The year 2010 wasn’t so bad. Status quo, I think. As 2010 slipped away, it left me wondering how 2011 would fare. Or more like how I’d fare in 2011. Hmm. Aside from the usual family thing we have on January 1st every year, I started the year of with a planned trip to Tagaytay, primarily for our Yogi Babe’s wedding, but at the same time an out-of-town trip with the Hubby. A wedding and a honeymoon. A honeymoon and a wedding.
Sunday morning, I was lugging my backpack, a shoe bag and my yoga mat, on my way to Greenhills to meet the Hubby. I waited outside a Starbucks. In almost perfect timing, he passed by after a couple of minutes, had me load my stuff in the trunk, and hop in as we proceeded to the parking area. From there we walked back to Starbucks and chatted over drinks.
Why Greenhills? Hubby and I were going to mass. It was a Sunday, after all. He had invited me before to attend mass with him so I could see him play, but I’d never gotten the chance to. I knew it was important for him, so even if I’m not really a staunch churchgoer, I was there. Watching him on the organ while the choir sang was entertaining. If not for the couple of cute boys on the choir, just seeing him move, a la Cecile Licad at that. And he was so proud. I was happy he wanted to share that experience with me.
After the mass, around noon, we forewent lunch to get on our road trip. A stopover along SLEX to buy ice and reload the toll thingy, and we were off. Traffic wasn’t bad, considering most were going the opposite direction, on their way back to Manila. The next stop we made was at Paseo de Sta. Rosa for lunch. Poquitomas, not a very attractive name, but the food not bad at all. After a go at the buffet, we took a little stroll around the picturesque grounds. And full with gastric and scenic delights, we resumed our trip.
I think it was about 2:00 pm when we got to the house in Tagaytay. It was his aunt’s place, which he borrows sometimes. We’d actually spent a weekend there together already once last year. Our little love shack, if I may say. We unloaded our stuff, and settled in. We were both tired from the trip, but after a while just laying in bed, talking, tired but unable to doze off, we decided we’d just head on out and take in the town.
We headed off to find dinner, ending up in a quaint restaurant called Greek Taverna. Just two tables were occupied, again perhaps because everyone had left the little vacation town as the holidays drew to a close, and were on their way back to the real world already. But we appreciated the quiet. We ordered some pasta, lamb and skewers, all the while taking snapshots of ourselves documenting our little meal.
We went to get coffee at the nearest Starbucks, but the lines were too long. We did however chance upon a holiday bazaar, where we each bought a warm and fluffy animal cap - him a pig, since he was born in the Year of the Pig, and me, a goat, only because there was no horse, and not even for an Arian, which I am not. It wasn’t too late yet, so we thought we’d visit the wedding venue, an ocular of sorts, armed with a printout of a map, just so we could study the route which at that point we were both unfamiliar with.
I admit, we made stopovers on the way, at a drugstore and a couple of convenience stores. We looking for... lube. We were on a honeymoon, weren’t we?! Depressing how the drugstore and the first convenience store didn’t have any water-based lubricant, so much so that I actually felt I had to buy out the stocks of the second convenience store just to make sure. Supply and demand. Supply and demand. I demanded.
Anyhoo, we didn’t actually make it to the wedding venue that evening. We didn’t get lost, but we gave up. The only resolve was realizing that it was much farther away than the map suggested. Oh, well. We’ll find it tomorrow. We went home, washed up, relaxed, and put the condoms we brought and lubricant we bought to good use. Mmm.
Come morning, I awoke first and started preparing early. It was the wedding day itself, but I was dressed down in shorts and a sleeveless shirt. Nope, not for the wedding just yet, but for yoga. Yep, Yoga was part of the wedding itinerary.
Hubby dropped me off at Hacienda Isabella, where the wedding and all the other activities were to be held. Yep, he just dropped me off. Even with the other Yoga for Lifers there, he drove off without even getting introduced to them. He’s shy. Discreet somehow about what we have. Truth be told, of all my friends, he’s only ever managed to agree to BFF to meet us as a couple.
So with the Yoga for Lifers, we walked in and took in the sights. From what areas we had access to, it was amazing. Sprawling lawns with flourishing trees and charming structures all around. And to realize we were going to do yoga outdoors on the grass in the morning sun and cool breeze was amazing. It was an exhilarating practice, along with some of the other wedding guests, about twelve of us if I’m not mistaken, that left us energized for the day ahead, and the bride de-stressed hopefully from the wedding jitters.
