VIH'Gilance

31/12/2025

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🇺🇸 “My brother, Jason Sumner, (May 20, 1969 - December 29, 1999) died of AIDS just before the millennium. He was 30 years old.

I’m not sure Jason told anyone he might be sick. A sinus infection in mid-December escalated and he ended up in the hospital. In typical fashion, he was acting like it was a case of the flu. He told us he had HIV over the phone, in the hospital, but said it was nothing to worry about. It felt scary at the time, but manageable. It was the last conversation we would have.

Jason got progressively worse and then became unconscious. My mom and I got on a plane to California on Christmas Eve, holding hands as we agreed this was not going to be a rescue mission. Things felt very bad. I was three months pregnant with my first child.

My brother’s partner of seven years, Victor, picked us up and we stopped for a visit in Jason’s hospital room. They told us his brain was swelling and that he had cryptococcal meningitis. We talked to Jason and held his hands. Our mother did all the mom thing she could.

We spent the next several days going back and forth with Jason’s diagnosis as they worked to assess his level of brain activity. Victor was distraught and it was excruciating on my Mother. I coped by being stoic but throwing up in a stairwell.

It occurred to me later that, not being married, Victor had no legal rights there and while we thoroughly included him in our conversations and decisions, legally we could have made him leave. How terrible for him. I have heard of many who faced losing their partner or friends from the parking lot, unable to get access from the families. Not so in this case.

The ICU lobby was filled with friends of Jason and Victor’s. They were all very kind to us. One pulled me aside and said I needed to know Jason would not recover, he had seen this before with a friend who had “late stage AIDS.”

This was the first time I had heard this idea that not only was Jason’s HIV diagnosis not new but that he likely had end stage AIDS. My heart already knew he wouldn’t recover but I was grateful for the friend to help me know where we were in the process.

The doctors seemed afraid to tell us anything, even skirting past our horde in the waiting room, waiting for determinations or guidance. We made friends with other families, learned their sad stories.

When we knew it was over and we would have to let Jason go, my husband brought my Dad to California to join us. My Dad spent some time alone with Jason, his own ritual to say goodbye. Our sister held down the fort at home with her young family, too much loss in her life already.

We were all exhausted. We gathered around and watched the machines turn off, watched Jason cease be with us on earth. My heart pounded in my ears. I charged from the room, down the stairwell I vomited in days earlier and broke out of the stairwell into the white, hot, California sun I hadn’t seen in days. I was gasping and sobbing while I sat on a bench. Jason was gone.

We stayed around a few days after Jason died, making arrangements. Every morning my mother awoke, crying like a wounded animal, a sound I will never forget. Her baby had died. My baby was inside me. We went home before the New Year, worried about what 2000 would bring, devastated by what 1999 had left us with.

In our town in Wyoming, we struggled to find a minister willing to help with Jason’s service. People were afraid I was contagious. I swam daily so I could put my head under the water and not hear the sound of losing my brother in my ears. I woke up most mornings to the realization that it was still true.

Jason had a laugh a lot like a donkey and I hear it in the world here and there. I miss him so.

Jason had never gotten tested but likely knew in his heart he was HIV positive. His own shame didn’t let him acknowledge what was real and get the treatment he deserved. His partner said they didn’t discuss such things. FOR EIGHT YEARS. This is what shame does.

There’s more, there’s always more. I have a memory full of Jason and his antics. His crazy laugh. So do many others. His death wasn't his life but this is where we are. A light gone too soon, and just when things were getting good.” 📖 by Stacie McDonald

📸 Jason, center, with Victor and I

29/12/2025

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🇲🇽 “My friendship with Eduardo Covarrubias (1991 - 2020) was very short, but it was a true and sincere friendship from the first moment we met. I will always treasure the times we shared together and a great connection with similar tastes, in music above all.

