Ostracism Adds Cruel and Unusual Punishment to the Death Sentence of AIDS

It’s a familiar scene--one that most of us have pictured, perhaps while day-dreaming in the car on the freeway, or we’ve replayed it in our minds aftera melodramatic movie: The sympathetic doctor in a white coat takes a deep breath and comes into the hospital room, where he tells a young man, “I’m afraid it’s terminal.” Whereupon the patient/hero squares his shoulders, clenches his jaw and resolves to die well.

But this was no daydream, this was real. The doctor in the white coat had just told me that I had been given a transfusion a few year ago from someone who carried the AIDS virus. Now I had AIDS, and I could expect to die slowly--decades short of a normal life span. Are you sure? How could this be? What do I do now? I was terrified and stunned, but mostly just overwhelmingly sad. I wasn’t ready to die well.

My next most immediate thoughts were of, and for, my family. Were my two small and wonderful children at risk of being orphans? Could I have transmitted this to my wife? (Fortunately, I had not.) It was then thatan even more frightening realization came to me: We had to keep this a secret!

The image of AIDS in America is heavily laden with emotion and fear. In Indiana, parents of other children refused to allow a 10-year-old AIDS sufferer to at tend their school; neighbors with picket signs openly advocated expelling the family from their home. In Florida, a town full of angry people hounded a family with AIDS-infected children out of their home, and while they were trying to decide what to do the house burned down with all their belongings in it.

What is it about this disease that allows people to heap additional pain on its dying victims?

At a time when I desperately need all the emotional and physical support that you can offer to cope with this death sentence, I’m afraid to tell you of my need. How could it be that I see people on TV saying that AIDS sufferers “deserve what they got.” How could I possibly deserve this nightmare?

My wife and I had to make the difficult decision not to tell the children yet because we are afraid that they might let it slip and suffer a vicious form of ostracism that they couldn’t possibly understand.

This disease is known as one of gay men and drug abusers. I am neither, but I still got it--so much for popular conception. Before this plague ends, all ofyou will know someone caught by this virus. In a painful irony, I know that if I had cancer, neighbors and friends would rush to help me and my family. We would be encouraged to do special things to cherish our remaining time together as a family. Friends and relatives would read books and articles on sensitivity for the dying. Our kitchen would be awash in lovingly prepared and graciously donated casseroles. Our children would be overwhelmed by invitations from friends for activities to help blunt the pain of losing their father. My wife would have the support that she deserves in coping with this thing. And I wouldn’t be scared to death that someone would find out our secret.

This is a country where there is an ongoing national debate about the death penalty for taking a life. Despite the finality of that crime, many people feel that no one should face this ultimate penalty. How, then, can so many feel that death is appropriate for AIDS sufferers? Do they really mean that people with life styles outside the mainstream “deserve” to die? And what about those of us with life styles just like yours? So to those of you who have given voice to your anger and fear of AIDS by castigating its victims, recognize how much greater you make the pain. More important, to those of you who have silently watched others vent such abuse, recognize the enormous gift that you could give in breaking your silence and asking for compassion.

Come on, people, I’m dying! I’m more scared than I have ever been. It hurts. Your ostracism, the loneliness, just gives this horrible virus another punch in a long string of victories. Eventually you will learn that AIDS has also stolen some of your humanity.I won’t give you AIDS. We know how it is spread, and I couldn’t--wouldn’t!--do anything to subject anyone else to my agony. I would just like not to have to go through it so alone.

This disease will rob me of so much that I cherish and look forward to--watching my children grow up, seeing and holding my grandchildren or simply delighting in growing old with my wife. Please don’t let it take my dignity, too. Please don’t leave me without your help and friendship. Please.