“. . . in My anger and My fury, all for whose wickedness I have hidden My face from this city. Behold, I will bring it health and healing;I will heal them and reveal to them the abundance of peace and truth.”
– Jeremiah 33:5-6

Since I am far from Hollywood’s A-List celebrities status of let us say, Patrick Swayze, Farrah Fawcett-Majors, Mrs. Elizabeth Edwards, Lance Armstrong, and Robin Roberts . . . I didn’t make the covers of People, Entertainment Weekly, or Time magazines.   Nevertheless, as a two-time cancer survivor, I am attempting to navigate through the myriad bureaucracies of obtaining adequate medical care, while remaining humble and human, although others whom I have come into contact with -- over the past thirteen years -- have proven themselves to be otherwise.

There are no cameras stationed outside of my Harlem apartment.  No phone calls from executive producers, asking me to be on any morning talk shows.  No local, state or federal agencies seeking my testimony, in order to aid in convincing, President Barack H. Obama’s administration to move forward with implementing, the controversial, yet much needed Universal Health Care issue set before America, today!

In January 1996, I was diagnosed with “KS”, Kaposi’s Sarcoma, a rare skin cancer, named after Hungarian dermatologist, Dr. Moritz Kaposi (1837-1902), who first described it in 1872.   Moreover, only in the late 70s, and the early 80s was it linked to HIV/AIDS related illness among men-of-colour.   Prior to the late 70s, and early 80s, the only groups of people exposed to “KS” were those men, and women from Mediterranean descent.  

However, upon my initial visit to a local emergency room in 1996, and having not been administered one blood exam, nor did one doctor touch me, although I was surrounded by several interns, and one physician at 3:00 AM, I heard the words, “you have AIDS and “KS””.

That was in 1996.

Afterwards, I had immediately got dressed, and left the emergency room; and within 48 hours, I had paid ninety-five dollars for a rapid AIDS exam, and the results were NEGATIVE.

For the remainder of 1996, I had visited many local Department of Health offices throughout the tri-state areas, I took the HTLV-1 exam, and was informed that only a physician, and one’s HMO provider could authorize the HTLV-2, and HTLV-3 exams, for they were very costly. 

I was then sent to Woodhull Hospital in Brooklyn at 7:00 AM, only to be seen by a specialist of their V.I.P. AIDS Ward, although I WAS NOT HIV positive, at 4:00 PM, when I was suppose to be at work at 9:00 AM in Manhattan.   I had a understanding supervisor . . . at first.

The general public was only informed of the HTLV-1 exams.  I was becoming suspect of the entire AIDS theory.

That was in 1996, again.

And, prior to 1996, I had taken the personal responsibility of obtaining a HIV exam every six months, for by the age of twenty-nine, I had all ready lost over three-hundred family members, friends, lovers, and colleagues, and even an ex-strange spouse to HIV/AIDS related illnesses.

Therefore, in my mind’s-eye, it would have behooved me to be on the up and up when it came to my own HIV status; and thirty-years-plus, I can still claim that I am HIV NEGATIVE, but only by GOD’s grace and mercy!

During the entire 1996 year, I was seen by a number of doctors, and rejected by a myriad of others, including dentists who did not wish to treat me due to the “KS” issues.  Which again WAS NOT HIV/AIDS related, but had remain a dark-cloud over my physical, social, and emotional being for the past thirteen-years.

I had worked for one of NYC’s top University’s, and Medical Schools, and were confronted with hostility, ignorance, and negative vibes that to a point, I had to beg for lunch breaks, bathroom breaks, and the right to eat a cup of yogurt, and/or an apple at my desk - as I was a ward of the State.

I was, on a few occasions, and with the assistance one of New Yorker’s finest physicians, issued some radiation treatments, and injections of INTERFERON, which were injected into my belly, in order to boost my immune system.   Nevertheless, the Interferon often left me feeling as if I had a bad flu, yet, I continued working full-time, and even enrolled graduate school.