Feasting on a well-deserved breakfast of eggs Benedict, I hitched out with the Yoga for Lifers, and got dropped off at the house where Hubby was waiting. He had had breakfast as well on his own. I showered and rested a bit, after which we hit the road again, to get some Good Shepherd products for him to take home, and have a hearty lunch of kare-kare at Sanctuario.
Back home, we laid in bed a bit. As in, a bit. It was twenty minutes, maybe, before I realized I had to start preparing for the wedding ceremony. I needed to shower, dress up, and pack the rest of my stuff so everything would be ready, as we planned to head back to Manila right after the wedding dinner. Nope, Hubby wasn’t coming with me to the wedding. He’s shy, remember? He was just really there to spend the rest of the time with me.
So I hitched to the wedding with one of the Yoga for Lifers, just to save Hubby from the long drive so he could just relax at the house. Now the wedding was to die for. The ceremony itself was heavenly, less religious than usual, but solemn and romantic nonetheless. Perfect. Simply perfect.
Drinks and finger food by the pool, a raid of the photo booth, and a hangout at the wish quilt, and I got a text. Hubby was in the parking area. I rushed over to keep him company, but he ushered me back in, saying that he’d just hang out and wait. How could I? He wasn’t there just to be my driver, ya know. But he convinced me he was okay waiting, and I hesitantly headed back in already planning my early exit.
I tried to enjoy dinner as much as I could, and the great food made that easy. The guests all sat at long tables dining on pasta, skewers and veggies, capped off by a slew of desserts, from fruit salad to strawberry crepes. But then I really couldn’t get away from the fact that someone was waiting for me in the parking lot. Mmm.
The programme started, and as much I would have wanted to go up to the couple and thank them for the wonderful evening, they were too enthralled in each other and in the speeches their families and friends were giving, that I decided against it. So I sought permission to go from the Yoga for Lifers instead, as BFF volunteered to accompany me to the car. Again, BFF is so far the only one privileged to see us as a couple. A hug and a kiss goodbye, I packed myself into the car and we drove off.
In the car, I did get the vibe that he wasn’t totally okay just waiting it out in a parked car. But he did know he made that decision. Besides, he was able to go for a spa day while I was at the wedding. So after a while, we were all good again.
We had dinner again along the SLEX, but still, in a whiff, thanks to the traffic-less streets, we were home around 11:00 pm. What a way to end the holidays, and start the New Year. It was a tiring trip, but I dare to speak for both of us when I say that we had a lot of fun. Enough warmth to cut through the Tagaytay chill. A honeymoon and a wedding. Not bad. We haven’t gotten a lot of opportunities to go out of town together, so to start the year off with this one should make the rest of 2011 one hell of an adventure.
Sunday, January 09, 2011
Honeymoon + Wedding
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Hell on Wheels
It was a weekday. A workday. I went through my usual morning routine. This was going to be one of those regular days. I get up. I eat breakfast. I shower. I dress up. I leave for the trip to work. A trike and a jeep to the MRT station. As usual, a wave of people waiting at the door of the train, pushing, pushing, pushing, and eventually I’d get into the train whether I liked it or not. And then my supposedly regular day ended there.
The next thing I knew, I found myself sprawled on the floor of the MRT coach, with what seemed like thousands of feet rushing past me. I swear, I must’ve looked like Dyesebel without the fish tail. I wanted to cry, but I knew it would be fruitless. There’d be no one to console me or condole with me. I was pissed, of course. I pitied myself. But I found it funny noticing how those who got startled by my fall were staring at me, while those who were probably guilty of pushing me were looking the other way, trying to act like nothing had happened.
Okay, fine. I picked myself up off the floor. What else was I supposed to do? But I think I was only able to pick my physical self up. I may just have left my ego still battered and bruised where my body used to lie. What was everyone to think of a grown man stumbling his way into the MRT, getting intimate with the ground? What the hell. I didn’t know anyone there. And I probably wasn’t going to see any of these people again anyways. So I just walked away with whatever self-esteem I had left, and braced myself for the ride standing where I thought I would be safest.
