My Husband Gave Me HIV
May 14, 2010, 11:23 am marie claire
One woman reveals how her husband's gay secret put her two sons at risk.
Looking back on the Christmas of 1995, I can't improve on the words of Charles Dickens: it was the best of times, it was the worst of times. After mulling over a "tree change" for months, my partner of five years, Mike, and I had finally moved from our home in the city to a tranquil property in rural New Zealand.
I was 24, he was 32, and I felt we'd found the ideal lifestyle. Once we'd settled in and established new routines, it was the little things that made my heart sing, like hearing my one-year-old son, Caleb, squeal with delight as his big brother, Joshua, three, took him by the hand and helped him take his first steps. But the memory that can still bring me undone is the moment I gave Mike the ultimate Christmas present: the news that I was pregnant again.
Throwing my arms around this beautiful man, I wondered aloud if this time we'd have a girl. It took me a minute to realise he wasn't listening. Gently untangling himself from my embrace, he looked me in the eye and swallowed hard. Mike had some news of his own to break.
"You know when I went to the doctor a couple of weeks ago about that cold sore I had on my lip?" he began, quietly. I did, but ...
"Well, they did a blood test and I'm HIV-positive."
What? No! I looked at him hard and, as a million questions ran through my mind, one pushed to the front: why had he waited to tell me?
"I didn't want to ruin your Christmas," he said, weakly.
My hands instinctively went to my stomach. "Oh my God, do I have it?
What about the boys? What about my baby?" I wailed. Mike moved to hold me and I stepped away; I couldn't deal with this now. I was horrified and needed to know that my boys and I were safe.
As soon as I could, I arranged blood tests for the whole family. Waiting for the results was excruciating. Mike and I speculated day and night about how and when he might have been infected. Maybe it was an old girlfriend? There was no way of knowing for sure.
As our doctor's appointment drew near, the glass-half-full aspect of my personality was having an arm-wrestle with the worst-case-scenario side. It was torture. When we sat down in the surgery, the doctor didn't mince words.
"I'm sorry, Ariel, both you and Caleb are HIV-positive, but Joshua is clear. Neither of you has any symptoms; you don't need medication. There are antiretroviral drugs being developed and, when you need to, we'll start you on those ... " His mouth was moving, but I could no longer hear him speak. My world had just fallen apart. Oh Caleb! My precious little boy!
I forced myself to focus. The doctor told us we'd need to have regular blood tests to determine our CD4 (white blood cell) count; these cells need to be kept at a level that enables our body to fight off attacks on our immune system and stop AIDS developing.
"Mike, you're developing thrush, so we'll start you on medication straight-away to bring up your CD4 count," he said. "Ariel, I'm afraid I can't guarantee the baby you are carrying will not be infected. We don't know for sure how Caleb got HIV, but I don't think it's worth the risk. I advise you to have a termination."
Mike started to weep and I held him close. He was the love of my life, and although I couldn't recall many other boyfriends, it was still possible I was the one who had passed it on. I felt complete, wretched remorse for my children and their future.
It's fascinating how the brain copes with catastrophic news. Once the initial shock passed, I switched to the practicalities. The doctor recommended counselling from the New Zealand AIDS Foundation. We found it put everything into perspective, and a normal life still seemed within reach. But rather than giggle about growing old together like we used to, Mike and I talked about how long we could expect to live - some people die within two years, some live for decades. But, while Mike and I could process the facts, I worried endlessly about the children. They were too young to understand, but old enough to suffer if word got out.
We began telling close friends and family and, while there were some tears, most swore their support. Sadly, a few friends withdrew and did everything they could to shield their children from Caleb. When the inevitable question came up, Mike and I said we didn't know who gave it to whom. We answered as many questions as we could, constantly referring people to the AIDS Foundation. "You won't catch it from my used cup," I said to one friend, as I watched her frantically scrub the pattern off her teacup.
My mother barely coped with the news and we wept in each other's arms. "There's something else I need to tell you," I said. I told her I was pregnant and how scared I was for my unborn baby. "Maybe it would be best to end your pregnancy," she suggested, as tears welled in her eyes. Mike and I had discussed our dilemma with friends as well, and they all agreed that keeping the baby was too risky. We knew they were right.
The torment was unbearable. Was I carrying my only sweet daughter, or another darling boy? I just wanted this nightmare to end. All my hopes and dreams for this little one were now gone. I knew what having an abortion entailed and I made the decision to be knocked out completely. As the anaesthetist took my hand, I said a silent farewell to my baby. Mike and I were both heartbroken. I was aborting a perfectly healthy baby, but I couldn't guarantee its future. I couldn't guarantee my own future.
As distressed as we were, our day-to-day life was a constant distraction.
