[font="times new roman"]AIDS. Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome. A disease, a syndrome, a problem. I didn’t know anyone who had AIDS. At least I didn’t think I did. But that all changed when I went to the doctor a month ago. Sitting in the office, feeling horrible, I just knew that the outcome wouldn’t be good. I didn’t know what, or how, but I knew I had something bad. Something that people don’t survive. I knew it. [/font]
[font="times new roman"] The start of my junior year of high school was a blur. This was my year to make it. My older sister had graduated, and left me to fill her role as an all-around good student with high hopes and dreams in sports and academics. I was so scared. As my mother waved at me from the door, I got a knot in my stomach. She was so proud of Jessie, but what about me? Could I fill those shoes? I guess it was time to find out. [/font]
[font="times new roman"] Going to classes, volleyball practice, and my volunteer activities for the first few weeks convinced me I had it made. Nothing could possibly go wrong, because I was a good kid. And then came Jo. Josephine Ann Baker. The girl your parents warned you about. They always said, “Now Lucy, we want you to stay away from that Josephine. She’s a bad influence.” But she was so nice to me. She singled me out one Wednesday in the cafeteria, and we were instant friends. We liked all the same music, all the same movies, all the same things. We started to hang out. Go to a movie every once in a while, without my parents’ knowledge of course. When I started being gone more and more often, they got suspicious. My mother called me into her room one day and we had it out. Right then I knew I just couldn’t be the kid my parents wanted me to be anymore. So I quit trying. I did feel guilty, but who cares? Parents shouldn’t control us, right?[/font]
[font="times new roman"] As the weeks went by Josephine started inviting me to some of the more obscure parties in the city. I knew these weren’t a good thing, but I didn’t want to look stupid, so I went. Every Friday night we would go downtown and hang with some of her older friends. Then one day they pulled out some needles. Heroin. Josephine said they were clean, and to try it. I was so scared. My hands were shaking like the vibration of the bass on a car’s stereo. But I did it, and it felt so good. I was soaring, and I kept using. Constantly. I couldn’t get enough.
My parents started to notice things. I was careless. They found the point of a needle in my bag one day. “What is this Lucy?!” My father yelled for hours and the only excuse I could come up with was “Why are you looking through my stuff?” We argued for so long, and I was so tired of all the yelling, I just left. I grabbed my purse and headed out the door. Drove all the way to Jo’s house, only to find that she was out for the weekend. Where do I go? I drove downtown. I found Jo’s friends, my drug connections. We hung out. Got high. Passed out. [/font]
[font="times new roman"] I woke up on a couch in a strange warehouse. Someone had turned it into an apartment. I was a little bit nervous. And I was all alone. I got up; the head rush knocked me to my knees. Then I heard a voice. “Hey you! You all right? I found you on the street, kid. You look terrible.” I told him I felt horrible. My head was throbbing and my glands felt awfully swollen. So we drove to the doctor’s office. Sitting there in the waiting room was the most frightening experience I’ve ever been through. I knew it wasn’t just a cold, I knew there was something more, and I was so terrified. I just couldn’t think of what it could be. Though I knew of something that it might be. But no. That was too much to think about. It couldn’t be.[/font]
[font="times new roman"] My new friend walked me back to the room that I would see the doctor in. I never found out the boy’s name, but oh was I glad he’d found me and not someone else. I can just imagine what some other guy might’ve done. As we were waiting on the doctor the boy and I talked about life. He was so comfortable. Like he’d been there before. We continued to chat about simple things and finally the doctor got to me. He took one look at me and asked what kind of drugs I was using. My face turned the color of an overripe tomato as I whispered, “Only a little heroin.” “That’s what I thought. Seems to have been enough. Whose needles?” I told him about Jo’s nice friends, they were clean. “I don’t think they were clean, honey. We’re going to take some blood, run some tests. The results will be here in about a month.”
