Colonize This!: Young Women of Color on Today's Feminism by Daisy Hernández, Bushra Rehman Page A
Authors: Daisy Hernández, Bushra Rehman
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tired of the bad blood between my boyfriend and my family, so Brett and I decided to get married. Deep down inside, I honestly knew I wasn’t ready to get married, but I just didn’t want to see my family hurt and upset anymore. My father was happy with our decision, and my mother insisted that I could still be married in a white dress. I angrily thought to myself, “Why wouldn’t I be married in white?”
Soon after we were married, Brett was offered an engineering position in Arizona and we moved. I really didn’t want to leave my family, but my dad convinced me that I had to support my husband’s career. Soon after our arrival in Arizona, I became very homesick and felt like we had made a terrible mistake. I discovered that Brett and I were very different people, and I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life with him. I also found that I couldn’t be an adequate partner to him, because I was still figuring out who I wanted to be. Brett was also unhappy and accused me of being a “daddy’s girl” who still needed to grow up. Sadly, I had to agree with him.
We got a divorce a year later. My family was devastated and insisted I immediately move back home. But I had just started a job that I really enjoyed, and a friend had asked if I wanted to room with her. I had never lived on my own before, and I was anxious to see if I could succeed without my family’s assistance. I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew I had to find out on my own. I wanted to prove to my family that I wasn’t a helpless little girl.
I loved my newfound freedom. I began dating again and became involved in a short-lived relationship. Even though it didn’t last, the relationship would come back to haunt me in years to come. I had saved up enough money to move into my own apartment, where I became acquainted with a sweet guy living across the hall from me. Within six months of dating we were married. Despite the fact that Jay was Anglo, my family absolutely adored him. I think it was because he had a gentle spirit and an enormous respect for our family. My father trusted Jay because he was a hard worker and held strong values. I felt like I had met my soul mate.
Unlike my first marriage, my life with Jay was so easy and non-confrontational. I remember looking forward to coming home each night and just being together. The early years of our marriage were an incredibly happy time in our lives. Two years later in 1993 I discovered that I was pregnant, and we were overjoyed when the doctor confirmed through an ultrasound that the baby was firmly nestled in my tummy. He informed us that as a routine procedure, he asked his patients to have blood tests performed to check for anemia, hepatitis, diabetes and HIV. My husband asked why I needed to be tested for HIV, and the doctor told us that it was a test he offered all of his patients. It seemed unnecessary but I agreed to the blood work. We left the appointment and didn’t think anymore about it—until two weeks later, when I received a phone call that would change my life forever.
I was one month pregnant when the call came from my doctor. One of my tests had come back with unexpected results. He asked if I had ever been a drug user. Offended, I said no. He asked if I had ever had sex with someone I presumed to be bisexual. Again, I answered no. I began to feel dizzy. The doctor said that although he was confused with the results, I had tested positive for HIV. Just then, Jay walked through the door and I handed him the phone and burst into tears. Through my crying I could hear Jay shouting to the doctor that there must be some kind of mistake. I glanced up to look at him and he had tears streaming down his face. He was asked to come into the office the next day so that they could run an HIV test on him. The doctor was bringing in a specialist to discuss our options.
Jay grabbed my hands and told me that he was the one who was probably infected first. I
Soon after we were married, Brett was offered an engineering position in Arizona and we moved. I really didn’t want to leave my family, but my dad convinced me that I had to support my husband’s career. Soon after our arrival in Arizona, I became very homesick and felt like we had made a terrible mistake. I discovered that Brett and I were very different people, and I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life with him. I also found that I couldn’t be an adequate partner to him, because I was still figuring out who I wanted to be. Brett was also unhappy and accused me of being a “daddy’s girl” who still needed to grow up. Sadly, I had to agree with him.
We got a divorce a year later. My family was devastated and insisted I immediately move back home. But I had just started a job that I really enjoyed, and a friend had asked if I wanted to room with her. I had never lived on my own before, and I was anxious to see if I could succeed without my family’s assistance. I still wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with my life, but I knew I had to find out on my own. I wanted to prove to my family that I wasn’t a helpless little girl.
I loved my newfound freedom. I began dating again and became involved in a short-lived relationship. Even though it didn’t last, the relationship would come back to haunt me in years to come. I had saved up enough money to move into my own apartment, where I became acquainted with a sweet guy living across the hall from me. Within six months of dating we were married. Despite the fact that Jay was Anglo, my family absolutely adored him. I think it was because he had a gentle spirit and an enormous respect for our family. My father trusted Jay because he was a hard worker and held strong values. I felt like I had met my soul mate.
Unlike my first marriage, my life with Jay was so easy and non-confrontational. I remember looking forward to coming home each night and just being together. The early years of our marriage were an incredibly happy time in our lives. Two years later in 1993 I discovered that I was pregnant, and we were overjoyed when the doctor confirmed through an ultrasound that the baby was firmly nestled in my tummy. He informed us that as a routine procedure, he asked his patients to have blood tests performed to check for anemia, hepatitis, diabetes and HIV. My husband asked why I needed to be tested for HIV, and the doctor told us that it was a test he offered all of his patients. It seemed unnecessary but I agreed to the blood work. We left the appointment and didn’t think anymore about it—until two weeks later, when I received a phone call that would change my life forever.
I was one month pregnant when the call came from my doctor. One of my tests had come back with unexpected results. He asked if I had ever been a drug user. Offended, I said no. He asked if I had ever had sex with someone I presumed to be bisexual. Again, I answered no. I began to feel dizzy. The doctor said that although he was confused with the results, I had tested positive for HIV. Just then, Jay walked through the door and I handed him the phone and burst into tears. Through my crying I could hear Jay shouting to the doctor that there must be some kind of mistake. I glanced up to look at him and he had tears streaming down his face. He was asked to come into the office the next day so that they could run an HIV test on him. The doctor was bringing in a specialist to discuss our options.
Jay grabbed my hands and told me that he was the one who was probably infected first. I
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