I met Eduardo in Guadalajara, Mexico, at a pre-party at his apartment, another mutual friend and Eduardo’s roommate introduced us. From the first moment, he always read my mind and was very intuitive with me. That same night we were at a party in a rather boring Retro Club, and he noticed my discomfort, and immediately told me: “Let’s escape to another, much more fun party!” Eduardo took me to a very fun Gay Bar-Bears, and I spent one of the best and funniest nights of my life with him.

I live in Mexico City, Eduardo lived in the city of Guadalajara, and that was the reason why our friendship was short, due to distance and time. When he visited Mexico City, he was excited to one day live here. Bars, concerts, music festivals, and a personality very similar to mine, that was our connection, always.

Eduardo was a talented graphic designer, and dedicated photographer. He had a very acidic personality, was very funny and sarcastic, he was handsome, sexy, attractive and intelligent.

In 2020, during quarantine we talked on the phone to catch up and cope with the time of confinement. That was the last time I heard Eduardo’s voice and his laughs, and his heavy and acidic way of expressing himself which I loved.

Eduardo was an open person with me, but after his death, I found out that he was also a reserved and very sensitive person, afraid of the prejudices of a preserved and Catholic city, such as Guadalajara. He began to present symptoms of stomach discomfort, diarrhoea, bruises on his body, and sudden weight loss for more than a year, before quarantine.

I don’t know how great Eduardo’s fear of taking a HIV test was and then finding a positive result, I imagine that his fear was very great, since he never took the test in time and developed AIDS-related pneumonia.

Eduardo was hospitalized still conscious, with problems breathing, and he was completely honest with his boyfriend about his fears and his health. He collapsed and was intubated for a week in an induced coma, hoping for a recovery, but he did not make it.

Eduardo died one December morning, at the age of 29.

Eduardo died when he was very young, his birthday was in February, and he did not reach 30. Every time I visit the city of Guadalajara, melancholy thoughts and memories of him invade me without being able to avoid it. We had a lot to share, a lot to live, and a lot more music to listen to together.

I am sure that one day we will see each other again.” 📖 by Alexander Durán

28/12/2025

Oui, on continue de faire passer le message 🙂

25/12/2025

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🇺🇸 “My dad died from AIDS on Christmas Eve when I was 15. I was a daddy’s girl and still struggle with losing him. He was so loved and I wish my kids would have gotten to know him.” 📖 by Heather Swilley

24/12/2025

En cette période magique de Noël, je pense tout d’abord, comme toujours, à ceux et celles qui sont gravement malades car la souffrance ne fait ni pont ni réveillon. Je pense aussi aux personnes seules, isolées et peut-être sans abri qui vont passer ce réveillon dans le froid, il est important de ne pas les oublier particulièrement ce soir ...
Enfin,je souhaite à toutes celles et à tous ceux qui ont la chance d'être avec leurs proches, avec ceux qu'ils aiment de passer le meilleur des réveillons de Noël, il en va de même pour toutes celles et ceux engagés quotidiennement et bénévolement dans la lutte contre le vih, profitez bien de ce moment, des bonheurs partagés, des éclats de rire et de cette magie de Noël.

23/12/2025

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21/12/2025

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🇺🇸 “My dad was diagnosed with “full-blown” AIDS in 1985. I was two years old. By then, his legs and arms were covered in Kaposi's sarcoma. Doctors told him that he wouldn’t live to see my sixth birthday. Simply and bluntly, people who were diagnosed with AIDS just did not live.

They offered him azidothymidine (AZT), the only thing available at the time to treat AIDS. He declined. He saw all of his friends dying around him, dying from the side affects of AZT rendering them unrecognizable. Instead, he just decided he wasn’t going to die. And somehow he didn’t.

My dad continued to refuse medication until the advent of protease inhibitors in 1994. He saw me graduate from high school. He saw me get married and held my hand when i got divorced. in 2010, he almost died when a bladder infection turned septic. But he didn’t die then either.

My dad had to stop driving and slowly he had to stop walking and at the very end he couldn’t remember what day it was all the time.

