This was the first case of AIDS in Phoenix, and I was on the edge.

In the years to come, it would become a burning social issue, it's danger and social stigma would cause its' victims to be shunned, disrespected, and badly cared for... these souls often fell to me; I was not regular staff, I worked on contract, so the regulars would shift such cases off on me- they didn't want it, and wouldn't pass it off to a co-worker!

I was also contracted by pharmaceutical companies when optimism led them to believe they has a medical answer, and it was time to test it on research subjects...I'd monitor the study, and was glad the nagging fear from my first encounter was still very much present. It kept me safe, even as we knew more about AIDS, it still remained something I'd rather not catch.

Millie? we lost touch over the years, she didn't catch it despite all her fears, and she didn't need me to fulfill my promise...

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VIVA VIVA	Posted:Jun 17, 2007 1:42 pm Last Updated:Jun 30, 2012 5:03 pm 8697 Views
Some time ago, I'd met this person, more vibrant than most found in the chat- a shark among small fish, Viva was not easily approached. There were huge walls up, and she was known for swinging the titanium bat that was a trademark. I watched as many tough types were dispatched with a special style. Impressive! At the same, something spoke from that defensiveness. I took the risk of approaching, got a few bat-swings past my head. I survived, and so did Viva . "The rest", as they say "is history". It was with some sadness that within a few weeks, Viva announced she was leaving. Some light seemed to fade from the chat.... it didn't seem right. The chatworld I'd come to enjoy would be a lesser place without that cantankerous soul wheeling freely through cyberspace. Yet, what was one to expect? The emptiness of outer space was reflected in cyberspace... "no-one could hear you scream" to be sure. And those who heard it were more inclined to stay shallow, and look away. The ignorance contained in that lent to a bland time some confused with happiness. It was this blankness that echoed through when the most vibrant, the most alive were missing from the action. It would seem this drained the Vida from "Viva".... I could see colorless cheeks, and an empty gaze now. For all the energy, the place was soul-less, and more than I had noted, it drained from the most alive... that would be Viva. How long could one walk open through the valley of the shadows' smiles, and not feel the need to look elsewhere for happier times? It certainly wasn't coming up in most chat sessions I'd seen. And, couple that with out and out assaults on others' happiness by creeps and blood suckers.... I couldn't say "please don't go" though I in transition, tried. That was some time ago. I should have written this sooner. Pick any excuse: it was busy in the chats.. it was busy out of the chats...things kept changing... it was hard to sieze the moment... whatever. But here, for the price of a few electrons, is what I had been meaning to say...without cliche's, and with few warts too. Life is short, the moments in the chat are what they are, for whatever reason. It's a given none of are forever in there, and hopping rooms will forestall some of the crush and the disillusion. But, it'll still be there. We can run into "the real world" which is as real as the chat for most. If it worked, no-one would want to be chatting, would they? So there, or in here, it's much the same. the things we want, we gotta bring with us. It won't come from some magic of place. If there is nothing real inside, it won't come to you anywhere. Thanks for being real in my life. Good luck, Viva, good luck to us all.
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On the borderline	Posted:Jun 28, 2006 12:53 pm Last Updated:Jun 7, 2011 2:05 pm 7231 Views
Sweat began to bead on his forehead as the sun climbed higher. The desert in daytime was a different place altogether than at night. Tiny rivers began to follow the creases in his face as worry deepened the wrinkles in his weathered face. Racing ahead of his tired steps, his mind focused on what was surely ahead. He hated this aspect of his life, hated the intruders who did not respect the land who were ever more numerous. And the questions returned, distracting his thoughts of what he would find. Again. It had been a cool night when he had started his trek. Savvy to the desert ways, he had awaited a moonless night to make his crossing. The smugglers liked dark nights, too. He had gone a long way around to avoid meeting up with them. His caution had cost him extra hours, and now the sun was climbing. He should have sought the shade afforded by the scant leaves of desert trees, but he had hopes he would arrive in time. His knowing steps brought him carefully among the cactus and thornbushes. Beginning at first light, a few, then many vultures began to spiral high in the blue, circling slowly. Now, in numbers, they had begun to circle slowly downward. There was no mistaking what that meant. There had been a bad end. Some hours ago,in the cool of the night, he had heard distant gunfire. It was not for nothing that he had made efforts to avoid the beaten pathways used by so many to follow their dreams north. Someone had