I swear, during much of the MRT ride, my knees and arms were still trembling from what happened. I tried to feel if I suffered any scratches or bruises. But other than the dirt I had on my right hand, everything seemed alright. I did notice I had dirtied the hem of my pants so early in the morning, to think I decided to wear slacks today because I felt like dressing up a bit. And my shoes, I ruined my shoes. What used to be my only perfectly good pair of shoes, is now chipped and dingy, with its sole now starting to separate from the leather. Sigh. I need to have it fixed sometime soon.
Fortunately, I got to work with no other mishaps. But it wasn’t until I sat down at my desk that I was able to tune in to my body and realize that my finger hurt, and that I felt pain and swelling near my shin. I wasn’t limping or anything. It just hurt. I was just hoping I didn’t scrape it or anything. It just shouldn’t hurt more than my ego.
So what the hell am I supposed to do to avoid something like this again? I could opt to pass on the MRT and just go back to riding the bus every morning. Imagine the heaven of not having to share your own personal breathing space with at least ten people, comfortably sitting the whole way. But then I’d just be subjecting myself to the hands of fate and luck when it comes to EDSA traffic.
Or, assuming that most people are misinformed about HIV, I could just warn everyone around me beforehand that I had it. Maybe I could even feign a sneeze or a cough to just drive my point through. Just like one bad fart load. That should keep them away from me, right? Hmm, interesting.
Or I could actually use my HIV thing and claim disability so I could ride from the platform where only the pregnant, the elderly and the disabled are allowed, and in the special coach for women, children, the elderly, and the disabled. Very tempting. 
Did you know that having HIV is actually considered a disability worthy of a monthly pension from the Social Security System? That is, if you’re ready to practically disclose and expose yourself. So I’m guessing, armed with a medical certificate, similar to or more worthy than what some women playing pregnant do, I should get some perks too. But then, the proud pusit in me says, Hey, I’m not that disabled. Plus, considering it’s usually the women who push the hardest and are the most ruthless at the MRT, this disability thing might not put me in a better position after all.
And without any apparent solution, I have no other choice. I could just be more careful next time.
So there, that’s how much of a jungle the MRT can be. Hell on wheels. So far, this has been my worst MRT experience yet. Was it traumatic? A bit, honestly. At least I didn’t feel the need to ice myself after. Plus I still found myself on the MRT the next day. So I guess it wasn’t bad enough to put this guy down permanently.
Let’s just look at the bright side. At least that day of mine couldn’t get any worse, right?
Thursday, April 23, 2009
The Buscapade
I rode the same old bus, from the same old stop, at the same old time, along the same old route. This morning was supposed to be just another regular commute to work. But no, no, no. I would just not be that lucky.
What is it with me, buses and sexual tension?
The bus had reached Cubao in a record-breaking time, thanks to less traffic probably due to students being on their summer break. We got in queue at the foot of the MRT station again, reminiscent of my Superman experience not so long ago. Hmmm, come to think of it, I never saw that guy again.
A handful of people got onto the bus as we screeched to a stop. I was focused intently on watching all the people who seemed to be scurrying about that part of Cubao. I just love to watch people, and the view from the vantage point of a bus window is always perfect for that. And then it started. I felt someone, one of those who had just gotten on, looking straight at me. Oh, boy, here we go again.
With just my peripheral vision to work with, all I noticed were his long-sleeved layered outfit, his oasis-style hairdo, and his bug-eye shades. Sigh. My gaydar went off the scale. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against their type. I admire their tenacity to layer clothes without a single drop of sweat amid this Manila summer heat. I envy them. But that’s as far as my admiration goes.
Sensing him make his way towards me, I tried to occupy as much as my two-seater as I could. But it was not enough. I guess his own gaydar went off as well. He stopped adjacent to my seat, and I had no choice but to move over. I just stuck myself as close to the window as possible, and went on with my people-watching.
Of course, the story didn’t end there. He made sure we were close. Very close. Hip to hip would’ve been normal. Thigh to thigh, understandable. But the way slouched and moved further forward in his seat just so our calves would touch was... outrageous! And his elbow, which began poked into my side, was actually resting on my belt – no, resting on my hip bone! You can get beaten up if you happened to do that to the wrong person.
It wasn’t like this bus was one of those whose seats were tailored for humans without arms and shoulders. It was one of those more comfortable ones actually. So he was really pushing his luck and making every effort for his intent to be known.
I could’ve easily felt violated and acted on my paranoia, but that would just get me into trouble. I hate making a scene. Plus it was all harmless flirting. It wasn’t like I was losing my virginity or something. Nor was it my first time to experience such things in public transport. Been there, done that.
