Tuesday, June 19, 2018 [Listen to the audio] [audio mp3="https://agenciapresentes.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/06/Columna-21-Presentes-en-No-se-puede-vivir-del-amor-2018.mp3"][/audio] You can also listen to us live every Monday (almost Tuesday) at 12:30 am on La Once Diez, the public radio station of the City of Buenos Aires. The 2017 columns can be heard at this Radio Cut link.
Sometimes HIV is anything but a virus. Sometimes HIV is a situation that sparks dialogue, questions, and perspectives. And as always, those of us living with the virus are the last link in this chain of clichés, most of them poorly thought out.
Are you asking me to confirm what you think or to learn more about the topic? What happens when I give you a different answer than you expected? In 2018, we're still hearing the phrases that were used to describe the newborn HIV virus back in the 80s and 90s.
The "little injection" is part of that buggy ritual, those many rituals that have become part of our daily lives over the years. And even though we've normalized it, it's still hard to swallow. Like the Azitronavir pill, which is huge and still bothers us. Just because we don't complain doesn't mean it doesn't bother us. We're always looking for a cure.
"For most media outlets, our transvestite or trans identity is disposable and ridiculable," writes Violeta Alegre.
Thirty-five years ago, the journal Science first named the Human Immune Deficiency Virus, HIV. From that May 20, 1983, to this May 20, 2018, the progress made is evident in the fact that I am now writing this. But it is not enough.
Two weeks after being sentenced to five and a half years in prison for “attempted homicide” for defending himself against his attackers, Joe Lemonge, a 25-year-old trans man from Entre Ríos, who had long been harassed by three neighbors, arrived in Buenos Aires. With the support of LGBTQ+ activists, he was able to leave Santa Elena, a town of 17,000 inhabitants where he had lived and suffered his entire life.
Visit Presentes every Thursday to find a new installment of Bicho and me.
The first time I saw an infectious disease specialist, she tried to bribe me. She told me my tests were fine, but that I should get them done at a lab she trusted, and that if I mentioned her name, I'd get a discount. I had all the paperwork, but I didn't know anything—not what a CD4 count was, what a viral load was, nothing.
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