Until the week before he died in August 2014, my dad stood every Sunday in front of church and greeted people as they arrived, texted with me at all hours of the morning and made big vats it chilli that everybody loved.

30 years after they told him he wouldn’t live to see my sixth birthday, my dad finally died from AIDS. If I’m being honest, the last few years were really painful for him and for me. I’m glad that he’s dead. He fought long enough. It was time to stop.” 📖 by Morgan Deane

20/12/2025

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🇺🇸 “This is Merry Beth and Charles Wayne. But better known as momma and daddy. My dad was a haemophiliac and contracted HIV and hepatitis C from contaminated blood product meant to save him. Unknowingly, he gave both to momma.

Daddy left us September of 1986 not long after the family photo. Leaving a wife and 6 kids to navigate life. Doctors told momma to get her life in order that she would be gone in a year. But they didn’t know my momma. She had purpose drive and a determination I’ve never seen before. She lived for almost another 17 years and each of her kids were old enough to remember and know her.

As it gets close to momma’s 25 years gone (Christmas day) I found The AIDS Memorial. Thank you for loving all because it’s needed. Momma lived in fear of many knowing for so long but now doesn’t have to. So for that I’m thankful.

Momma would have been an amazing grandmother to the 14 grandchildren that know and love them both. I talk often of them. Yes more my mom than dad. He passed when I was 4 years old so I retell stories, told to me about him, to my babies.”📖 by Connie Grammer

18/12/2025

C'est rassurant et cela donne de l'espoir de voir que, partout dans le monde, des chercheurs continuent de travailler sur le VIH

Une équipe allemande de chercheurs a identifié un anticorps particulièrement puissant capable de neutraliser une grande diversité de souches du VIH-1, ouvrant de nouvelles perspectives pour la prévention et le traitement de l'infection.

18/12/2025

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🇺🇸 “My friend Mike.

I first met Mike back in 1988. Some friends went up on a Saturday night to the Boom Boom Room in Laguna Beach, California. My friend Paul who went, hit it off that night with Mike. Soon they started dating and eventually Mike moved down San Diego with Paul. After moving to San Diego him and I became close friends and stayed friends until his untimely passing.

Mike passed away on 7th of July, 2003.

The best way I can describe what kind of person and friend Mike was is yo tell about a health event that happened in my life back in 1998. I did not know it at the time, but I having kidney stones. The first time this happens you’re in so much pain and have no idea what is going on. Around midday the pain started, and got progressively worst. I eventually called my friend Andrew, his advice was to call an ambulance. I did not want to go through a big scene and have all my neighbors knowing my business. I called Mike and as soon as he heard the fear in my voice, he rushed over to my place and took me to the Emergency Room at the Naval Hospital. I wondered how he arrived at my place so fast. Apparently he told me ran some stop signs and signal lights. We arrived at the ER at about 5 PM. Mikey stayed at the ER until I was ready to go home, which was the early hours of the morning. Mike told me it was not all bad because I was so entertaining on Demerol. He told me in my drugged state, I had outed myself to the staff on several occasions. He said the Navy doctor taking care of me, told him they could not use what I said to kick me out of the Navy because I medicated. The next day Mikey drove me to my appointment with Urology, because he knew I would be still on the pain medicine and unable to drive myself. He must have been extremely tired with little to no sleep. When we got home from the appointment he made sure I had everything I needed. Mikey did all this for me on the spur of the moment because that is who he was.

In 1997, Mike was swept up into a whirlwind with the Andrew Cunanan saga. The day the story broke the Police and the Press were outside Mikey’s house. The police were interested in why Mike's name was in the address books of both Andrew Cunanan and Jeff Trail. Mike had met Cunanan while bartender on the roof bar at Club West Coast in San Diego. It was there that Cunanan introduced Mike to Jeff Trail.

