Another Thought for Mortality

Went to the hospital today to get my TwinRix vaccine. Sitting in that waiting room, I figured today's as good as any to actually write about some of this — the stuff I've been carrying quietly since the diagnosis.

It's been a few months now since I found out I'm HIV positive. And I don't think I've fully let myself sit with what that means, not in one clean moment anyway. It comes in pieces. Today it came in the form of a nurse handing me a card for my second dose appointment and me thinking, right, this is my life now — extra vaccines, additional precautions, a longer checklist just to stay at baseline.

The medication is the thing that stays most present in my mind. One pill a day. That's the whole thing — just one pill a day, and it's manageable, it's livable, the virus stays suppressed and I can have a full, normal life. But miss a day, and the stakes change. The virus can come back faster. Resistance can develop. The window of safety is real but it isn't unconditional, and I feel that weight every morning when I reach for the bottle.

It's strange to carry something that is both so small — a pill, a daily habit — and also so significant. Like the thing standing between you and a much harder version of your future is just a small white tablet and a consistent routine.

I think about mortality differently now. Not with panic, exactly. More like… a low hum in the background that I've had to learn to live alongside. The awareness that my body has a particular vulnerability now, that there are things I have to stay on top of in a way most people my age don't have to think about yet.

But I also think about how many people carry something like this — quietly, daily, just managing it. That's not a small thing. That's actually kind of remarkable, when I let myself see it that way.

Anyway. Got the vaccine. First of two. Will go back for the second. Taking the pill tonight like every night.

Still here. Still going.