To live with HIV is to live with advice on curing it. I remember the first time this happened to me in October of 2001 when I was just released from a hospital in southern Indiana, newly diagnosed with HIV and AIDS. I was a shrunken, humorless, fuzzy-mouthed, dull-witted version of my former self and just well enough to sit and make phone calls to say goodbye or prod people to return my borrowed stuff while my family packed up around me, preparing to move me back home, over 800 miles away. On one especially cold morning I wobbled up to the door to receive an acquaintance who came to return much-treasured Sweet Honey in the Rock CDs. As I thanked her, I realized I needed a simple explanation for why I couldn't stand at the door, getting cold, and couldn't invite her in to talk more because my throat hurt from thrush. What came out of my mouth was "I have AIDS, I have to move back home," to which she cheerily replied, "Oh, you do know about super colloidal silver, right? It's going to be fine." I assured her that I did, thanked her, and sent her along.
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