San Francisco, California
Positive since 2004

The moment is seared into my brain. I’d been sick for weeks. I was having terrible night sweats and my lymph nodes were swollen. I had lost weight. I’d been dragging myself around for weeks and yet I still hoped that my test would be negative. I sat in a solitary chair made of orange plastic—the kind you see scattered around teachers’ lounges and conference rooms. I was in an ordinary exam room in a free health clinic. I remember the beige walls, the white table paper and the informational flyers attached to the wall alongside a poster of a cat dangling from a tree by one paw with the words, “Hang in there.”?

It was an unremarkable room that suddenly felt like the point upon which the earth revolved. The clock ticked loudly. Every second, a sonic boom sounded within my head. Then, after an eternity, the door slowly opened and the counselor I’d met earlier walked back in with tortuously labored steps. Finally, he spoke those shocking words: “Your results came back positive.” The clock stopped. The earth tilted on its axis. The floor dropped from beneath me as I sat suspended in time on my orange chair. Tears began to spill from my eyes, and I knew that my life would never be the same.

Thus began a journey down through shame, despair and illness—and back up through hope, determination, expansion, success and purpose. I could not have known it then, but that day would become the catalyst for me to devote my life to working with people living with HIV.As a child in the ’80s, I remember the first waves of AIDS reaching the suburbs on the television with Rock Hudson. I grew up with that backdrop and truthfully with a lot of fear. I moved to San Francisco in 1996 and began dating men at about the same time. I saw the last of the AIDS-ravaged men in the Castro who were soon to rise in the so-called “Lazarus effect” when the new treatment cocktails began emerging later that year.

HIV was much more talked about then—and feared—than it is now. I made testing a regular part of my life and my health care. I knew the risks and I was careful to avoid them. But unfortunately, I contracted HIV in the context of an unhealthy relationship. Initially, I did not deal well with my diagnosis. I didn’t want to be known as a person with HIV. I hid it from everyone except my then-partner and my best friend. I was ill and afraid, and didn’t have the necessary support. Although I worked for a large medical group and had access to many services, I was afraid to use them lest my co-workers discover my secret. I lived that way for over two years, shouldering a great amount of stress.

I knew something had to break, and in the end it was my health. I was diagnosed with stage IV testicular cancer in 2006 and chose to return to live with my family and undergo chemotherapy. The ravages of the chemo pushed my immune system down to technical AIDS status. I was living with my parents and keeping the truth from them, hiding my meds and shuttling the HIV care providers out of the room when my parents entered.

Needless to say, this affected my health. Seeing my worsening situation reflected in my parents’ worried faces, I felt like disclosure would be a cruel slap.

It was during this frightening time that I met my new HIV provider. I was scared and under a lot of pressure the day she walked in. I was sobbing, and she said, “I know who you are. I know your story. I am so excited to meet you. I know this is the worst year of your life. But someday you will look back and say, ‘I got through it.’”

And I did. Another day, my chemo nurse told me about her gay son and how if he had HIV, she would want to know. “First I’d kill him,” she said, “but then I’d just want to love and support him.” She gave me a bracelet as a symbol of strength, support and kindness. I had let secrecy and shame create a prison of isolation. From what I have witnessed since through community work in HIV—as medical provider, patient, group facilitator and volunteer—many people living with the virus are locked inside similar prisons built of shame. Some self-imposed and some erected by the culture at large; it is my goal to help them find the key.

I remember well the day that I found my own key. It was World AIDS Day 2006. I was standing in the lobby of my primary care practitioner’s office watching a Frontline special called “The Age of AIDS” that detailed the world history and struggle against the disease. I realized I was not alone in this fight but connected to a vast network of human struggle and hope. The video profiled a woman in Uganda named Noerine Kaleeba, who was the true embodiment of Albert Schweitzer’s quote: “My life is my argument.”

As Noerine’s husband lay dying of AIDS, she turned to her community for help but was met with fear and hatred. Rather than let this defeat her, Noerine chose to react with courage and compassion by starting Uganda’s first HIV/AIDS organization. As I watched this film, I wondered if rather than continuing to run and hide from my illness, I could simply turn and not only face it head on but join the fight to make life better for those I was connected to by this mysterious chain of proteins called HIV.

Just at that moment, a member of my medical team dropped by and put his hand on my shoulder. I realized that I was not alone and in fact never had been. I decided that my life would be my argument and that I would face the disease squarely and dedicate my life to helping others on their journey. The road ahead was hazy and uncertain, but I went home that evening and made the personally important step of disclosing to my family. A great weight was lifted from me. The energy that had been trapped inside punishing myself was released and directed outward with momentum toward working with and for the HIV community.