Better yet, I thought to myself, act nonchalant about everything and hopefully turn him off. So that was exactly what I did. And thanks again to the smooth flow of traffic, the bus reached my stop – and in turn, the torture was over – in a short while. I knew he was getting down as well at my stop, so once I got moving, I never looked back.
I knew instantly that this adventure would hit the pages of this blog soon enough – in a matter of hours actually – so I just thought it funny if this guy would happen to read this entry and figure himself out as the subject.
What would he think? Would he realize what a close encounter he had with HIV? Would it make him sweat in his seat? Would it occur to him that I did him a huge favor? Would he think twice next time about letting his hormones take control so early in the morning?
In the very words of Bayani Fernando, Urbanidad.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Ordinary Miracle
It was the evening of Good Friday that I received a text message from a blogger friend, asking how my Holy Week was going. But after a few exchanges, it was agreed, I’d tag along with him and some friends to Tagaytay the following day, Black Saturday.
This might have just been the first time I went out of town during Holy Week.
My blogger friend and I met up at our usual meeting place the next morning, within a few minutes of each other. He had a quick cup of coffee, asking me an nth time between sips if I was comfortable having two other guys with us for the trip. His concern, I’m guessing, was that we were all to have blogging in common, but with my particular blog having the least... uhm, favorable... or conventional topic of the bunch. Was I to feel awkward about that? Maybe, but hey, I’m awkward by nature. So not a problem.
After a short drive to their agreed meeting place, we walked around the corner, and there were the two guys. Oh, boy. One step at a time. Socialize, socialize, socialize. One deep breath. Okay here goes nothing. Introductions all around, initially by blog titles, and eventually by names, and the trip was on.
The drive down south wasn’t bad, and we agreed to have brunch as Josephine’s. I was just my usual quiet self the whole time, but I felt that was weighing them down. They probably thought my silence was just some depressed state expected from someone who was HIV-positive. Awkwardness! Several hours and several plates each later, we’d beaten the buffet table. We took a sleepy drive to Caleruega in Nasugbu, a house of prayer and renewal, very befitting of Holy Week. Argh.
We settled down at the lower garden of the compound to allow some of the food to go down, where we, in turn, lowered our guards. Contrary to expected, we seemed anything but prayerful – doing everything from school bashing to spacing out, watching everything from chickens to boys, and talking about everything from twitter to sex. Yes, everything. Including HIV.
My two new friends broke the ice finally, and started off with the usual questions... where I got it, when I found out, why I got tested, how I reacted and so on... questions I had no problems answering. Eventually, one of them said that I seemed to be calm about my whole situation, which I really was. I appreciated them noticing that. Although I may have scared them into looking at the risks they took in their own sex lives, I think the best part of my lecture, was them seeing the value of getting tested. Score!
And with that out of the way, I was now, like them, just any other blogger, and we went back to what was important... watching the hot boys, hehehe. I’m half-kidding of course. We trekked up to the church and spent some silent moments inside, and left seeming recharged for the rest of the posing, picture-taking, chattering, laughing and boywatching.
Our energy seemed to increase exponentially during the ride home, as we attempted a Tougher-Ten-slash-Miss-Universe-slash-I-Love-Chowking-slash-I-believe-in-the-saying portion, which kept us rolling with laughter almost the whole way back. That was a great day.
Looking back as Holy Week came to a close, I was so far from being holy the whole week. I was just lazing around. I was having fun. I never heard mass the whole week. Even during my short stay inside the church at Caleruega, I didn’t know what to pray for. Should I have prayed to be cured by some sort of miracle? But I didn’t feel that I needed that. I was bothered a bit about not wanting it, to be honest.
Until, while still lazing around on Easter morning, I caught the tail end of Charlotte’s Web on cable TV... a beautiful and touching ending it was... and then it hit me. Although it’d be nice to be Wilbur the pig, I’d much rather be Charlotte the spider for someone... for everyone. Believe me, I cried. And even looking past the pig and the spider of it all, it made sense. We always complain about not seeing any miraculous things, but maybe we do... we just don’t know where to look.
The theme song Ordinary Miracle by Sarah Mclachlan was perfect.
It seems so exceptional
That things just work out after all
It’s just another ordinary miracle today
I realized that rest, peace, friendship, laughter, contentment, and life itself... all in spite of HIV... it’s just another ordinary miracle today... everyday. Find your ordinary miracle today.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
A Day w/o U
RITM, day 2. This entry may as well have been entitled another day with… needles. Imagine me cringing.