The press was after Mike for interviews. He was eventually interviewed on Larry King Live, Good Morning America and Access Hollywood. I still have a copy of the Larry King Live interview. It is a tough watch even after all these years later. Larry kept him on the whole hour. Mike told me that Larry only does that if you are adding substance to the conversation. Mike was not afraid and did call out one of the other people on the show for using negative and stereotypical generalizations about gay men. Access Hollywood wanted to keep Mike away competitors so they sequestered him in a place of his choosing. He chose the Hotel Del Coronado, top floor, historic section with an ocean view. Mike was also interviewed by the London Telegraph.

Mike’s last bartending gig was at a small neighborhood bar in San Diego’s Banker Hill neighborhood. The patrons were mostly older gay men. Mike had a real talent at talking and listening people not matter their age. I think most of them were thrilled that such a young and good looking guy was approachable and would just listen to them. The amount of his tips showed how good he was. While working at this bar, Mike was involved in a car accident. He was injured and could not work for a short while. Workmen's Comp was just barely covering the bills. Mike was the type of person to help people at the drop of the hat, but was very reluctant to ever ask for help. I came up with a plan to help without him knowing. I would drop by and visit then hide money around his place. Instead of leaving 10 or 20 dollar bills, I would leave the equivalent amount in one dollar bills. Being a bartender most of his tips were one dollar bills. This made it more plausible he must have misplaced tip money. He did have a habit of hiding some tip money around his place. I know he found the money because he mentioned to me a few times about finding tips he misplaced. I never told him that I did this, but it was the best I could think of.

The stresses of life events in the years to come did a number on Mike’s health, both physically and mentally. As the years went by there was a noticeable decline in his health. A person with HIV is more susceptible to other health conditions. For him it was cancer, which added to his compromised immune system from HIV, a recovery never happened. Another factor in Mike’s health troubles was falling through the cracks of the flawed US healthcare system. He fell into that category of making just above the income to be eligible for existing state and federal help for preventive healthcare. Also because of his pre-existing conditions he could not buy health insurance. Although this is not so much the case today because of the ACA, back then it caused a lot of people with HIV and AIDS to not get the healthcare they needed. Many could not afford the “lifeboat” (HAART) treatment that came out in 1996.

After Mike's passing, I had a portrait I had taken of him in the cable knit white sweater printed and framed for his mother. It was my plan to give the print to her at the gathering to spread his ashes, but I lost my nerve. I don't do well with grieving mothers. I had his partner give it to her.

It was a typical sunny day on a boat in San Diego Bay, just off Point Loma, when we spread Mike’s ashes. Mikey knew his days were numbered and had requested after he passed away, that his ashes should be spread off Point Loma, he said that was one of his favorite places in San Diego.

During the ceremony his mother was too nervous step down the ladder near the water on the boar. This made her so high up from the water. If a wind came up I knew what would happen. I had photographed several burials at sea while in the Navy. As I thought, a wind did kick up just as Mike’s Mom was spreading his ashes off the fantail of the boat. The wind caused a some of the ashes to landed on family members and guests. It was kind of awkward, but i figured it was just Mike giving us a last hug.

Even when things were at their worst, Mike kept up good spirits and did not get angry and bitter. He could also still give amazing hugs.

I miss you Mikey.” 📖 📸 by Chuck Cavanaugh

17/12/2025

Entretien croisé avec deux personnes vivant avec le VIH, de deux générations différentes. Yvon a 70 ans. Il vit avec le VIH depuis 1983. Leonardo, de son côté, a 36 ans. Il vit avec le VIH depuis 2015 : https://www.aides.org/actualite/lactu-remaides-yvon-et-leonardo-VIH

16/12/2025

Écoutez l'épisode « Les applis de rencontre » du podcast Sexosafe sur votre plateforme habituelle.
Vous y retrouverez Fred Lebreton, co-créateur du compte Instagram Seropos_vs_grindr et journaliste au journal Actu Remaides, Thibault Lambert, auteur du livre "Ce que Grindr a fait de nous" et Stéphane Morel, coordinateur du Spot Beaumarchais à Paris.

▶ https://shows.acast.com/sexosafe/episodes/les-applis-de-rencontre