Sunday Times (Johannesburg) - July 23, 2006

I always like waking up to the birds singing and chatting in my garden. The only time I get to appreciate nature is on Sundays when I have nowhere to rush to. But my Sundays were more enjoyable when I woke up next to Thabo. We had been going out for six months and I adored him.

We didn't know he was HIV positive until I suggested testing when we started planning the future together. When the results came out, I just accepted it and believed that we would be able to manage it, but he was petrified of infecting me.

One Sunday we made love. In the heat of the moment he suddenly froze: "Babes, the condom has broken."

"What?" I sat up like a bolt of lightning and then sank back onto my bed when the meaning of the words hit me.

He changed the condom. Every movement seemed to be in a slow motion. I felt like a spectator in my own life while my head reeled with confusion, fear and shock.

I regained my senses when Thabo touched me with the intention of continuing. I pushed him softly aside to dial my doctor's emergency number.

"But no fluid was involved," he said. But I was scared and I wanted assurance from someone.

The problem with calling a pager is that you have to wait for the person you are calling to return your call.

The minutes that passed seemed like hours as we waited.

I had a lengthy bath, while trying to clear my head, but the doctor was not calling back.

Even the telephones of my friends who are doctors were off. I wanted Thabo to phone his sister, who was a nursing sister, but we had been there before. He flatly refused and threatened to break up with me if I insisted that he had to inform his family.

Then the phone rang. It was not my doctor but a locum. Oh yeah, now I had to talk to a stranger who didn't know the history of my situation. I explained that the condom had broken, that he was HIV positive and I was HIV negative. I said we didn't think any fluids had been exchanged.

The locum said one could never be sure and asked how long Thabo had had the virus, and whether he was taking medication.

She said I should take medicine within the first hour of the accident. It had already been 45 minutes since the accident had taken place. She said I should get the pharmacist to phone her for the prescription.

It was a critical 15 minutes that could make the difference between life and death. I could cry with frustration and I could guess that Thabo was feeling sad and guilty, and that hurt me.

Our interaction at the pharmacy was embarrassing. The pharmacist yelled the instructions to us. I resisted turning around to check whether other patients were listening to our discussion.

Thabo offered to pay. It was R1000 for a month's supply. We could not get the government's supply, which is free, because time was not on our side.

As an equal in our relationship, I would have gladly paid but I didn't want to open the debate, which would have revealed all kinds of complex feelings: guilt, mistrust and all that remained unsaid.

A few weeks later, as I stood in my garden fighting the nausea, which the pills caused, Thabo dumped me.

While I had all the correct words to tell him - that I thought he was a coward who was running away from witnessing my suffering from the side effects, stupid to break us up and in denial for refusing to go for counselling - I didn't say anything.

I mumbled: "If that's what you want and you are sure that it is, it's fine with me. Just know that I still love you and if it was up to me, we would fight this together."

He opened his mouth to say something but only winced, turned around and walked away.

I was quite shocked when I bumped into him some months later, snuggling in a woman's arms. I found their sexual energy blistering.

My head started reeling, due to fear, and for a second I couldn't breath as I wondered whether he had told her about his status.

I wondered if she would have been so much into him if she knew. She said something, which made him laugh, and he was still laughing when he looked up and our eyes met. His eyes froze but he kept the smile as he whispered something to her and they hurriedly passed me.

My heart goes out to those who live with the virus, particularly those who are still in denial.

But no matter how educated each one of us can be, no one can imagine what it is like to live a fully sexual life while infected. or involved with those who are.

If I had known that he was HIV positive before we went into the relationship, I think he would have been more relaxed because he would have received counselling by then.

He was petrified of infecting me and he refused to go for counselling, while I did. He seemed surprised that I accepted the situation and kept on offering me time to think about it, which I refused.

After the breaking of the condom, I also got paranoid. The irony is that it had not broken before we knew our status and we were crazily in love and very physical.

As much as I remained in the relationship because I loved him, I spent most of my time asking myself if I wasn't feeling guilty or sorry for him and wondering whether I would have to deal with it for the rest of my life.

The ARVs helped me with peace of mind but it was hell.

I felt strongly that counselling would assist but he refused to participate in that and he completely withdrew. I couldn't express how I felt when I suffered from the side effects, there was just too much guilt and I suspected that sometimes he was resentful because I was negative.

My message is that living with HIV is damn difficult and painful - and it adds to the complexity of a relationship.

I'm sure about one thing, though: I will never dump someone only because they are HIV positive. For me its like any other disease. It needs to be managed.

*I would like to remain anonymous to protect my ex-boyfriend (who has become a good friend) because he has still not declared his status - even to his family.

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