It just happened to fall on another Thursday. I had been scheduled by Ate and the doctor for my lab tests at the RITM. I had planned on taking another day off from work, but reconsidered, thinking I’d save my leave credits for other more important appointments. I had been given the option of showing up early at the RITM. And I mean early. As in 6:00 am. Early enough so I’d be able to make my way back in time for work at 8:30. At least that was the plan.
Instead, I mistakenly left my cellphone in silent mode, missing my wakeup call by about 45 minutes. Instead of getting up at 4:45 am, I ended up realizing my mistake at 5:30 am, and just rushed to get out of the house. I had planned on making the first trip of the MRT, but obviously missed it. I was able to take the train at 6:00, not too bad. I love traveling that early in the morning. It was still pre-rush hour, a big advantage for the claustophobe like me. It was around a 20-minute train ride, from which I rushed down to street level to hop on a bus plying the Alabang Skyway route. I was just trying to recall how U took me to the RITM last Monday. Plus it made sense, it was a route straight to Alabang via the Skyway, meaning less stops, making for a faster trip.
It was a long but quick bus ride, and I tried to take note of landmarks on the way. We passed by the Nichols Exchange, the farthest south I was really familiar with, since that was where my first boyfriend was from. Further on down, we entered the skyway, and passed the Raya residential development which looks amazing. We passed the Hapee Toothpaste plant, the SM Mall in Bicutan, an finally exited at what looked like a newly constructed Alabang Exit which led into the Filinvest Corporate City. I got down where U and I did previously, at he Alabang Central Terminal.
I decided to walk towards the RITM instead of riding, primarily because I get a better sense of direction when I’m on foot. I retraced the steps we took last Monday, walking towards the Festival Mall and up towards the hill where the RITM was situated. It was a long walk, and I made it before 7:00 am, but remained unconvinced that I had taken the shortest way.
I first walked towards the comfort room, to relieve myself of the pee I’d had brewing in time for my urinalysis. I needed to keep it in almost the whole way, since I’ve been known to suffer from a shy bladder at times. I whipped the bottle out and filled it up mid-stream as advised. Then off I went to the Laboratory Department, which U had pointed out to me during our earlier visit. There was still no one answering the doorbell, so I sat down on a bench in the hall trying to cool off after the long walk. A few minutes later a lady passed me and walked into the lab, shortly after peeping out the window asking if I was a client. I handed her my lab referrals and the urine sample as she ushered me in. I sat down in the torture chair, putting my arm down on the armrest ready for my sentence. She looked at the list of test to do… viral load, CD4 count, genotyping, CBC, hepatitis profiling, and urinalysis… and whipped out four vials to fill. Four vials? That’s worse than the three I filled up at the Manila Health Department months earlier. This would be a record for me. Or so I thought. I looked away as she started to push the needle into my arm. I’m getting used to the feeling, but still can’t stand seeing it. Next thing I know, she’s asking me to hand her two more vials from the table next to me. Four? Plus two? Another record broken… but I have to admit it wasn’t that bad. So there I was, six vials of blood lighter, a survivor.
I walked next door to the X-ray Department, again no one was there. There’d been a sign saying the personnel were at the canteen, so again I sat down and waited. The old lady in charge soon showed up, and I was in and out of there in a flash.
Last stop, some test called PPD. Research now tells me it stands for Purified Protein Derivative, a skin test for tuberculosis. I had been pointed to the emergency room for it, from where I was pointed to the Pharmacy. I showed the referral, and I was given a box of something called Biocin, and told to return it after. Weird. Not something I’d usually hear at a pharmacy. So I returned to the E.R. and handed it to the nurse, who asked for my chart. Chart? What chart? I had nothing else with me but the referral, but was told they couldn’t do the test without the chart. I tried texting Ate, but received no reply. U had given me her number beforehand in case I encountered some problems. So I had to wait, thankfully she arrived early, around 8:30 am.
Needless to say at this point, I didn’t make it to work on time. So anyways, Ate accompanied me back to the E.R., and gave her personal referral in order to push the test through. So apparently, PPD is a skin test. And I must say skin tests hurt. I got a bump full of the medicine in my arm, had the nurse draw a circle around the test site, plus a note on a piece of tape on my arm with the date and time it was administered. Bad enough that I couldn’t wet my arm for three days, but I had to have the pen mark and the tape on me at work. Hmmm. I have some explaining to do.
