Once You’ve Nearly Died, You Start Looking At the Time You’ve Got Left a Little Differently

Sometimes the fact that I’m still alive seems like frosting on the cake!

The first thing I remember was my husband being lost in the rain. I didn’t know where we were. I didn’t know where we’d been.

A good two weeks were missing from my memory. Two weeks I’ll never get back.

He helped me reconstruct them, but those weeks are gone forever. And what I learned about them was worse than I could have imagined.

As he told it, I’d been suffering from bad headaches, so he took me to urgent care one morning. Urgent care sent me to the ER in an ambulance. When my husband got to the hospital, they’d already intubated me. I spent four days on a ventilator, in the ICU, then four days more in the hospital.

Then they sent me to a rehab facility. But there was no ambulance available, so they put me in the car and gave my husband directions. We never got there.

When he couldn’t find the place, he took me home and put me to bed. He went back to the car for something and told me to stay in bed. But when he got back, my forehead was bleeding. No telling why I got up or what I ran into. We finally found rehab the next morning and I was admitted.

I had no idea what was going on or why I was there.

I sometimes wish I didn’t, but I remember everything from then on.

I remember someone telling me that I had tested positive for HIV.

I remember the woman in the next bed yelling for hours on end until they finally found me a bed in another room.

I remember my stepdaughter visiting and saying that her (deceased) father must have given it to me.

I remember wanting to slap her for being so disrespectful to her father.

And I remember when I realized she must be right.

Fortunately HIV/AIDS is no longer a death sentence.

In the last nine years, I’ve learned more than I ever wanted to know about HIV/AIDS. I’ve even written a book about it: A Rough Season, a memoir of my struggles, my education, and my finding that, even in the darkest days, there is hope.

And while HIV/AIDS is no longer a death sentence, it felt like it to me at the time.

I remember the day at Planned Parenthood when they confirmed what the hospital had already told me. I didn’t just have HIV. I had AIDS. It had progressed that far.

I am also thankful, to God and everything in the universe, that I wasn’t infected until after a treatment became available. HIV/AIDS is now a manageable disease. I doubt that a cure will be found in my lifetime, but through the miracles of modern medicine, I’m able to enjoy getting old. As are lots of other people.

Whatever time I’ve got left is more than I expected following that trip to the ER. That’s why I call old age “frosting on the cake.”

I now know how close I came to dying that day. I won’t bore you with the numbers, but they were bad. Had I been living by myself, I wouldn’t be here today. While I don’t remember the days before, I’m pretty sure I didn’t know I was sick. I wouldn’t have known to get myself to a doctor. Or I wouldn’t have been able to.

I live alone now, but between my dog and my best friend, someone’s keeping tabs on me. It wouldn’t take long for me to be missed.

I plan to enjoy whatever time I’ve got left.

Yes, I’ve got aches and pains, and a few chronic conditions that may have something to say about how long I’ve got left, but if I can’t enjoy what I’ve worked for all these years, what’s the point?

So I’m a 79-year-old woman aging with HIV/AIDS. But I don’t feel any different from any other old lady. Only my family and closest friends know I’m living with AIDS. And my doctor, of course.

I was nearly 70 when I was diagnosed so most of the survivors in my age bracket have probably been living with it far longer than I have. Thanks to the meds I take every day, my immune system has recovered. At this point, nobody really knows whether it will affect my longevity.

Since I’ve lived way longer than my parents, and reached an age that where my remaining life expectancy is only a few more years anyway, I doubt that AIDS has had much of a negative effect on my longevity. The breast cancer that I had a few years ago has probably had a bigger impact (I’ve almost reached the five-year survival point).

Long-term goals seem a little silly when you’re 79.

But if I’m going to hang around for a while, I might as well do something useful.

That’s why I’m still practicing law and doing a lot of pro bono work.

That’s why I’m a personal chef.

And, most importantly, that’s why I write.

Even if I have another 10 or 20 years, who knows how long I’ll be able to get around or even take care of myself. I live alone (except for my dog), and I hate the idea of assisted living, much less a nursing home.

I’d like to go out on my terms. Not sure yet exactly what that means, but it doesn’t mean needing someone else to take care of me. For one thing, there isn’t anyone around who’s likely to do that for me. One of the downsides of not having kids.

My bucket list is a state of mind

My mother always said that no matter what, she didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. She lived a wonderful life and died of a massive stroke at 71 while on vacation in Hawaii. Sounds good to me.

I’m at the point where traveling by anything other than a car (or maybe a cruise ship) is too much of a hassle. And I discovered when I was in Europe a couple of years ago that I can’t do that much sightseeing on foot anymore.

While I usually walk about three miles a day at home, that’s broken up into three or four chunks. One mile in Paris didn’t get me very far. And too many breaks at the nearest sidewalk café got a little expensive.

So, while there are lots of places I’d still like to see, like Alaska, Australia and New Zealand, I probably won’t ever get there. And that’s okay. I’ve got wonderful memories of all the places I have seen.

At this point, my bucket list is short, and it is more a state of mind than places to go or things to do. It is composed of things like enjoying life, staying healthy, fixing up my home, and enjoying my family and friends.

When that time comes, as it obviously will, I don’t want to suffer, but I would like to have time to say goodbye. I’d like to leave a little money for my family, but not too much.

I like the idea of living until I run out of money and then making a quick exit. I realize that’s easier said than done, but I’d like to get as close as possible.

Like the Corey Kent song says, “I’ve made my peace with God. I ain’t afraid to die. If something’s gonna kill me, might as well be what makes me feel alive.”