If Caleb grazed himself, we made sure it was cleaned straightaway in case his blood came into contact with other children. When he started school, I informed the teachers of his condition and they promised his secret was safe. I fretted that someone would find out and other kids would torment him. I feared
us being labelled "the AIDS family".
We never were, but in 2002, seven years after my diagnosis, I was rudely reminded that I did have HIV: my CD4 count had lowered. It sounds strange after all we'd been through, but until then the virus had been more of a concept than a reality. I had no choice but to go on antiretroviral medication. It made me horribly sick, but we sorted out the dose and I eventually felt better. Nevertheless, taking the pills every day is a constant reminder of my body's ticking time bomb.
Soon afterwards, through the AIDS Foundation, I discovered Positive Women, an organisation set up for New Zealand women and their families living with HIV/AIDS. After a weekend retreat where I met other women in the same situation, I returned home armed with information, including the latest drug research.
I'd made good friends and I felt empowered and hopeful. I was going to survive this. No, scrap that, I am surviving this! Yes, I had HIV and yes, it was terrifying, but I had my family and as long as we were together, I could face anything.
As long as we were together ... I'd always assumed that was a given, but in 2003, Mike began to withdraw from me. He was shutting me out and I felt lonely and insecure. We were linked through HIV and I desperately needed his support - we needed each other to raise the kids. Then, one night, as confusion and despair threatened to hijack my sanity, Mike cleared his throat.
"There's something I need to tell you," he began, clearly nervous. "I'm going to gay nightclubs. I actually did it for a while when we got together."
"You sleep with men?" I asked, as if he hadn't been clear enough. He wouldn't meet my eyes, but nodded his head.
I didn't know what to do. My instinct was to lash out, but the tears came first, and they came in a flood. All these years I'd blamed myself; I thought it was my fault we had HIV and here he was, my husband, the man I loved, the father of my children, telling me he had given us a death sentence with his carelessness. And he'd hidden it for 10 years!
"I knew I was taking a risk," he added.
"Damn right you were!"
"I'm not gay, but I've never told you this - I was abused in my teens and it's just made me confused."
Having infected his son and me with HIV and holding my hand while I aborted our child, he was trying to explain the inexplicable.
I didn't leave immediately, but as the months wore on, my anger and frustration turned to pity. I knew our marriage was over. I moved to a house nearby and we agreed to share custody of the boys. Mike was keen to show he could be a loving father and spend more time with them, and I was happy he wanted
to stay involved. We vowed to support each other and stay friends.
There were times I resented him - even hated him - but it was counterproductive for the boys and they were going to need us.
When Caleb was about to turn 11, Mike and I agreed that we should tell him and his brother about his HIV status. We began to drop HIV into conversations - news about research and the work being done to help it stop spreading. Mike and I kept Caleb home from school for the day to break the news.
"Darling, you know how you've often asked about your blood tests? Well, they're checking your blood count because you have HIV," I explained.
"Oh, OK," he said casually.
We told him we both had it, too, and that he'll be able to live a healthy life with the best medicine.
"I'm not going to die, am I?" he asked.
"No, you're not. You can have girlfriends, get married and have children. You'll be fine," I said, hugging him.
When Joshua came home from school, Caleb told him and I said they were both to come to us if they had any questions. Pretty soon they were back in their rooms playing computer games like it was just another day.
The boys often talk to me about HIV, and I've told them Mike and I will never know for sure how we got it. Maybe, when they're more mature, Mike can tell them about his history, but, in the meantime, it's important he doesn't upset his close relationship with them.
My own life started looking up in 2004 when I met James. We began dating casually, but after three months it was clear we were getting serious. We were falling in love and talked about taking that next step. It was time to drop my bombshell and I agonised over how James would react. I knew he'd have a million questions, so I arranged for an AIDS Foundation counsellor to be available that day. I called James and arranged to meet him in a park nearby. As we strolled hand in hand, I told him I had HIV.
"Oh my God, how did this happen?" he asked, gobsmacked.
I told him everything and reassured him I was on medication and I felt fine. "Would you like to come with me now and talk to a counsellor?"
He was shaking. "Yeah, I really want to talk this through."
As we headed off across the park, James put his arm around my shoulders. "Look, I understand, I just feel a bit ... I, um, love you," he said.
"I love you, too."
We were going to be fine. There was no question of James deserting me - he loved me too much.
In 2008, we got married and started talking about having a baby. Because we always use protection in our lovemaking - I would never risk infecting James - I will have to become pregnant through artificial insemination. It's a long process and, as I'm nearly 40, the doctors are checking how fertile I am. I'm grateful the research into HIV has progressed to a point where I can have a baby with little fear of passing on the virus. James is an angel. He has a close relationship with the boys and even gets on well with Mike.
Some people hear my story and wonder how I keep going. But I think I'm lucky, and I give thanks every ay
that Caleb's CD4 count is healthy - and so is mine. After Joshua's initial test, he's never needed to be tested again. I'm still on antiretroviral drugs, and I stay healthy and happy. The government funds nearly all my medication, and Mike and I continue to thrive. The doctor says we should live long lives.
