The summer I was 19. It was fall, 1989. Life was simple living in a small rural community in the eastern United States. I got into a routine. I slept during the day, worked at night. I was looking for a way out of my biological mother’s house because we did not get along.
For some unknown reason she demanded I go get tested for HIV. I thought it was ridiculous. I wasn’t sick, I wasn’t a junkie, nor was I a prostitute…all things in my mind were the only ways to get AIDS. I went for the test in late August and at that time it was a minimum of two weeks to be processed.
To read this blog in its entirety, click here.
