Host Panti Bliss (aka Rory O'Neill) shares her story of being HIV Positive and how she has become an ambassador for change for Irish Aid in Africa and Asia in this episode which is all about being the change you want to see in the world.
"Sometimes you make life happen, and sometimes, life happens to you.
Life happened to me, suddenly and unexpectedly, one Friday afternoon, twenty one years ago when my doctor told me I was HIV positive. And twenty one years ago, before the amazing advances in the treatment of HIV that have been made since, it didn’t so much feel like life had happened to me as life had dropped on top of me from a great height, or life had driven a freight train right over me.
And for a time I felt battered and bruised by Life. Cruelly singled out and abused by Life. And when I could muster up the energy for it, i was pissed off with Life and it’s petty unfair cruelties.
But anger can be exhausting and I’m too lazy for that, so over time I resigned myself to my new three-lettered life partner, and over the years, as treatments improved and we got used to each other, we found a way to rub along together quite comfortably.
But though I was resigned to it, comfortable with it, accustomed to it, I didn’t see anything positive in being positive. Like being gay it was just something about me. Something I’d had to deal with, work out, assimilate, but once I had, it simply was. Neither pro nor con. Inert. But that turned out to be not quite true.
I have been privileged to do some small work with Irish Aid, part of which has involved visiting HIV projects supported by Irish Aid in countries with very few resources. Not long ago I visited an HIV clinic for mothers and babies in Mozambique, on the outskirts of the capital city Maputo. Conditions were basic. A few small, simple, brick buildings, not much more than sheds really, clustered loosely around a large, dusty, unpaved central yard. And every inch was filled with women and babies. Hundreds of them. A line of mothers, shading their babies from the sun, stretched from each small building and snaked into the yard on sun-bleached benches and simple wooden stools, till the stools ran out and they stood or squatted. There was chatting and cooing over babies but it was quieter than you’d imagine. They’d been here since early morning, many had travelled long distances to get here, and they were stoically resigned to long hours of queuing.
And the funny thing is, I didn’t need to ask what they were queuing for, because I recognised each line immediately. Of course I did! Sure hadn’t I’d spent many hours in the very same queues. This line is to see the doctor, this one is for bloods, this one is to get weighed and blood pressure, so this one must be vaccinations, because this one is for meds.
At first glance this sun-baked clinic looked nothing like the clinic I go to in Dublin, with it’s tiles and lino and sliding hatches, and yet, it was also completely familiar, instantly recognisable. The same medications, same instruments, same questions. The same leaflets about viral loads and T cells and flu vaccinations, the same vocabulary, the same glossary of medical terms and drug companies and medications, the same pathologically cheerful posters about liver function and bone density and queue that way and please remember your hospital number.
There was a young woman sitting on the ground beside me with a bright-eyed baby cradled in her lap. As she glanced up and caught my eye I couldn’t have even guessed what her life was like because I had no frame of reference to hang guesses on. And presumably she had no frame of reference for my life. But I knew this.
I sat down beside her and said hello. We had lots to talk about (cont'd)