Survivors of 1980s AIDS crisis reveal what happened to them
From the role of lesbians to the vanishing of whole neighborhoods, real LGBTI people share their experiences
02 FEBRUARY 2015 | BY JOE MORGAN
Photo via Twitter.
Survivors of the 1980s AIDS crisis have shared accounts of their experiences.
As the UK celebrates LGBT History Month, users of Reddit revealed what it was like to be living in what felt like a constant state of tragedy.
Real
LGBTI people remember the confusion, the lack of information, the lack
of support from the government because of the suffering from the virus
known only at the time as GRID (gay-related immune deficiency).
'I'm
a 62-year-old gay man. I thankfully made it through the epidemic that
started in the early 80s and went right through the mid-90's. You ask
what it was like? I don't know if I can even begin to tell you how many
ways AIDS has affected my life, even though I never caught the virus,'
one user said.
'By
the early 80s, I had what I would consider a really large circle of
friends and acquaintances and once the epidemic really started to hit,
it was not uncommon to find out three, four or more people you knew had
died each month. We set up informal and formal support groups to look
after our friends who took sick. Feeding them when they would eat.
Changing them. Washing them. Acting as go-between with families who
"were concerned" about their sons, nephews, brothers, etc., but wouldn't
lend a hand to help because AIDS was, you know, icky.
'After
they passed, there were memorial services to plan with no real time to
grieve because when one passed, you were needed somewhere else to begin
the process all over again.
'I
kept a memory book/photo album of everyone I knew that died of AIDS.
It's quite large to say the least. Who were these guys? These were the
people I had planned to grow old with. They were the family I had
created and wanted to spend the rest of my life with as long as humanly
possible but by the time I was in my late 40s, every one of them was
gone except for two dear friends of mine.
'All
we have left of those days are each other, our memories and pictures. I
hope that statement doesn't come off as pitiful though. I am fit,
active, healthy and you know what? I enjoy every single day of my life. I
enjoy it because most of my friends can't. In my own personal way, I
want to honor their lives by living and enjoying mine.'
Another
user said: 'It was flat out scary. every guy you met was like a
possible time bomb. especially the early period when we knew very little
about it - didn't know if you could get it by kissing, by holding
hands...
'Then lots
of your friends or friends of friends get sick and sicker and then die.
And you never ever quit being really really fucking pissed off about the
whole thing. I'm alive today due to sheer randomness.'
And
another said: 'If you were living in the Castro in San Francisco,
everyone in the neighborhood was gay... So it wasn't just your friends
that were dying, it was your whole neighborhood. One day your mailman
would be replaced, the next day that flower shop was gone... You
wouldn't be invited to the funeral, so it was just like people were
disappearing.'
'It
was madness. It was terribly cruel,' another Redditor said. 'It was
inexplicable and unexplained, for a very long time. Research was
underfunded, and in many cases large institutions and public figures
rooted for it to be happening. People died suddenly of unexplainable
things. Toe fungus! Tongue thrush! Rashes. Eyes welling up with blood.
Horrible shit.
'Everyone
knew it was hitting gay men, nobody knew what it was. They called it
the gay cancer. People were very superstitious. I had handfuls of
groceries and man lectured me on not pressing the elevator buttons with
my nose because I could catch AIDS from it. Yes. That happened.'
A
lesbian of the era said: 'While I was not 'at risk' (per se, we know
more these days), we all lost many good friends. It is true that there
is a somewhat mystifying (to me) separatist attitude between some gay
men and lesbians, especially back then, this tragic time really brought
us together.
'Sitting
at the bedside of a terminally ill friend, and just holding their hand
when everyone else was just terrified, was a gift I was one of those
willing to give.
'No
one should die alone, and no one should be in the hospital on their
death beds with family calling to say "this was gods punishment". My
friends and I, men and women, acted as a protective layer for ill
friends, and companion to mutual friends juggling the same, difficult
reality of trying to be there, and be strong when we were losing our
family right and left. Difficult times, that should never be forgotten.'
Another
Redditor paid tribute to the role of lesbians, calling them 'every bit
as heroic as soldiers on the front lines of any war'.
'These
women walked directly into the fire and through it, and they did not
have to. And that they did it even as some of the gay men they took care
of treated them with bitchiness, scorn, and contempt.
'It
was, at the time, not at all unusual for gay men to snicker as the bull
dyke walked into the bar with her overalls and flannels and fades. Much
of the time, it was casual ribbing which they took in stride. But it
could also be laced with acid, especially when lesbians began
gravitating toward a bar that had until then catered largely to men.
'When
the AIDS crisis struck, it would be many of these same women who would
go straight from their jobs during the day to acting as caregivers at
night. Because most of them lacked medical degrees, they were generally
relegated to the most unpleasant tasks: wiping up puke and shit,
cleaning up houses and apartments neglected for weeks and months. But
not being directly responsible for medical care also made them the most
convenient targets for the devastating anger and rage these men felt -
many who’d been abandoned by their own family and friends.
'These
women walked directly into the fire. They came to the aid of gay men
even when it was unclear how easily the virus could be transmitted.
Transmission via needlestick was still a concern, so they often wore two
or three layers of latex gloves to protect themselves, but more than
once I saw them, in their haste and frustration, dispense with the
gloves so that they could check for fevers, or hold a hand that hung
listlessly from the edge of a bed whose sheets they had just laundered.
'They
provided aid, comfort, and medical care to men withering away in
hospices, men who’d already lost their lovers and friends to the disease
and spent their last months in agony. They’d been abandoned by their
own families, and were it not for lesbians - many if not most of them
volunteers - they would have suffered alone. And when there was nothing
more medicine could do for them and their lungs began to fill with
fluid, it was often these same women who’d be left to administer enough
morphine to release them, given to them by the doctor who had left the
room and would return 15 minutes later to sign the certificate (a common
practice at the time).
'I
knew a woman around that time who’d had at one point been making bank
in construction. But at the outset of the AIDS crisis she had abandoned
her career to pursue nursing instead, and was close to her degree when
we were hanging out. She was a big, hearty drinker, and fortunately so
was I. We’d been utterly thrashed at a bar once when someone whispered a
fairly benign but nonetheless unwelcoming comment about her. Middle
fingers were exchanged, and afterwards, furious and indignant, I asked
her, Why do you do it? Why did you abandon a career to take care of
these assholes who still won’t pay you any respect?
'She
cut me a surprisingly severe look, held it and said, “Honey, because no
one else is going to do it.” I remember feeling ashamed after that,
because my fury and indignation weren’t going to clean blood and puke
off the floor; it wasn’t going to do the shit that needed to get done.
'HIV
killed my friends, took my lover from me, and tore up my life. During
that time, I did what I could. But nothing I did then or have ever been
called to do in my life puts me anywhere near the example set by the
lesbians I knew in the 80s and 90s. I’ve felt obligated to remember what
they did, and to make sure other people remember it too.'
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