followed their dream into a nightmare conclusion. Now, nearing the focus of the carrion birds, who again circled higher on his approach, he could see a dark form on the sand. His eyes scanned the hills both near and far. Intuitively he knew he too could meet his fate from an unseen finger tightening on some trigger. He was good with rifle and scope, and knew others who were, too. He watched for a long time, gaze shifting from point to point, seeking hiding places where someone could conceal themselves. This was a moment that his urgency would not deprive him of. He watched for movement which would reveal human presence. Cows no longer grazed this border twilight zone, and the coyotes and other dwellers had long ago gone to ground. He had come towards, not away from this scene, not because he did not know he would find the last paradero of someones' life, but because in a sense of what could be called compassion, he wondered if there were others, who in a panic, had run from the assasins' gun, and were now facing sure death in an unforgiving place. Following well worn trails in his brain, his recurring thoughts questoned why he stayed in a land grown ugly. It had not been like this in his childhood. Then, he and his people had often walked these hills, had laughed, and lived carefree in this Sonoran Desert, home of his ancestors. Less worried now that he had made himself sure there was no-one near, he walked up to the dead one, crumpled where he fell. He noted how uncomfortable it looked to have fallen in such a twisted heap, but knew there was no pain felt any more by the one laid out in the sandy arroyo floor. Dried washes were a good place to cross; the sand floor made for easy walking, and a slight wind could make the tracks vanish almost as they were left behind. But this one would make no more tracks. Unconsciously, his nose wrinkled and his lip curled as if there were a bad odor. There was no smell; this kill was fresh:the blood barely congealed. Absently checking his GPS, he noted the location for later- a quick call from a pay phone would alert the BP so they could retrieve the body. He himself had no reason to buy such a luxury item; he knew this land. He did relieve an earlier owner of it when he had come across him in a similar scenario. He had considered it as less than a tool, more like a toy- but it had become one of the few items accompanying him on his journeys. Scanning the ground close around him now, he saw no signs of footprints other than his own. The winds which always came in the grey morning hour- the "hour of the wolf" as his people called it had done its' work, cleaning the desert of the traces of man. Surely there were others, though. The scattered belongings were recent; unpicked and untouched. and too many for just one to carry. Bricklike in shape, two plastic-wrapped parcelas caught his eye, and he casually picked them up. Pragmatically, the smugglers had been using their human cargo to carry contraband. He smilingly placed them into his own daypack, not minding the extra weight. The drugs inside would bring a good price at his destino. "Muchacho- you have any use for these?" He asked the dead man for no reason. His voice broke the complete silence, motivated by a cynicism that had grown in him over the years. for good or bad, the kilos belonged to him now, and the danger of having this gift did not dissuade him. Paradoxically, he felt more at ease rather than less by the drugs now in his pack. If the smugglers had left these behind, he reasoned, they were now long gone, having fled in panic in their worry the shots would draw the Border Patrol. had they been on Mexican soil, they would have been less concerend; the federales would wisely not have been around. the smugglers and their guns would be far far away, and the pollitos who paid them would of course not be armed. Startled, a few birds had darted away,fleeing his vocal interruption, and automatically his gaze was drawn by their sudden flight. Suddenly, his eyes focused on a distant point; movement! Spontaneously, he crouched and rolled. Mentally he knew there was no immediate danger, but his instincts took nothing for granted. Slowly, arising from a feral crouch, he glanced from behind the sunbaked mud lip of the wash where he had rolled. His hands brushed the dust from his clothes, then the sweat from his face. no- one could be seen, but no matter; he knew off in the distance, someone had moved. Covert in his movements, he swiftly closed the distance. Not as cautious as he had been only moments ago, some spiny cholla limbs had attached themselves to his boots. Cresting the hill, he was caught offguard, and took a hit to the face by a tree branch. spitting out a tooth, his watery eyes saw a slight and unmistakable form of a woman. Gushing a sudden red stream from her neck, she fell and as suddenly died. The force of her limb swinging has caused the gunshot wound to open with a sad and final result. She had not escaped last nights' gunplay after all. Sitting up from where he had landed, a thought occured to him as suddenly as the impact of the tree branch, and surprised him as much. A baby's cry shattered the silence! and in that instant he knew his life had become complicated- more so than he needed it to be.
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