Stephan Lasher, 34, found love on a Florida highway. It was the summer
of 1998, and he was hitchhiking in Sarasota, when rock-climbing
instructor Giovanni Altare, now 47, pulled over. “Giovanni and I had
flirted before,” says Stephan. “But that was just bar talk. When he saw
me that day, he took me back to his place.” But on the drive to
Giovanni’s home, Stephan froze. How could he disclose that he was HIV
positive? Expecting the boot, he took a deep breath. Then, just as they
pulled into the driveway, he blurted it out. “I didn’t expect him to
still want me,” Stephan says, “but he was OK with it. I never went
home.”
At first, Stephan couldn’t shake his disbelief. “The way
Giovanni loved me scared me,” he remembers. “I didn’t think I deserved
it. I especially didn’t believe I deserved someone who was negative.”
But after seven years together, he’s convinced.
For some couples
in which at least one partner is HIV positive, that heady first blush
of attraction can prove wrenching. But disclosing your status is rarely
the last drama. Along with the usual relationship angst, HIV can bring
its own baggage—extra fears, struggles with illness—no matter how
achingly awesome your love may be. Here’s how to lose that baggage—and
float off into the sunset.
you love ME ?
Stephan
Lasher’s negative self-image is an HIV staple. According to Nancy
Beckerman, DSW, a couples counselor who wrote the book Couples of Mixed
HIV Status—Clinical Issues and Interventions, people living with the
virus sometimes “tend to emotionally withdraw out of fear they don’t
deserve love.”
Meet Bryan Fleury, 39, who tested positive for
HIV ten months before his 1992 wedding—then watched the marriage fall
apart in just two years. “We were afraid to have sex the whole time,”
he says. “I knew if I was to try again, it would have to be with
someone who was HIV positive. I couldn’t live with myself if there was
a chance of infecting someone else.”
After his divorce, Bryan
set his sights on finding the perfect positive woman. But every time he
liked someone, he stumbled on his own low self-esteem.
When he
met Millie Malave, in New York in 2003, they connected right
away—sharing not just a diagnosis but a demoralizing history. Explains
Millie, 47, “My first marriage ended partly because my husband couldn’t
deal with his HIV or mine. After he left, my biggest fear was that
nobody would ever love me again.” Now both Bryan and Millie are finally
ready to try anew.
Escape valve
“Each
partner needs a place to go to talk about feelings,” says Dr.
Beckerman—a maxim that rings doubly true if you’re struggling with a
fear of death.
Consider Steve Balfour, 51, and Ron Rosa, 40.
They met in 1997—a year after Ron nearly died in a hospice, saved by an
early protease inhibitor. The couple first laid eyes on each other
while volunteering at Atlanta’s AIDS Walk. “Ron walked up to the
sign-up table, and that’s where it all began,” recalls Steve, who is
also positive. Within three months, they were living together. Explains
Ron, “I think we both felt that living with the virus, you can’t wait
forever.”
Ron has been in and out of the hospital during his
years with Steve. Last year, weak and bedridden, he began talking about
selling his car. “I didn’t want to hear it,” Steve says. “He was
telling me that he wasn’t going to be around much longer.”
Between
health problems and AIDS activism, the two rarely get a break from HIV.
“We live in a state of heightened awareness of both,” says Ron. “A
normal couple will sit down and make a retirement plan. We make a daily
plan—we have our bitchy little ritual of taking our meds every morning.”
Steve
Tibbetts, who counsels couples in Minneapolis, warns seroconcordant
(poz/poz) partners to beware of stress: “There’s this constant
reminder that both people have HIV, especially when you’re on the
cocktail. Every time you take your pills, you say, ‘We have HIV.’”
Instead,
he suggests, “Call them vitamins. Then you can say, ‘We’re taking these
to stay healthy.’ Or try something else to make the ritual more
pleasant!”
And like it or not, he says, “A couple needs to talk
frankly about death—and both need to come to grips with their fears and
emotions about it.”
Bedside manners
There’s
a difference, however, between having to integrate your health issues
and fears into a relationship—and having to nurse your partner through
an HIV crisis. Louis Farmer, 39, married Derick Brown, 41, last year in
an African-style ceremony in Cleveland. They’ve settled into a
four-bedroom home and plan to adopt a child. “We’re perfect together,”
Louis jokes, “He was raised Catholic; I was raised Baptist. He’s dark;
I’m light. I’m positive; he’s negative.”
Derick happily helps manage
the details of Louis’ HIV treatment. “I’m always reminding him of
doctor’s appointments, making sure he gets there.” As a professional
insurance biller, Derick helps with hubby’s health plan hassles too.
And Louis loves the attention. “When I get sick, he makes me soup and
tea,” he says. “It’s the ultimate form of making love.”
