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INTRODUCTION
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Having a relapse of meningitis within a week of being discharged from the hospital set off alarms in my doctors’ heads. The head of the Infectious Disease Center at New York’s Mount Sinai Hospital thought my immune system might have been compromised; and the doctors had me tested for Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome (AIDS). While filling out consent forms for the test, a nurse asked me various questions about my past, whether I had done “street drugs,” if my mother was positive for HIV when she gave birth. “Did you have a blood transfusion in a foreign country before 1985” was the question that made me think the hospital staff was incompetent. How could they think that I would ever be exposed to HIV? I live in the Upper East Side, my dining room looks over Central Park, I never thought AIDS was a part of my world. For the first time, I encountered AIDS last year. One of my favorite teachers, Mr. Smith, had been missing from school for a few days. It was the end of my junior year, and we just thought he needed a break before our final projects were due. Monday morning we learned that Mr. Smith had killed himself, we later found out he was diagnosed with HIV. Why had I not been aware that AIDS could affect my life?
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