The Blessing of AIDS? (by guest Ellen O’Kelley)

As a nurse practitioner (NP) for over 40 years, I’ve worked with many patients, from the youngest in a neonatal intensive care nursery to the very old in family practice and all ages in between. But the most impactful to me—what has blessed me the most—is when I worked with gay men with Human Immunodeficiency Virus (HIV).

The virus causing HIV was identified in 1984, but the strange infections it caused were recognized earlier in 1981 and given the name Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome (AIDS). Unfortunately, national stigma developed quickly against those with HIV/AIDS. Schools denied admittance to children with HIV, and families threw their adult children with HIV out of their homes—and sometimes out of their lives. There was even a poll taken in 1985 that concluded the majority of Americans wanted to quarantine people with AIDS.

Into this new field of medicine I came. In 1989, I became the NP for the Pediatric HIV Clinic at Grady Hospital in Atlanta. By this time, I had been a NP for ten years and a Christian for four. Although I was young in the faith, I felt called to provide care and compassion to those with HIV/AIDS. Surprising to me—and naive of me—I found that even believers weren’t immune to the fear that gripped the nation. Most expressed their admiration for what I did, but in the next breath would usually say something like,

“Aren’t you afraid of getting HIV?”

Fast-forward a few years later. I moved with my husband and two young daughters to a Nashville suburb and was working in a clinic for adults with HIV/AIDS where the vast majority were gay men. Sadly, there were no medications that would keep the virus under control like there are now, so all of my patients died, regardless of the care provided.

In my clinic, I saw patients every three months. However, as each patient became sicker, the time between clinic visits decreased. First, it was every two months, then every six weeks, gradually becoming more frequent as their condition worsened. During those clinic visits, I provided as much emotional support as I did physical care. And as my patients became much sicker, they knew, as I did, that I had nothing left to offer that would prolong their lives. 

Seeing my patients so frequently allowed me to get to know many of them quite well. They often shared their personal stories with me, recounting how they were thrown out of their families because of their homosexuality, or how they were reviled by society and much of the medical field. They also shared their triumphs and how they found acceptance from gay and straight individuals. Everyone—I mean, everyone—who shared their stories, knowing they were slowly dying, told me that having HIV taught them that money and status meant nothing. What meant the most to them is that they had someone who loved them and stayed by their side through their darkest, most fearful time.

Although I really struggled over the physical devastation caused by the virus, I was more stricken by the emotional havoc it wreaked in my patients—and in me. Yet the insights my patients provided me, coupled with much soul-searching and time with God, brought me to the realization that success isn’t measured by money, status, and power—all measurements the world uses to define success. Success is about relationships—our relationship with our families, our friends, our fellow believers, but first and foremost with God and His Son, Jesus Christ.

What a blessing it was to learn such valuable lessons about success, wealth, and possessions while in my 40s. My contemporaries were focused on acquiring more and more material wealth when, as Solomon puts it, “Whoever has money never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income” (Ecc. 5:10, NIV).

Jesus said it this way: “No one can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and Money” (Mt 6:24, NIV).

The question each of us must ultimately answer is: Whom do I serve? The answer will determine your eternal destiny.