The other thing that surprises people is that I've forgiven Mike. We have two precious boys together, so what can be gained by hating him? It's all about James and me now - and the boys. The way I see it, I'm not a victim, I'm not a survivor. I'm just blessed.
Throwing my arms around this beautiful man, I wondered aloud if this time we'd have a girl. It took me a minute to realise he wasn't listening. Gently untangling himself from my embrace, he looked me in the eye and swallowed hard. Mike had some news of his own to break.
"You know when I went to the doctor a couple of weeks ago about that cold sore I had on my lip?" he began, quietly. I did, but ...
"Well, they did a blood test and I'm HIV-positive."
What? No! I looked at him hard and, as a million questions ran through my mind, one pushed to the front: why had he waited to tell me?
"I didn't want to ruin your Christmas," he said, weakly.
My hands instinctively went to my stomach. "Oh my God, do I have it?
What about the boys? What about my baby?" I wailed. Mike moved to hold me and I stepped away; I couldn't deal with this now. I was horrified and needed to know that my boys and I were safe.
As soon as I could, I arranged blood tests for the whole family. Waiting for the results was excruciating. Mike and I speculated day and night about how and when he might have been infected. Maybe it was an old girlfriend? There was no way of knowing for sure.
As our doctor's appointment drew near, the glass-half-full aspect of my personality was having an arm-wrestle with the worst-case-scenario side. It was torture. When we sat down in the surgery, the doctor didn't mince words.
"I'm sorry, Ariel, both you and Caleb are HIV-positive, but Joshua is clear. Neither of you has any symptoms; you don't need medication. There are antiretroviral drugs being developed and, when you need to, we'll start you on those ... " His mouth was moving, but I could no longer hear him speak. My world had just fallen apart. Oh Caleb! My precious little boy!
I forced myself to focus. The doctor told us we'd need to have regular blood tests to determine our CD4 (white blood cell) count; these cells need to be kept at a level that enables our body to fight off attacks on our immune system and stop AIDS developing.
"Mike, you're developing thrush, so we'll start you on medication straight-away to bring up your CD4 count," he said. "Ariel, I'm afraid I can't guarantee the baby you are carrying will not be infected. We don't know for sure how Caleb got HIV, but I don't think it's worth the risk. I advise you to have a termination."
Mike started to weep and I held him close. He was the love of my life, and although I couldn't recall many other boyfriends, it was still possible I was the one who had passed it on. I felt complete, wretched remorse for my children and their future.
It's fascinating how the brain copes with catastrophic news. Once the initial shock passed, I switched to the practicalities. The doctor recommended counselling from the New Zealand AIDS Foundation. We found it put everything into perspective, and a normal life still seemed within reach. But rather than giggle about growing old together like we used to, Mike and I talked about how long we could expect to live - some people die within two years, some live for decades. But, while Mike and I could process the facts, I worried endlessly about the children. They were too young to understand, but old enough to suffer if word got out.
We began telling close friends and family and, while there were some tears, most swore their support. Sadly, a few friends withdrew and did everything they could to shield their children from Caleb. When the inevitable question came up, Mike and I said we didn't know who gave it to whom. We answered as many questions as we could, constantly referring people to the AIDS Foundation. "You won't catch it from my used cup," I said to one friend, as I watched her frantically scrub the pattern off her teacup.
My mother barely coped with the news and we wept in each other's arms. "There's something else I need to tell you," I said. I told her I was pregnant and how scared I was for my unborn baby. "Maybe it would be best to end your pregnancy," she suggested, as tears welled in her eyes. Mike and I had discussed our dilemma with friends as well, and they all agreed that keeping the baby was too risky. We knew they were right.
The torment was unbearable. Was I carrying my only sweet daughter, or another darling boy? I just wanted this nightmare to end. All my hopes and dreams for this little one were now gone. I knew what having an abortion entailed and I made the decision to be knocked out completely. As the anaesthetist took my hand, I said a silent farewell to my baby. Mike and I were both heartbroken. I was aborting a perfectly healthy baby, but I couldn't guarantee its future. I couldn't guarantee my own future.
As distressed as we were, our day-to-day life was a constant distraction.
If Caleb grazed himself, we made sure it was cleaned straightaway in case his blood came into contact with other children. When he started school, I informed the teachers of his condition and they promised his secret was safe. I fretted that someone would find out and other kids would torment him. I feared
us being labelled "the AIDS family".
We never were, but in 2002, seven years after my diagnosis, I was rudely reminded that I did have HIV: my CD4 count had lowered. It sounds strange after all we'd been through, but until then the virus had been more of a concept than a reality. I had no choice but to go on antiretroviral medication. It made me horribly sick, but we sorted out the dose and I eventually felt better. Nevertheless, taking the pills every day is a constant reminder of my body's ticking time bomb.
