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My first love was Jim, a man I met by happenstance while on a date with his ex. Jim was coming by their former house to pick up some personal stuff while I was dropping Joe, the ex, off - literally and figuratively. As I was making my exit from a date gone bad I turned and saw Jim standing in the doorway.
Something happened. I'd dated a bit and had some fun runs through the gay bars in DC. Here I was across the country, in a small town and never expected it.
We went for coffee, saw each other a few times in the following weeks and spent nine years together.
He died of AIDS. Specifically cryptococcal meningitis. It was horrifying and inevitable. Had a two month hospital stay in an attempt to treat the fungal infection. It was a no go, but one thing this small town hospital did was give me three meals a day and the other bed in the room. No questions asked.
I lived there, with Jim, as he died.
To this day I don't know who made the call. Floor staff was great for the most part, I even had a couple of late night visits from RN's to give me a heads up - on our shift you two can sleep in the same bed.
Every August I send a note and chocolates to the floor staff.
That was 20 years ago.
~ pinto
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