Living and Dying with HIV
Jan. 12th, 2010 03:42 pmToday I met with two women who work in one of the clinics I frequented ten years ago. They had much to tell me.
During my dissertation research in the late 1990s, I followed a small group of HIV+ Puerto Rican women as they went about their daily lives. I was trying to understand how they managed to stay alive with so few resources and so many burdens. All were poor, all had children (and often men) to care for, and none had private insurance.
The answers to my question eventually became a book, but over the years I "lost" some of the friends who taught me so much. Now, ten years later, I'm holding my breath as I ask who is still alive.
The two kind women who sat with me today told me that Gabrielle (not her real name) is still here. She is living near her family, but struggling with dementia. One of the ladies said that Gabrielle sometimes wonders why she is still alive. "God must have some purpose for me," she says. Gabrielle and I were close, and I have often wondered where she was and what happened to her. Now, I may have the chance to see her again.
But Cristina (also a pseudonym) died a few years after I finished my research. Her story is not so happy. When I met her, Cristina had few friends nearby, and no relationships of trust with the clinicians who gave her care. As the only woman in a household of four, she did all the cooking, cleaning and work of daily life herself. When she was sick, the work went undone. Without family, friends or trusted allies, she was on her own.
When we last spoke, her brother had just moved in with her after being released from prison. Almost immediately, he returned to using drugs. She feared his influence on her son but could not throw him out---where would he go? She told me that she was stressed out and worried about staying sober herself, with so many pressures and so little help.
Cristina said she didn't think she had many years left to live.
I am sad that she was right.
Rest in peace, Cristina. I remember you, and I know you were brave and true.
During my dissertation research in the late 1990s, I followed a small group of HIV+ Puerto Rican women as they went about their daily lives. I was trying to understand how they managed to stay alive with so few resources and so many burdens. All were poor, all had children (and often men) to care for, and none had private insurance.
The answers to my question eventually became a book, but over the years I "lost" some of the friends who taught me so much. Now, ten years later, I'm holding my breath as I ask who is still alive.
The two kind women who sat with me today told me that Gabrielle (not her real name) is still here. She is living near her family, but struggling with dementia. One of the ladies said that Gabrielle sometimes wonders why she is still alive. "God must have some purpose for me," she says. Gabrielle and I were close, and I have often wondered where she was and what happened to her. Now, I may have the chance to see her again.
But Cristina (also a pseudonym) died a few years after I finished my research. Her story is not so happy. When I met her, Cristina had few friends nearby, and no relationships of trust with the clinicians who gave her care. As the only woman in a household of four, she did all the cooking, cleaning and work of daily life herself. When she was sick, the work went undone. Without family, friends or trusted allies, she was on her own.
When we last spoke, her brother had just moved in with her after being released from prison. Almost immediately, he returned to using drugs. She feared his influence on her son but could not throw him out---where would he go? She told me that she was stressed out and worried about staying sober herself, with so many pressures and so little help.
Cristina said she didn't think she had many years left to live.
I am sad that she was right.
Rest in peace, Cristina. I remember you, and I know you were brave and true.
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Date: 2010-01-13 09:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-01-13 03:25 pm (UTC)