Last year, I fulfilled my dream of graduating with honors from UCSF as a nurse practitioner with a specialty in HIV. I even got to give the graduation speech and won the service award for my work with long-term survivors. It was a far cry from the days of shivering in shame. I’ve just started my dream job, working as an NP at the East Bay AIDS Center. I’m working to address health disparities in health care for communities of color and youth, who are disproportionately affected by the epidemic.

I’m the lead clinician in a grant-funded project called CRUSH (Connecting Resources for Urban Sexual Health) that aims to improve the sexual health and to reduce STI and HIV transmission rates among youth of color in the East Bay. As part of our project, we will be offering pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP), post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP) and general health care. I will also be doing HIV primary care, and I think that as someone living with HIV, I have something unique to offer as a provider.

Although everyone has their own journey, there is a natural river of empathy that flows through me when I see people living with HIV. I get that it is a uniquely stigmatized disease and can come with a lot of social burden. My hope is that as a nurse practitioner who wishes to embody the values of service, I can be that trusted and listening ear to nurture health and wellness.

I’m also lucky to work as an infectious disease consultant at National Clinicians Consultation Center, where I advise medical providers from all parts of the country on testing, risk and PrEP for HIV as well as hepatitis B and C. I love this job as it keeps me current with the latest guidelines and gives me the opportunity to consult with an interdisciplinary team of experts. I head the local chapter of the Association of Nurses in AIDS Care and am an active volunteer in many facets of the Bay Area HIV epidemic.

My proudest moment was being named an Albert Schweitzer Fellow for Life, a fellowship dedicated to improving the health of vulnerable people now and for the future by developing a corps of leaders in service. I created a project working with long-term survivors living with HIV that combined discussion groups, qi gong and sharing stories through different kinds of artistic projects.

Then this past summer and fall, I had the opportunity to shut the door on the HIV closet with a bang and hopefully do something to spark conversation in the community: I am a spokesperson and cast member for Greater Than AIDS, appearing in the I Got Tested and Speak Out campaigns—both individually and with my wonderful partner. Moving from living with what I thought was an unmentionable secret to promoting HIV awareness on billboards has been healing and humbling. I feel so lucky to have been given the opportunity to speak out against stigma and hopefully show those struggling with HIV that they can still lead a great life.

It’s exciting to work in a field that is rapidly changing—the science and treatment are moving at a breakneck pace—but it’s also true that too many get left behind. I think the best that we can do is arm people with knowledge and encourage them to take care of their and their partners’ health in whatever way works for them. I think knowing your status is essential; access to treatment is essential. Talking about HIV and reducing stigma are also crucial to making a dent in the HIV fight. We have the tools to begin to turn the tide of this epidemic and it is time that we scale up and put them in place for all of our health and well-being.

What three adjectives best describe you?
Passionate, committed, loving

What is your greatest achievement?
Graduating with my master’s in science as a nurse practitioner with an HIV specialty; my work with the Greater Than AIDS Campaign; and my work with long-term survivors.

What is your greatest regret?
I’m very happy with my life. But if I could have known today what I know now, I would have started meds much earlier. I also regret not telling my family and friends sooner; I underestimated them.

What keeps you up at night?
Worries that I won’t get enough sleep to maintain my health and focus and perform well in my work. Sometimes I descend into futile fear, worrying about outliving the people I love.

If you could change one thing about living with HIV, what would it be?
The stigma. Burned in my mind is a radio piece with Magic Johnson listening to 7-year-old Hydeia Broadbent. "I want people to know that we’re just normal people,” Hydeia said, crying. Me too.

What is the best advice you ever received?
To live with gratitude, put people before things and don’t take any wooden nickels.

What person in the HIV/AIDS community do you most admire?
The early AIDS activists. ACT UP. Sean Strub. Magic Johnson. Stephanie Brown. Marvelyn Brown. Jamar Rogers. And all the HIV-positive people living with dignity and fighting to increase awareness and reduce stigma.

What drives you to do what you do?
The smothering cloak of stigma that silences voices, damages lives, darkens hearts and fuels this epidemic

What is your motto?
“Any of the stuff of our lives, our joys, failures, loves, losses, even our sickness, can become the stuff of service. There is such a simple greatness in us all that nothing need be wasted." —Rachel Naomi Remen

If you had to evacuate your house immediately, what is the one thing you would grab on the way out?
The people. Nothing else matters. If I had time, I’d grab any pictures or mementos that are irreplaceable reminders of times past; then books.

If you could be any animal, what would you be? And why?
A dog: They are faithful, loyal, joyful, in the moment. I’d go on long walks, bask in the sun.