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I got weak in the knees when Jim walked through the door. Literally. I was dating his ex while they were in the process of breaking up the house. In the course of a date gone bad, I was negotiating a polite exit. In walked Jim.
My life changed forever.
Jim and I dated steadily and our lives became more entwined as time went on. We got a place together, introduced our dogs to the new pack set-up and built a life.
Built two concurrent enterprises. A local moving and hauling business that went to support a greenhouse operation. It was a lot of work and it was a lot of fun.
In the Fall of '88 Jim got sick. Flu like stuff. One morning I woke up and he couldn't respond. Or walk, or anything. Called 911.
I helped the paramedics get Jim gurneyed and into the local ER. This was the day that changed my life.
Jim was a strapping guy, 6' 2". In the ER, where they allowed me a place, the call was for an intubation. Jim, at this point came to and fought tooth and nail. Not surprising. What was surprising was the staff's response to me. "Jamie, will you help?" I assisted in the process.
Jim was stabilized and admitted. Tests came back, he had cryptococcal meningitis. Fatal.
It was an isolation room, given the HIV and the prevailing approaches. And the first inpatient situation for this hospital.
I had unfettered access to help Jim. In fact, I had support to assist as I could.
The room had two beds. I lived there for a month. They provided 3 meals a day for me along with Jim's meals, no questions asked. It was such a great support, for me and for Jim. I will never, ever forget what they did for us.
We went home to run out the rest of the story. Jim was cognizant in so many ways but mute. And disabled. And terminal.
The night of the Democratic convention that year, Jesse Jackson made the first big acknowledgment - "We see you." I bawled...
Jim died one night. I had a dream, looking down the hill to the greenhouses, Jim was watering and he looked up and smiled.
It was so hard. It was so, so fucking hard.
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