I had stayed at the university from 1995 to 2008, and resigned after realizing that my health and peace-of-mind were being compromised, and my being angry has reached its limits, and before I went “postal”, it was best to leave with my dignity in tact, and a graduate degree under my arm.

Most of the support groups I had attended over the years were filled with HIV positive individuals, and usually white men; and therefore, I had nothing in common with them.  So like my employers, and co-workers at both the university, and medical school, who also felt I was just the angry, black man in the office, the group participants also were threaten by my presence, and labeled me as an angry client.

Yet, I felt that they were all ignorant to the fact that within fourteen years, I had a cancer that no one wanted to deal with until it was attached to HIV/AIDS.  I was never promoted, although I had bear witness to young, white girls, who were hired as temps. to assist me, and other support staff member; and watch those same young “girls” salaries and positions move from $20.00 per hour through their temporary agencies, only to be “fired”, and re-hired under the table, without out paying agency fees, and moving into $100,000.00 salaries.

Yet again, I was the first one in the office during major snowstorms. I had worked until midnight on special events, picked up dry cleaning, and escorted literary and elected domestic and international dignities around the city for Global Leadership and Economy forums.   I was even chauffeured driven to Fairways supermarket on 125^th Street, for the CEO’s of the university and medical school for $31,000 per year (of course with the annual cost of living increases, and some overtime), but never in fourteen-years, did I see $100,000.00.   Nor did I benefit from the Empowerment Zone lottery system for the Co-op, Condos or Brownstones that others had inside knowledge, too.

During the summer of 2003, I was diagnosed with Prostate Cancer, while just entering into the forty-plus club, when most medical reports were instructing men, and especially men-of-colour to get a blood, and/or PSA exam in their 50s.   Between August 2003, and January 2004, I had prepared my immediate office staff/co-workers with the date of my radical surgery, in order for my Prostate to be removed -- once I had learned the location and function of one’s Prostate.

Within twenty-four hours after my radical surgery, I had received a FedEx letter in my hospital room, stating that I was AWOL from the university, and that I had left the office staff members unprepared for my lengthly convalescence leave, and after only a few weeks, I had returned to work with a catheter attached to my “manhood”.

Angry!

Wow, I can not began to explain the extent of my frustration and disappointment in the inhuman treatment I’d received from a small group of individuals.  Individuals, that I had shared family graduations, weddings, divorces, deaths with for nearly fourteen years.  I worked with individuals who had the Mayor and Governor on their speed-dial phones.  I worked with individuals who I had arranged dinners, meetings and travel plans for them with foreign dignitaries, and Nobel Prize winners; yet I had to beg to have lunch, eat a cup of yogurt, and/or apple at my desk, while undergoing chemo-treatments.

There is a gospel song, Never Would Have Made It by Marvin Sapp, and if it had not been for my family, church family, friends, and caring medical professionals over the past thirteen-years, I would have given up a long time ago.

Now I am trying to convince several local, state, and federal agencies that I have a right to adequate medical care.   And hopefully, one day someone will return my phone call, or respond to my letters.  It might be a while, for once again, I am not on the Hollywood A-List; and therefore, have no cameras outside of my Harlem apartment.  Yet, as cancer continues to grow within my very being, and compromise the core of my daily life, I will not allow any dark-clouds, and/or thoughts to consume me, and I will not dwell on negativity; and I will continue to tell my story, even if there are no cameras round.//DVB

Copyrighted, June 15, 2009, an Excerpt from forthcoming book, A Memoir: Walking on Cancer.WD 1,520

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d v brooks, EMPA, SSgt., B.A., & A.O.S., is an autobiographical essayist and solo performing artist living in Harlem, NYC, and the producer/host of BlAcKpOeMoLoGy:In Conversation on the Arts and Social Issues, MNN Cable Show.   d v brooks an advocate for the Awareness/Prevention of Child Abuse, Prostate, Skin & Breast Cancer, and HIV/AIDS; and a local community elected official in East Harlem.   He is also a mentor/tutor for several not-for-profit organizations in Manhattan, NYC.