In 2006, I was admitted into a hospital for a “mysterious” illness which manifested with symptoms of a fever of 104 degrees for over five days. After being in the hospital for four days with no indication of what was happening to me, a doctor said, “We have tested you for several sexually transmitted diseases and all of them have come back negative. But you did test positive for HIV.” Moments later he left my bedside leaving me to ponder this diagnosis on my own. A few hours later my infectious disease doctor stopped by and told me he thought this was a false positive and told me to get retested in seven days. After two more weeks of gut-wrenching anticipation, I received the news that I was, indeed, HIV-positive. Devastated, to say the least, I mustered up the courage to make the trip home to talk to my family. No doubt, that my mother would be supportive as we have been the best of friends as long as I can remember. My father, on the other hand, was a different story. I feare...

When I was first told I had HIV, the doctors said I was going to die three different times within a year. Nobody knew why I was sick. The doctors ran test after test only to tell me that they didn’t know why I was sick. When they finally discovered I was HIV positive, they didn’t want to treat me. They didn’t even want me in the doctor’s office. I am a good person and I didn’t like being treated like I was something less than others because I was sick. I was so depressed that I gave up for a long time. I didn’t want to live if this was all there was left. I am a good person and I didn’t like being treated like I was something less than others because I was sick. I am so thankful for my family. They stayed right there, encouraging me, telling me to find a doctor and get well. They loved me and stuck with me. Even when I was sick and looked bad they were there for me. I am glad to say I am healthy now, I have a great family, and in a relationship with a great man. The only thing...