They
have their moments, though. “Keeping up the support for him can be
overwhelming,” Derick admits. And Louis can never quite explain things
enough. “My biggest fear in the beginning was: Could Derick totally
understand someone who’s positive?”
Michael Mancilla,
co-author of Love in the Time of HIV—A Gay Man’s Guide to Sex, Dating,
and Relationships, says, “HIV positive individuals sometimes find
themselves doing reverse caretaking—having to do the explaining, the
educating, the reassuring. Disclosure is just the first part of this.
To have to do this with your partner can be draining.”
Stephan
Lasher knows the dynamic well: “Sometimes I get resentful because there
are things that are hard to explain to Giovanni—the depression, the
fear that comes with HIV.” And while Ron Rosa admits he’s “the most
difficult patient in the world” and has nothing but gratitude for his
partner’s bedside care, he recalls, “There was a moment where we both
broke down crying, and I told him, ‘I don’t want a superman, I want a
lover.’”
Great, say our counselors, who are always
goosing their clients to speak up for themselves. “Don’t be the angelic
person with AIDS suffering silently and courageously and inspiring
everyone around them,” says Christopher Murray, who advises couples at
the LGBT Community Center in New York. “Don’t be the strong, silent
partner with no complaints.”
Negative thinking
Strong,
silent nurses aren’t recommended, either. Susan Cornutt, 44, and her
negative husband, Drew, 42, live in the Bible Belt, where “you have to
be careful who you tell,” she says. But conservative neighbors had
nothing to do with Drew’s stress over Susan’s repeated
hospitalizations. “I have a hard time talking about my feelings,” he
explains.
In 2003, after a week at Susan’s hospital bedside
struggling to get her doctors to give her the meds he felt she needed,
Drew broke down. “I got thrown out of a hockey game for starting a
fight,” he recalls. “I just lost it, started screaming at people.” The
incident helped push him into a support group.
Indeed, says
counselor Tibbetts, “An emotional support system is sometimes more
important for the negative partner.” Mancilla suggests that “the
negative partner needs not only to find support—but also know about HIV
and what’s going on with their partner.”
In health and in sickness
So
what’s the secret to a happy relationship when one or both have HIV? It
turns out the language of love is about the same for all couples: Be
flexible, be reliable—and don’t let the virus become an excuse not to
have fun together. Susan and Drew, for instance, are both serious
hockey fans and have grown closer volunteering to fight Georgia ADAP
funding cuts.
A big bonus, all agree, is having someone who is
involved enough to understand HIV. “The main thing is, he’s there for
me,” says Susan about Drew. “When I’m the sickest and the most scared,
I can share my deepest fears with him.”
Then
there are the relationships that HIV has deepened. Ron explains,
“Living with this disease and with Steve has brought me a lot of vision
and understanding. Before this relationship, I didn’t know what love
was.”
Bryan Fleury & Millie Malave
Seek and you shall find
Bryan and Millie conquered self-doubt—by getting out there and taking chances. Now they’re united by, well, positive thinking.
In
February 2003, they met at a Valentine’s Day dance at the Center for
Positive Connections in New York. As Bryan recalls it, “She was sitting
along the wall, watching the dancers. And the only open chair in the
whole place was next to her. It was like something drew me there.” They
started talking and that was it. “He got me laughing so hard, I
couldn’t believe it,” says Millie. “I said, who is this guy?”
Neither
fit the other’s search criteria. Millie counts off the differences:
“He’s Irish-American; I’m Puerto Rican. He lives in Springfield; I live
in New York. He’s seven years younger than me, too.”
But the
two couldn’t be happier. “Sure I’m lucky,” says Bryan, “but it’s also
because I worked at it. I really put myself out there–for years. We’re
living proof that true love exists, even with HIV. But it’s not going
to come knocking at your door.”
Louis Farmer & Derick Brown
I love you; now take your meds
Louis
Farmer was at death’s door in 1997, diagnosed with full-blown AIDS and
bilateral pneumonia. He says his mother’s prayers and, later, meds
brought him back from the brink.
In 2003, Louis met his dream
man—the tall, dark Derick Brown—through a personal ad on
Blackplanet.com. They were married last summer (wearing these African
robes) in a ceremony attended by both their families and about 100
guests. They’re very close and discuss everything—including the status
of Louis’ health.
So far so good, but Derick takes issue with
Louis’ decision to go off meds in 2003. “I just think it’s better to
stay with the treatment,” he says. Louis shoots back, “My blood tests
are good—I feel healthy!”
Louis says his husband’s worrying is
sometimes too much. “When I’m not feeling well, he says it’s because
I’m not on the meds. Then we have the discussion all over again.”
So
how do they work it out? With a little chat after each of Louis’
doctor’s visits—and one key ground rule: “In the end, I make the final
decisions,” says Louis. Derick concedes, “It’s his body, and I have to
respect that.”
