When we look back on the history of HIV and the AIDS crisis on World AIDS Day, we tend to think about death.
The thought conjures images of contagion, frail bones, gasping breaths and broken homes. We think about mass protests around the world that drew attention to the crisis our governments ignored. We think about those gay men who were ousted from their homes in the wake of a diagnosis – keeled over, rejected by their families, scratching at the front door.
I wasn't around for those years. Being born in '92, my experience of HIV and the AIDS crisis exists solely through the stories of my gay elders. They're chronicles from the years without HIV medication: tales about an unbridled plague, about waiting to die.
In a way, living in the aftermath of those years meant that I was kept safe from witnessing and experiencing this horrific tragedy. But as I grew into my homosexuality, I nevertheless lived in their shadow; the grim spectre of HIV would perch upon my shoulder, hindering my capacity for intimacy, and whispering that sex meant death. If I slipped up, or chose to have sex without a condom, I'd contract a virus that killed millions of people who were just like me. I would be outcast, and my family would forsake me.
And yet, modern scientific developments mean the shadow cast is no longer so dark. Recent years have seen the invention of PrEP: pre-exposure prophylaxis. PrEP is a combination therapy consisting of two antiretroviral drugs together called Truvada that, according to studies, halt the ability of HIV to take hold in the body.
Take one pill every day, and you're more than 99 per cent protected against what was once considered an unstoppable, deadly scourge. Between that and our developed HIV treatments turning what was once a death sentence into mostly a hindrance with a slim transmission risk, we are currently living in an era of relative safety, despite all we have to look back on.
I've been taking PrEP every day for nine months. I'm enrolled in the PrEPX Trial, a Victorian PrEP study sponsored by the Victorian government, Alfred Health and the Victorian AIDS Council, offering PrEP to 2,600 people statewide.
Every three months, I visit my doctor in St Kilda to collect a new trial script. I have tests done for sexually transmitted diseases, along with bloodwork for other STIs, and to check my kidney functions. I'll then collect my script and head down to the pharmacy to purchase three months worth of drugs.
Yesterday, in the lead-up to World AIDS Day, I was due for my second batch of PrEP. I wandered in, my doctor all smiles and nice-to-see-yous. We commenced with the swabs, and made short work of the blood tests (decidedly not so short, as I'm woozy when it comes to needles).
When it came time to make my purchase, I looked into my bank balance and saw that I was slightly underfunded. Maybe it was the expenses of everyday life, my student existence, or the frivolities of the weekend, but I couldn't afford the cost.
So I did what so many young people do in the wake of a financial crisis: I texted my mother.
"Well, if you can't get it any cheaper, I'll send you the money. Text me when you know the exact amount"
"$38.30."
"Alright, it's done. Consider it a Christmas present. And you better not be in bed when I come home."
Just like that, I could afford my drugs. My mother is a strong Greek woman, powerful and caring, but never did I think she'd go as far as to pay for my PrEP prescription. A few years ago, the notion would have been cause for controversy – even ostracism. Yet there she was, paying for my HIV-preventative antiretroviral drugs, with the mildly-irritated tone of any mother collecting their child from the train station. Merry Christmas.
On World AIDS Day, I honour a past where people who were just like me lived in fear of a virus that claimed so many of their friends. I think about those who can't afford the ramifications of a HIV diagnosis – whether financially, because of family, or geographical location. I remember those we have lost.
Yet I also look at my present; a time where we have medication that halts the spread of what was once a relentless infection, and one where our men – and women, and all in-between – survived to see the advent of antiretroviral drugs, despite spending years waiting to die.
And I realise how lucky I am, to have a family who cares for me. Enough to momentarily fund my disease prevention, and afford me my safety. Who will never leave me keeled over, scratching at the front door.
We have fought over decades for these privileges, endless turmoil for this security. On World AIDS Day, we vow to keep fighting, until every last person can feel safe.