Soon afterwards, through the AIDS Foundation, I discovered Positive Women, an organisation set up for New Zealand women and their families living with HIV/AIDS. After a weekend retreat where I met other women in the same situation, I returned home armed with information, including the latest drug research.
I'd made good friends and I felt empowered and hopeful. I was going to survive this. No, scrap that, I am surviving this! Yes, I had HIV and yes, it was terrifying, but I had my family and as long as we were together, I could face anything.
As long as we were together ... I'd always assumed that was a given, but in 2003, Mike began to withdraw from me. He was shutting me out and I felt lonely and insecure. We were linked through HIV and I desperately needed his support - we needed each other to raise the kids. Then, one night, as confusion and despair threatened to hijack my sanity, Mike cleared his throat.
"There's something I need to tell you," he began, clearly nervous. "I'm going to gay nightclubs. I actually did it for a while when we got together."
"You sleep with men?" I asked, as if he hadn't been clear enough. He wouldn't meet my eyes, but nodded his head.
I didn't know what to do. My instinct was to lash out, but the tears came first, and they came in a flood. All these years I'd blamed myself; I thought it was my fault we had HIV and here he was, my husband, the man I loved, the father of my children, telling me he had given us a death sentence with his carelessness. And he'd hidden it for 10 years!
"I knew I was taking a risk," he added.
"Damn right you were!"
"I'm not gay, but I've never told you this - I was abused in my teens and it's just made me confused."
Having infected his son and me with HIV and holding my hand while I aborted our child, he was trying to explain the inexplicable.
I didn't leave immediately, but as the months wore on, my anger and frustration turned to pity. I knew our marriage was over. I moved to a house nearby and we agreed to share custody of the boys. Mike was keen to show he could be a loving father and spend more time with them, and I was happy he wanted
to stay involved. We vowed to support each other and stay friends.
There were times I resented him - even hated him - but it was counterproductive for the boys and they were going to need us.
When Caleb was about to turn 11, Mike and I agreed that we should tell him and his brother about his HIV status. We began to drop HIV into conversations - news about research and the work being done to help it stop spreading. Mike and I kept Caleb home from school for the day to break the news.
"Darling, you know how you've often asked about your blood tests? Well, they're checking your blood count because you have HIV," I explained.
"Oh, OK," he said casually.
We told him we both had it, too, and that he'll be able to live a healthy life with the best medicine.
"I'm not going to die, am I?" he asked.
"No, you're not. You can have girlfriends, get married and have children. You'll be fine," I said, hugging him.
When Joshua came home from school, Caleb told him and I said they were both to come to us if they had any questions. Pretty soon they were back in their rooms playing computer games like it was just another day.
The boys often talk to me about HIV, and I've told them Mike and I will never know for sure how we got it. Maybe, when they're more mature, Mike can tell them about his history, but, in the meantime, it's important he doesn't upset his close relationship with them.
My own life started looking up in 2004 when I met James. We began dating casually, but after three months it was clear we were getting serious. We were falling in love and talked about taking that next step. It was time to drop my bombshell and I agonised over how James would react. I knew he'd have a million questions, so I arranged for an AIDS Foundation counsellor to be available that day. I called James and arranged to meet him in a park nearby. As we strolled hand in hand, I told him I had HIV.
"Oh my God, how did this happen?" he asked, gobsmacked.
I told him everything and reassured him I was on medication and I felt fine. "Would you like to come with me now and talk to a counsellor?"
He was shaking. "Yeah, I really want to talk this through."
As we headed off across the park, James put his arm around my shoulders. "Look, I understand, I just feel a bit ... I, um, love you," he said.
"I love you, too."
We were going to be fine. There was no question of James deserting me - he loved me too much.
In 2008, we got married and started talking about having a baby. Because we always use protection in our lovemaking - I would never risk infecting James - I will have to become pregnant through artificial insemination. It's a long process and, as I'm nearly 40, the doctors are checking how fertile I am. I'm grateful the research into HIV has progressed to a point where I can have a baby with little fear of passing on the virus. James is an angel. He has a close relationship with the boys and even gets on well with Mike.
Some people hear my story and wonder how I keep going. But I think I'm lucky, and I give thanks every ay
that Caleb's CD4 count is healthy - and so is mine. After Joshua's initial test, he's never needed to be tested again. I'm still on antiretroviral drugs, and I stay healthy and happy. The government funds nearly all my medication, and Mike and I continue to thrive. The doctor says we should live long lives.
The other thing that surprises people is that I've forgiven Mike. We have two precious boys together, so what can be gained by hating him? It's all about James and me now - and the boys. The way I see it, I'm not a victim, I'm not a survivor. I'm just blessed.
