Colonize This!: Young Women of Color on Today's Feminism by Daisy Hernández, Bushra Rehman Page B
Authors: Daisy Hernández, Bushra Rehman
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wasn’t sure how to react. I called a couple of our gay friends and told them about the test results. We hoped that maybe they would be able to bring some insight into this whole nightmare. We knew that they had lost a number of friends to this disease, and we felt safe sharing our sad news with them. Our friends came over and spent the evening trying to calm us down. They hugged us as we cried and tried to tell us that it was going to be all right. I would have never made it through that night without them. That evening, we all formed a special bond that has lasted more than eight years.
At the doctor’s office the next day the specialist told us that the life span of someone with AIDS was five to ten years. He said if our baby was born infected, his or her chances for survival were close to none. He encouraged us to abort the baby. We went home that night and thought long and hard about our future and our unborn child. We came to the conclusion that even if I died from AIDS, we still had to give the baby a chance at being born HIV negative and living a full life. We believed our baby was created out of love and it wasn’t right to destroy it.
A week later Jay’s test results came back from the lab negative. My mind went into a tailspin. I instantly recalled the person I had briefly dated between my two marriages, and I assumed he had to be the one who had infected me. I called him and told him, but I never heard from him again. Although it narrowed down only to my relationship with him, he never confirmed it. It amazed me how the disease had been spread around.
My pregnancy progressed normally, except for the blood tests that I was required to take to ensure that my immune system was still strong. The treatment for HIV positive pregnant women in the early 1990s was not very progressive. Clinical trials were still being conducted on the dosing of Azidothymidine (AZT) to pregnant women to lessen the chances of their child being born with the disease. Because this method was still considered experimental, I wasn’t offered any type of drug treatment. Instead, I relied only on herbs and vitamins to keep up my immune system and minimize my stress levels.
Jay tried to be supportive, but I noticed that he was slowly distancing himself from the situation. We had decided not to tell anyone about the HIV. The only people who knew were our gay friends, my sister and Jay’s best friend at work. This lack of disclosure made it very difficult for me to cope with my feelings. It also began to make me feel resentful toward Jay. I began to think that he was ashamed of me. I recalled my feelings when my parents got upset that I had decided to sleep with my first husband before marriage. Maybe everyone did have a right to be ashamed of me. I had hurt the people I loved because of my intimate decisions. I wondered, Did I actually have the right to bring another human being into this world when my moral behavior had brought on such a horrible disease?
On a cold December morning, my son Alex was born. He seemed to be a very healthy baby. When he was three days old, he was given his first HIV test. The doctor had high hopes, and when the results came back negative, we felt like we were finally out of the woods. I returned to work and we sought out a caregiver for our son. When Alex was six months old, he was given another HIV test to confirm his negative status. We anxiously awaited the results. Sitting at my desk at work, I saw Jay walk in with a stricken look on his face. I immediately told my boss that I had to leave and I followed Jay out the door. We walked hand in hand and he began to weep. Alex’s pediatrician had called: our son’s test had come back positive.
The pediatrician believed that the disease hadn’t manifested itself in Alex’s system back when the first test was taken. He had given Jay the name of a pediatric infectious disease specialist at the children’s hospital. The piece of paper with the
At the doctor’s office the next day the specialist told us that the life span of someone with AIDS was five to ten years. He said if our baby was born infected, his or her chances for survival were close to none. He encouraged us to abort the baby. We went home that night and thought long and hard about our future and our unborn child. We came to the conclusion that even if I died from AIDS, we still had to give the baby a chance at being born HIV negative and living a full life. We believed our baby was created out of love and it wasn’t right to destroy it.
A week later Jay’s test results came back from the lab negative. My mind went into a tailspin. I instantly recalled the person I had briefly dated between my two marriages, and I assumed he had to be the one who had infected me. I called him and told him, but I never heard from him again. Although it narrowed down only to my relationship with him, he never confirmed it. It amazed me how the disease had been spread around.
My pregnancy progressed normally, except for the blood tests that I was required to take to ensure that my immune system was still strong. The treatment for HIV positive pregnant women in the early 1990s was not very progressive. Clinical trials were still being conducted on the dosing of Azidothymidine (AZT) to pregnant women to lessen the chances of their child being born with the disease. Because this method was still considered experimental, I wasn’t offered any type of drug treatment. Instead, I relied only on herbs and vitamins to keep up my immune system and minimize my stress levels.
Jay tried to be supportive, but I noticed that he was slowly distancing himself from the situation. We had decided not to tell anyone about the HIV. The only people who knew were our gay friends, my sister and Jay’s best friend at work. This lack of disclosure made it very difficult for me to cope with my feelings. It also began to make me feel resentful toward Jay. I began to think that he was ashamed of me. I recalled my feelings when my parents got upset that I had decided to sleep with my first husband before marriage. Maybe everyone did have a right to be ashamed of me. I had hurt the people I loved because of my intimate decisions. I wondered, Did I actually have the right to bring another human being into this world when my moral behavior had brought on such a horrible disease?
On a cold December morning, my son Alex was born. He seemed to be a very healthy baby. When he was three days old, he was given his first HIV test. The doctor had high hopes, and when the results came back negative, we felt like we were finally out of the woods. I returned to work and we sought out a caregiver for our son. When Alex was six months old, he was given another HIV test to confirm his negative status. We anxiously awaited the results. Sitting at my desk at work, I saw Jay walk in with a stricken look on his face. I immediately told my boss that I had to leave and I followed Jay out the door. We walked hand in hand and he began to weep. Alex’s pediatrician had called: our son’s test had come back positive.
The pediatrician believed that the disease hadn’t manifested itself in Alex’s system back when the first test was taken. He had given Jay the name of a pediatric infectious disease specialist at the children’s hospital. The piece of paper with the
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