Take note again, that all the tests I had done were free at the RITM, except for the P120.00 I paid for the Biocin thingy. I’m told the test will be free everytime, as oppose to that at San Lazaro, where follow-up CD4 counts cost something like P4,000.00, and viral load tests P6,000.00. That should be more than enough savings to pay for the additional transport to the RITM.
I realized I didn’t bump into any other fellow clients, Ate being the first and only person I encountered from the OPD that day. I was out of the RITM by 9:00 am, already having sent a text message to work saying I would be late. I walked back to the highway, but this time following my instincts and passing a road I hadn’t tried before. I think I got the right and shortest route this time. I made the trip back, via the bus and the MRT again, and reached work past 10:00.
Another amazing day, not even half through, but already got a lot done. Just two tests left, a fecalysis and RPR titer. A stool sample would spoil in the length of the trip, while the latter test, they didn’t have at the RITM. I’m thinking of going back to Dra. Malou at the Manila Health Department for those tests, as well as to pay them a visit and update them on my status. I’m planning to do that Tuesday morning, another day I’m taking off from work. A bloody and shitty Tuesday, literally.
I have another visit to the RITM scheduled on Tuesday afternoon for a consultation with the doctor. I’ll find out the results of the tests, plus my options for ARVs. So it’ll be another busy week again for me. My verdict is coming… again. Wish me luck!
Thursday, August 07, 2008
The Big Move
I’m moving. Nope, not moving out of the house, just transferring. RITM, here I come.
I’ve had my online persona for a while now, and through it I’ve been able to meet a lot of different people. Mostly just online acquaintances, but some I’ve been lucky enough to meet. I’ve also been fortunate with the kinds of people I’ve been meeting. It’s been a risk and a great deal of trust every time I agreed to meet someone new, but so far, no regrets. Although they’re of all sorts, from poz to not, they’ve all been great experiences and learnings for me.
Of the poz guys I’ve encountered online, most if not all of them were presently registered at the Research Institute for Tropical Medicine, or RITM, in Alabang. I, on the other hand, am with the San Lazaro Hospital in Manila.
I never knew anything about the RITM before, except that it was in the south of Metro Manila. And it’s far. So I never even tried to learn more about it just based on that. But from these guys, I’ve heard a lot more things about the RITM. They never really told me not to go to San Lazaro or to transfer to the RITM. I am currently in the process of formulating that decision on my own.
Money-wise, San Lazaro is better apparently, since it’s a government hospital, providing most services for free. But I’ve been told that RITM does the next best thing, which is provide a 75% discount to HIV patients, should they need to be confined. I’m not sure if that covers rooms and/or services, but it’s significant enough either way. ARV medication is still free of course.
One other thing I’ve heard is that the atmosphere is better. You’ve heard me rant before about how depressing the conditions were at the H4 ward of San Lazaro Hospital. Apparently, things are more decent at the RITM.
I’ve mentioned before how I enjoyed immersing, or more like fading into the poz crowd during those big Thusdays I’ve spent at San Lazaro. I still do. It’s still an eye opener. But the contrast of that against the atmosphere at the RITM is… intriguing. Apparently, there, there are no crowds, no fiesta-like Thursdays, and as I’ve been told, it would be very rare for poz patients to bump into each other. Extreme, isn’t it? I’m told it’s a good thing, because there’s less politics involved. Politics? Hmmm, considering that we are a society amongst ourselves, politics shouldn’t be too surprising. But as I’m really a loner to begin with, the novelty of the H4 social experience might just wear off eventually. Either way, good for me.
So far, nothing really convincing for me to transfer to the RITM, right? So here comes my compelling reason.
Now you know how I’ve been ranting about the ultimatum that I had been given at San Lazaro, right? About how they let me off last time I was there, telling me I needed to start on ARVs, but that I should come back when I had family, or at least close friends with me for support? It was like the ball was in my court, only to find out I didn’t know the rules.
Granted, I acknowledge the urgency to start on ARVs. Ok, maybe some people would rant back that I’ve taken long enough and should tell my family, or friends at least. But it’s just not the right time just yet. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, but haven’t convinced myself to do it. I can’t explain it, but it’s not that easy.
