Four years ago, I found myself hospitalized with pneumonia, and for a long time the doctors struggled to identify the right treatment for me. Serendipity played a crucial role in my recovery. I had recently ended a relationship with my boyfriend, who also happened to be hospitalized at the same time. He was promiscuous and had known about his positive HIV status for a while. Nevertheless, he concealed his diagnosis from me as we were not in touch after breaking up. When the doctors found out that we were in a relationship, they tested me for HIV. The result was positive, shedding light on why my pneumonia had resisted treatment for so long.

Upon receiving the diagnosis, my whole world crumbled. I vividly recall the feeling of free-falling. The prospect of living with HIV seemed bleak, exacerbated by my critical condition. I was in the intensive care unit and struggled to breathe. My loved ones were told to brace themselves for the worst, given the grim survival odds. With a mere 10 CD4 cells remaining, the doctors literally snatched me from the jaws of death, for which I am extremely grateful.

In a healthy individual, 1 ml of blood contains 800-1200 CD4 cells that are responsible for the immune system’s response to infections. HIV-positive people with a favorable course of disease have a cell count of about 500 CD4-lymphocytes per 1 ml of blood. A decrease to 200 cells and below becomes life-threatening, as opportunistic infections develop in the body.  

Upon learning of my confirmed status, I was hysterical. Experiencing the difficulty of breathing through the mask, I lamented the inevitability of my death. The smallest possible oxygen mask provided to me was too large and was constantly slipping off. One day, as I woke up, I saw a young doctor who fell asleep beside my cot, holding the mask pressed to my face to prevent any air leakage. In that moment, a tremendous sense of shame washed over me, making me realize that I had lost all desire for life, yet a stranger was steadfastly battling on my behalf. It was a pivotal and defining moment.

I started antiretroviral therapy (ART) during my hospitalization, and I am still taking the medication. Achieving an undetectable viral load has been a significant milestone in my journey. Post-discharge, I grappled with the apprehension that my HIV status would become publicized, leading to potential isolation and stigma. When my alarm clock rang in the evening, reminding me to take pills, I always came up with some excuses so that others don't learn the truth. I didn’t date anyone for two years because it was difficult for me to confess I was HIV positive. It seemed to me that I would be alone for the rest of my life.

As fate would have it, my journey to finding a life partner took an unexpected twist. My current husband and I went to the same high school. Despite his persistent attempts to ask me out, I initially paid little attention to him. Eventually, we started to talk, and it dawned on me that he meant more to me than just a friend.

Bracing myself for the potential fallout, I decided to reveal my status to him. I presumed that upon learning about my situation, he might reconsider our relationship. To my surprise, he didn't perceive my diagnosis as a daunting obstacle. In fact, I suspected that he may not have been well-informed about the infection, prompting me to offer him a brief education on the subject.

I received reassurance from the HIV counseling and dispensary department that maintaining an undetectable viral load made it highly improbable to transmit the virus. Buoyed by this information, my husband became inspired by the idea of starting a family. I knew that I would not have an HIV-positive child while on antiretroviral medication. Rather, I was afraid of the changes that the birth of a child could bring into my life.

Anticipating a potentially negative response from my gynecologist due to my HIV status, I was pleasantly surprised when her only inquiry was whether I was adhering to the prescribed medication.

The management of my pregnancy was a typical gestation period. Anticipating potential biases, I had read various reviews and prepared myself for a prejudiced treatment at the maternity hospital. There was a concern that, due to my HIV infection, doctors might opt for a caesarean section—an outcome I wished to avoid. Nevertheless, in the end, the birthing process unfolded exactly as I had hoped, and everything went seamlessly.