Keep on fighting - till the end.

I've been dithering for the past few days about whether to post anything about World AIDS Day, 1st December. I seem to have posted a lot of reminiscences. Any more might be tedious for my reader. (G'day, Mavis). Nevertheless, what are blogs for, if not for whatever comes to mind.

The statistics say there have been about 26 000 HIV infections diagnosed in Oz to the end of 2006, just over 10 000 cases of AIDS and around 6000 deaths. The number of diagnoses of AIDS peaked in 1994. Since then, the incidence of AIDS has declined and the duration of survival after an AIDS defining illness has increased from a mean of 13 months to over 30 months.

For a lot of the time, in the years 1992 to 1995, my regular and after-hours roster at a Brisbane teaching hospital included work in the infectious diseases ward as a resident then registrar. So, even though AIDS had no immediate impact in my personal life, it was there day to day, as part of the work.

I remember there was a vague but constant worry about where it would all end up. Ten years on from the start of the pandemic there were good diagnostic tests and clean blood bank supplies. Public education was in full swing. Even so, what would happen if HIV spread to the general community?

It may be a false perception but it seemed to me the disease effected itself in a cyclical fashion with small cohorts of men being diagnosed with AIDS about the same time, being admitted about the same time as they deteriorated and dying about the same time. Then it would start all over.

My bosses were working incredibly hard to keep up with the HIV research. They had journals and journals of the stuff to read every week. Their efforts to get funding for involvement in the international drug trials and particular medications for individual patients were unbelievable.

Mostly though, I remember sensing the tragedy of it and at the same time, seeing the strength of the human spirit brought to bare. It seemed a particular cruelty that these previously fit, handsome (even beautiful you could say) men became so thin and gaunt.

There was a young man whose partner was in his last hours. The man came up to me at the nurses' station where I was sitting writing something. He said he had to go home and could I check that we had his phone number and call him when it was over. I asked him if there was anything I could do or anyone I could call to organise something so he could stay. He said he wanted to stay but he felt it would be distressing for his partner's parents, who were about to arrive, if he did stay.

What courage it must have taken to say goodbye and leave that bedside. I'll never forget him walking out of the ward with his partner's jacket over his arm.

Anyway, that's just my little bit.