Simon Mwendapole South of the river
ONE LUCKY BASTARD
In the next few days I will finally turn 40. It’s an achievement worth
celebrating and reflecting on. I think myself a lucky bastard considering
all I have gone through health wise and socially. As a teenager, I often heard
people say ‘life begins at 40’. I am yet to see, but so far what
I have seen already is enough to close the chapter. After getting my HIV diagnosis
back in the 90s I was surprised, though not shocked. Over the years I had
this hidden fear of mortality and of what was killing many of my beloved friends,
relatives and colleagues. A lot had perished over time and I always
harboured the thought that one day it would be me and for sure it was. I reasoned,
“Who am I to survive this scourge when many others with talents and
abilities are perishing?” This reasoning prepared me for my own diagnosis
and destiny, especially after the pronouncement of the words ‘HIV positive’
by the health advisor.
Since then, a lot has changed and I have adopted a different outlook on life.
I made all these adjustments so I could fit in well in my new status as a
person living with HIV and carry all the responsibilities (intentional and
unintentional) that go with it. Living with HIV is not easy as there are sacrifices
to be made and patience to be maintained if you truly want to be at peace
with yourself. I have three remarkable examples that made me hate my status.
In my early days, I was put in isolation in a hospital ward and after just
a few days my ‘wires in the brain’ blew and I barricaded myself
using the hospital bed. I shouted at staff, asking what they wanted from me
after putting me in isolation. It took almost two hours for a pretty 50-something
lady from the Far East to persuade me to open the door. A psychiatrist was
called and he concluded I was fine except that I had just gone “a bit
bonkers” due to the stress of my diagnosis and the surroundings. The
second ‘moment’ happened when I first had radiotherapy. It was
scary to lie on a huge machine that looked like the space shuttle Discovery.
The radiotherapy staff were fantastic and explained the procedure. But the
moment the machine started jacking me up in the same way as cars at Kwik-Fit
garages, I felt profoundly sad for myself. I only managed to get through it
by thinking of my children, especially my daughter. I said to myself: “I
have a right to life and I want to live”. In no time I gained the courage
and went through with the treatment. My third is my regret that I have felt
unable to challenge my late grandfather’s fathering record which stood
at 32 children from five wives. I have only four children and these will remain
my only children. It’s unfortunate really because my other cousin, who
was supposed to fulfil and achieve my grandfather’s record, is impotent
and can’t produce any. It saddens me a lot because I love children and
would have loved to fill a house with kids. All this is because there is a
lot to consider with HIV and the good Lord has already awarded me four children.
I feel sad so many people, particularly in low-resource countries, still do
not have access to treatment. It sometimes makes me feel greedy or guilty.
Until a lot of comrades are able to access treatment and care I will not fully
enjoy life because I know access to treatment could make a difference. The
good thing after my HIV diagnosis was access to masses of information and
knowledge about the illness and its implications. I’m also proud that
I stood up to chemotherapy and never allowed it to down me. The future looks
good, and people like me might even live 40 years or more with the virus.
I must also mention that HIV has had a calming effect on me. I have learnt
to love, care and appreciate time. I am now in a pressure-free relationship
and suspect this has contributed to my CD4 shooting beyond 600. This is indeed
good news for a man. Looking at the pathogenesis of HIV and its implications,
I must admit I have thrived with the virus. Yebo ngwe-nyama (thanks as great
as a lion)!
• Simwenda@aol.com
