My Brother the Guinea Pig
I woke up this morning to a Facebook post showing seven minutes of giggles and gay jokes from President Reagan’s press secretary and reporters about the “gay plaque” during three separate press conferences from 1982-1984.
Today is World AIDS day and it was fitting to see how far we’ve come since the 1980s.
At first I was appalled and angry at their immaturity and dismissive attitude toward the disease that killed my brother. Back then no one quite grasped the severity of what was happening. Ignorance was no excuse especially when it’s the job of our own government to know when there’s an epidemic like AIDS on their hands and to have some idea how they are going to handle it.
I’d like to think my brother Scott played a vital role in it’s cure. By willing to try every new drug trial, test and cocktail they came out with he did more to help find a cure then those dimwits in the video.
The year was 1988. I was away at college when my dad called to inform me that Scott was gay. “Don’t worry. We sent him to a therapist to work it all out,” he said. I was confused. I didn’t know there was a way to change your sexuality. Obviously hadn’t heard about gay conversion intervention. The scared straight technique didn’t take.
After too much hardcore partying he flunked out of college. I’d see him on breaks and we’d hang out at his favorite new wave dance clubs with names like Faith in Psychics. He got into more trouble and moved around, living with his dad and older brother in Pennsylvania. After getting beat up in Philadelphia his mom welcomed him back home.
Shortly after I moved to Los Angeles, I got the call. I knew immediately by the way he said “hello” that something was wrong. It wasn’t his usual peppy “Hey Sister!” Instead he simply said “I have AIDS.” He skipped right over HIV to full blown AIDS. The doctor’s prognosis was 6 months to a year depending on how his body reacts to the drugs. He decided he’d try every new experimental drug they offered. “What do I have to lose?” he said.
He had his ups and downs. Some medicine made him so sick he’d spend days puking and lost a lot of weight. There were calls where I could barely hear him tell me he had just a couple more months to live.
That Christmas, the whole family met up with him at a local restaurant in Orlando. He was smashed, laughing hysterically with his up-to-no good but lovable grin. At first I was upset and angry but how could I be? He wants to live his last few days getting drunk and having a good time then so be it. Who am I to judge? Of course I’d rather he play it safe and be around longer but I knew there was no guarantee. I left thinking that was probably the last time I’d see him.
A few weeks went by and I got a call. He booked a ticket to LA and we were going to walk in the AIDS Walk LA. We hitched a ride with our neighbors in their RV to Laguna Beach for a few days. We walked out to the cliffs and climbed down into the white sand and jagged rocks, nearly wiping out when the waves came in. He didn’t care about his pale white skin getting burned. We had a blast. Little did I know then I’d be returning a few years later to spread his ashes but not before he’d take on the biggest physical challenge of his short life.
A new drug cocktail had him feeling so healthy, my once sports adverse brother decided to start training for the 150 mile AIDS ride from Washington D.C. to Philadelphia. I was nervous as he avoided any activities that involved sweating all during high school. After reading The Catcher in the Rye his main goal in life was to attend Pittsburgh’s Shady Side Academy.
In anticipation of his big finish, I sent flowers to his hotel room. After hours of waiting I finally heard from his boyfriend Rick. He was passed out but made it across the finish line. When he woke up Scott gave me a detailed account of his grueling ride up mammoth mountains, his legs trembling and his heart feeling like it would burst. On the third day, the finish line was in his sights. He felt like he was going to die but the cheering crowd gave him the of encouragement to muster one last ounce of energy to keep pushing and crossed the finish line crashing on the ground. I was so incredibly proud of him. I don’t think I could’ve done it!
After years of finding love in all the wrong places he’d finally met the love of his life. Rick was a Navy man with two children and was HIV+ but healthy. They both made it to my wedding where he served as my maid of honor. I saw him again a few months later at Christmas. I noticed his labored breathing and constant coughing as we walked slowly through the mall. It was clear he wasn’t well but he never complained. I gave him a big, long teddy bear hug and flew back to L.A. the next day.
March of 2000 I was returning from a memorial for a close friend who was also a groomsman in our wedding. He accidentally fell off a train while prepping a stunt for a TV show. Scott called that night to give his condolences. Two days later I received a frantic call from his boyfriend. Scott was admitted to the hospital and I needed to get on a plane immediately if I wanted to see him as he was fading fast. I caught the next flight. As soon as I landed and went directly to the hospital and the ICU. Sadly I was too late. He was already unconscious. I never got to hear one more goofy joke or see that smirk again.
I knelt by his bedside holding one hand while Rick held the other. They disconnected all the tubes, the machines beeped and then the line went flat. Just like that Scott was gone. He was surrounded by the people he loved and that loved him. What better way is there to go?
I like to think that his willingness to experiment with every new drug concoction that came out in the ‘90s contributed to saving countless lives. HIV/AIDS was no longer a death sentence.