The boy stayed with me the whole time. He held my hand when they took my blood. He even took me home afterward and stood by my side as I told my parents about the horror that I was facing. Then he left me. I was depressed for so long, because I never asked his name, never found out who the wonderful boy was. But I had a sort of strength because of him, and that helped me when I told Josephine that we couldn’t be friends anymore. It helped when I was admitted to the rehab center. And it definitely helped when the doctor’s office called and told me to come in. That was this morning.[/font]
[font="times new roman"] Now I’m on my way, driving this beat up old Chevy to find out what is wrong with me. A month of severe headaches and fever symptoms, I’m sick of it. I just want to know. Walking back from the waiting room with the nurse, I’m feeling like crying. She has that look on her face. That “poor kid doesn’t know what she’s in for” kind of look. Now the doctor is here, and I’m crying openly. He’s telling me there are treatments for this kind of disease. Maybe the HIV has been caught soon enough. Maybe it won’t turn in to AIDS. Lucy don’t cry, it’ll be all right. There is medicine. He just keeps talking. Won’t be quiet, even for a second. And then I’m screaming. “Stop! Stop! I don’t want to hear it! I’m going to die and I know it!” On and on this goes, until I finally just walk out. Get into my car, and drive, that’s what I do. I end up outside Jo’s house. I’ve got to tell her to get tested. She could have this horrifying disease too. But she isn’t home. So I keep driving. I drive all night and into the morning, and finally I am home.[/font]
[font="times new roman"] As I walk through the door, my mother and father pound me with questions. How are you? What did the doctor say? We were so worried. Will you be okay? I have no idea how to respond. How do you tell your parents that, because of some stupid decisions, you are going to die? You are out of hope. I say, “Yeah. I have it.” And then I leave once again. Walking this time. [/font]
[font="times new roman"] I turn corner after corner and I find myself in a park. This park has the most beautiful trees I’ve seen since I visited Yellowstone with my parents. I sit down on a bench, and soak it all up. These trees, and animals, have no worries. They don’t have to live with death following their every move. They don’t have to take twelve different kinds of pills every morning. They don’t have to be looked at like outcasts. Though I do. But I’ll forget about that for now, because this place is amazing. As I’m thinking about the beauty I see, someone comes into my peripheral vision. [/font]
[font="times new roman"] “Hey, do you remember me?” It’s that boy. “Hey, you!” I can’t speak. I can only burst into tears. As he comes to my side, he says, “So I guess they told you, huh? Don’t worry; it’s not that bad. I’ve been living with HIV for quite a while.” We talk for a long time, and I find out his name is Eli. Eli Bradford. He invites me to a meeting that he and some friends with AIDS have on Thursday nights. [/font]
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[font="times new roman"] It’s been twelve years since I found out I had that dreaded disease. The meetings that I went to with Eli were a church affiliated counseling program. Thursdays became my favorite day. The only day when I felt at all at peace with my disease. [/font]
[font="times new roman"]As I got more comfortable in the group, they started inviting me to church. One Sunday I finally realized that the peace that group gave me was actually from the God that those people were serving. I realized that one mistake doesn’t have to completely ruin my life. Today is my twelfth anniversary. I’ve had AIDS for over twelve years, but I’ve had God too. He has been my peace. He has been everything I need. I know now that I don’t have to live my life being scared of death; instead I should help others to let go of that fear. For if a woman with AIDS can live without fear, anyone and everyone can too. God can do that to you. [/font]
[font="times new roman"]I now spend my days counseling others with AIDS and working as a secretary at the church where I found God. I’m strangely thankful that I contracted AIDS from those needles. I am indebted to those who gave me drugs. I’ve tried to contact them, to tell them of Jesus’ love, but I can’t seem to find them. I’ll keep trying, and I’ll keep living unshackled by fear. I’m no slave to sin; I’m a new creation. And to think, I would’ve never known this, if it hadn’t been for this hideous disease.[/font]