Now the RITM looks like it will be the answer to my problem. One of my “friends” who has become my insider into the RITM referred my problem to them. I didn’t ask him to, but he cared enough to take initiative. Their response? They’d welcome me with open arms. Apparently, I wouldn’t need a support system if I didn’t have it. The important thing was that I get started on ARVs. Furthermore, initial stages of ARV medication could be taken at home, unlike at San Lazaro where they require a two week confinement there when starting on ARVs. I was shocked. Was this for real?!
Okay, the down side is that I’d have to go through the process all over again. The forms, the interrogations, the pity, the stares, and the least I’m looking forward to, the blood tests. Arghhh. I’m still not over my fear of needles, but I guess I’m less stressed about it. I’m particularly looking forward to having my CD4 count tested again, to see how I’m doing so far, after over two months of no ARV medication, relying just on multivitamins and some old-fashioned virgin coconut oil. Wow, I never realized it's been two months. This will be interesting.
So there, I’ve stated my case. And as you may have guessed by now, I’m practically convinced that the RITM is the answer to my problems. I plan to go there next week for my profiling, or what I refer to more as a re-baptism or conversion. And even have a couple of offers from my fellow pozzies to accompany me there. I’ve been so blessed.
Read more about the Research Institute for Tropical Medicine at http://www.ritm.gov.ph/.
Monday, June 02, 2008
Time Flies
I just got back from a loooong weekend. After last Thursday spent at San Lazaro, Friday morning signaled the start of a big family weekend. From my dad’s side of the family, aunts, uncles and cousins already based in the US came home to the Philippines. Some of them I hadn’t seen in twenty-plus years. Add to that most of the clan based in the Philippines, most of whom I haven’t met or don’t even know. We all headed to the southeastern part of Luzon, to go home to our province in Bicol.
My mom and I were fetched at home Friday morning, and picked up some of my dad’s cousins and their families in the area. We totaled 16 in the van, including 4 kids, just right for the size of the vehicle. By about 8:00 in the morning, we were on our way out of the city. So how far away is it? Eight to ten hours. Loooong trip. I had planned to sleep through the whole trip, but with all the yakking and cackling of everyone else there, plus a special mention to the cousin I had beside me who kept tapping my shoulder telling me to listen to her, and slapping my back everytime she laughed, I hardly snuck a wink in.
So needless to say, we were there in no time. We got there before 5:00 that evening. Tired. I’m sure I wondered if this was HIV-related fatigue, but really it was just such a long trip.
I honestly had been dreading meeting all the relatives I haven’t seen or didn’t know. I’d much rather blend into the wallpaper. I sort of got used to being “just the other child”, but my brother and sister weren’t there at the time to grab all the attention. I don’t really have much to be proud of, at least not to the levels of my siblings. It’s all just same old, same old for me. But really, it wasn’t that bad. Save for a number who just wouldn’t stop asking if I was married or had a girlfriend or what, everyone seemed glad to meet me. I still half hate everytime people say I’m a carbon-copy of my father. But no permanent damage.
So what’s the big occasion anyways? It’s my grandmother’s birthday. Not just any. It’s her 100th. One hundred years. That’s like a double gold, or a silver-diamond. Wow. I know. She’s hard of hearing, almost blind, bedridden most of the time, but noticeably, her mind, wit and humor are still there. I know I inherited those from her.
Apparently women in our family have longer lifespans. My grandfathers on both my dad’s and mom’s sides are already gone, while both grandmothers are still around. My dad didn’t even make it to 60. And as for me, I can only be happy that I’ve gotten to 30. The odds of me even reaching 50 are grim. But that’s all me, my genes are not to blame.
I thought this would be a good time to pull my sister aside and tell her about my condition. But I never got the chance, not to mention I doubt if I’d have the guts to tell her. But all in all, it was not bad. I loved seeing my cousins from the US. Even the one I accidentally dropped from a flight of stairs when I was a kid. Even the one who used to tag team with my brother to bully me. I loved meeting the at least 200 of my relatives, thinking to myself that this might be the last chance they’d get to meet me.
I tend to wonder if this many people will show up when my time comes. And it honestly makes me sad that I can’t say for certain. So I need to change the topic.
So anyway, home by Sunday morning after taking the night trip by public transport, I’m happy. I’m proud, because I faced what was sort of my fear of facing people. Facing family. But this is only the beginning. They’ll find out about me eventually. And I realize that this is something that I should begin facing now, before time runs out.
