Sunday Times (Johannesburg) - May 6, 2007

It was two days before Christmas 2005. My mother and I were in the lounge watching TV when we heard a loud thud in the passage. We found my dad sprawled on the floor. My mum started screaming. I felt for a pulse. He was still alive.

I ran to call an ambulance. The ambulance arrived and he was rushed to hospital.

I phoned my siblings. We thought he'd had a stroke and we asked the doctor to order a battery of tests. Our father was resistant to having his blood drawn. He kept saying he was just overworked and needed a rest. We insisted; we told him we needed him to have the tests for our own peace of mind. He finally gave in to his nagging children and his doctor's pleas.

The left side of his face seemed to be lopsided and when he tried to get up from the examination bed he almost fell over. The doctor also suspected a stroke.

Our festive season was sombre. We were so afraid of losing him that we could not relax. We constantly fussed over him, much to his irritation.

January 5 will forever be branded in my mental Rolodex. My parents came back from the doctor and broke the news to us. I fainted when they told us.

How was this possible? How can this be happening to us? We are an educated black family. We are not poverty stricken. We are a God-fearing family with a strong value system. We do not fall under the so-called demographic for Aids.

The way we were raised by my parents - good and clean - did not allow me to comprehend what they were telling us. This meant one or both of them had cheated. I thought my parents had the perfect marriage. They were married for almost 40 years. Their children had turned out well. We have never given them any grief; we are well-behaved, hard-working and ambitious.

We had great role models in them. Our father had an amazing work ethic, he had an incredibly sharp mind, he was very results-driven and he succeeded at almost everything he did. Our mother is the rock of the family. She is hard- working, duty-conscious and a devout Christian. They both worked hard to give us a good life.

My mother told me she had never cheated on my father and I believed her. My mother is too self-conscious to have an affair. She is not a good liar and she is very "old school".

It turned out my father had had a few liaisons. My mother knew and looked the other way. She told me her own mother told her "men will be men" and that was no reason to leave.

My mother is a very strong woman. She is self-sufficient, she is educated and she has contributed a lot emotionally, spiritually and financially to our family. My father was the moon and stars to me. He was the best father; he could do no wrong in my eyes. My father and I could talk about anything.

I have heard the experts say we should not dwell on how it got here but should rather focus on living with a positive attitude. I have also heard some say Aids is 90% emotional and 10% physical. I think that also applies to those "affected" by this disease. A person who has not seen and lived this has no idea how it affects you. It completely depletes you.

Both my parents' CD4 counts were very low. Hers was 75 and his was 115. They started taking TB meds, and three months later they started ARVs. For a while there was hope for them both.

My father had been a social drinker for many years and whenever he was stressed he would drink excessively.

I think he was in denial - he seemed ashamed. He never once opened up to us. He would clam up if one of us would try to broach the subject. When he felt cornered he would drink alcohol behind our backs. My father chose not to fight - well, that's the way I see it. I think he was too embarrassed.

The side effects he suffered were unbearable for me. I can't even begin to imagine the pain he felt. Different parts of his body would swell up.

Once he even resembled the Oros man. It was frightening to watch. He was constantly falling. On Father's Day he fell and gashed his head on the floor tiles. We rushed him to hospital, and he was in and out of consciousness for three days. After a week in hospital, he insisted on coming back home. It was a bad decision on our part to agree.

He refused to stay in bed and insisted on doing everything himself. Nine days later we rushed him back to hospital after another fall.

He was in so much pain when he went back. He had TB, pneumonia and diabetes, he became blind in the left eye and started losing sight in the other eye, his blood pressure was high, he had thrush in his mouth, he became paralysed on the right side after a series of strokes, and shingles appeared on the left side of his stomach. He had a ruptured ulcer and started to bleed internally. His veins collapsed. Whenever we fed him, he would either vomit or would need his nappy changed within 15 minutes.

He was a father to the end. He was more concerned with how we were doing than with himself. He still recognised all of us, even though he seemed to be losing his mind.

On the final night, he did not cry or moan. He seemed at peace. He took turns looking at his children and wife standing around his bed. He cracked jokes in between falling asleep for periods of 10 to 15 minutes.

When we left the hospital that night we all knew. Seven hours after we left, the hospital called to say my beloved father was gone.

I hate this disease, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!

It's been nine months now but I am still lost without him. I miss him so much. A day does not go by without me thinking about him. I remember the good times. The memories of what he went through are not as vivid.

Sometimes I feel anger towards him. I feel the stigma was just too much for him to fight. He once said this cannot happen to a man of his age - he was almost 70.

It turns out my dad had known about his positive status for a long time. A few years ago he tried to get a life policy but it was declined because of his status. I guess he infected my mum knowingly, but that is neither here nor there.

The important thing for me is that my parents made peace with each other and because of that my dad most certainly made peace with his Maker.

My mum is going strong, but I am never completely at ease. If I see a rash on her face or body or if I hear her cough, or if she complains of a pain, I panic.

If there is one good thing about Aids, it is that it can bring out the best in you. I am patient and more compassionate. I have learnt the true meaning of humility. Taking care of my dad taught me that. - Anonymous

# Clinical psychologists Khumo Seopela and Kgamadi Kometsi are offering HIV counselling free every Saturday morning.

Counselling is offered between 9am and noon at 4 Biermann Avenue, Rosebank, Johannesburg.

To book, fax 011-280-5151 or e-mail counselling@sundaytimes.co.za. Bookings are taken on a first-come, first-served basis.

The sessions will take place in private.

Everyone Knows Someone is a Sunday Times campaign to encourage people to know their HIV status, and is aimed at destigmatising the infection.

We would like to publish the personal experiences (and, where the writer feels comfortable, photos) of people in South Africa living with HIV or caring for loved ones with the virus.

The stories will appear in the newspaper or on our website. We will use as many as we can. E-mail your story to: everyoneknows@sundaytimes.co.za or fax it to (011)280-5151.

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