Wayne Bridge-Smith Wayne Bridge-Smith has been living with HIV and AIDS for a long time now. He was first diagnosed as HIV positive in the winter of 1987 and this Sunday, 19 years on, he'll be joining friends and just a few HIV survivors to remember the men claimed by AIDS since the pandemic broke in New Zealand in the early 1980s. Bridge-Smith has attended more funerals than he can count, burying eighteen of his friends, all “diseased from sex,” all stigmatised by HIV and all succumbing to a horrible lingering death. “Everyone is gone, there's a whole mob of them,” says Bridge-Smith, as he gazes out the window and across the valley. He is clearly distressed. His eyes flicker as he recalls each lost friend, knowing he may be next. “Why am I still here?” he asks. “Everyone else has gone. I thought I was going to grow old with them. It's hard.” He pauses. “And then you get to the point when you feel it's too difficult to carry on.” But Bridge-Smith is a survivor. A self-confessed party boy from way back, he could never have imagined the consequences of sex when he first stayed behind with another boy to help “clean up” the chemistry lab at his Hutt Valley high school when he was just thirteen years old. He was okay with being gay through those teenage years, but his father, a “sporting, rugby-type bloke” was violent, and after throwing him down the stairs one night, Bridge-Smith took his father's advice - he “fucked off to his faggot friends,” once and for all. He was just seventeen at the time. Bridge-Smith ended up in Auckland in the mid ‘70s and circulated in the “underground gay scene” of the time. He had a lot of friends who offered support and encouragement, which was essential to survive in the homophobic climate. Working in a very gay restaurant, he was “very loud, loved the clothes and outrageous hairstyles and makeup.” He was perhaps too loud for Auckland at the time, and he moved to Sydney in 1979. Bridge-Smith is unsure when he first contracted HIV. It may have been in Auckland before he left, but if not, Sydney certainly provided an ample breeding ground for HIV. The gay scene in Sydney was “fantastic,” he says. “Nightclub after nightclub, party after party, debauchery beyond belief - it was just out of control... there was sex on the street!” he exclaims. AIDS was just hitting San Francisco, but in Sydney “we knew nothing really. It was just something that happened ‘over there.' Bridge-Smith doesn't even remember seeing a condom. “You'd probably have had to ask,” he says. The safe sex message “just wasn't there... it was another way of life.” TISSUES, 'FLU AND SERO-CONVERSION In 1980, Bridge-Smith developed what he thought was a bad flu. He suffered “constant snot” for about two months. “There were boxes of tissues everywhere. I thought I'd never get over this flu.” He returned to New Zealand and visited a doctor. The doctor had no idea what was going on and the illness eventually cleared up. Bridge-Smith returned to work and soon forgot about the incident. He now knows he was sero-converting - his body had recognised the presence of HIV and his immune system was desparately, futilely working to expel it. Bridge-Smith returned to Sydney and continued partying, drinking, taking drugs and having sex. And with not just a few men. Over the next seven years, he and countless others unwittingly spread the virus, in the absence of any advice to the contrary. And then it hit. “It seemed to come from nowhere, from leftfield. Everything was chugging along and then all of a sudden, bang! We realised we had major problems.” In mid-1987 Bridge-Smith discovered unsightly lumps forming on his neck. “They were humungous.” He visited the doctor, who took one look and ordered an HIV test. Bridge-Smith didn't know what to expect, and had to wait a whole month before the results were ready. “It was all very odd - cloak and dagger type secrecy.” He went back to the clinic unprepared for the news that he was HIV positive. There was no pre-counselling due to a misunderstanding between the reception staff and the doctor who delivered Bridge-Smith with a life sentence. “You're definitely HIV positive,” the doctor told him. “What do I do?” Well, I can't help you with anything,” replied the doctor, “I've got nothing to treat you with. You've probably got five years, you'll probably be alright until then.” Bridge-Smith was floored. “I was in total shock,” recalls Bridge-Smith. “It was horrendous. I had no warning whatsoever.” It was the first time he had ever really thought about AIDS. And all of a sudden “a lot of people realised they were all in the same boat. That's when people started dying.” Bridge-Smith was referred to a sexual health clinic, where he had the good fortune to be cared for by a fine doctor. He and others were treated with the first widely distributed AIDS medication, AZT. But “people died very quickly at that stage,” recalls Bridge-Smith. “Not a lot of lingering around - a lot of hideous deaths.” There were the chest infections - people's lungs would collapse. “A lot of horrendous cancerous type things, Kaposi's sarcoma (the lumps), sores, brain damage, people going crazy.” The AZT didn't seem to be helping, and in some cases made the situation worse. Bridge-Smith is convinced at least three friends died after trialling the drug - over 400 mg every four hours, 24-hours a day. “We were guinea pigs,” says Bridge-Smith. "I COULDN'T LIVE LIKE THAT - IT WAS INSANE" Bridge-Smith fled the city. “The scene in Sydney was out of control,” he says. “I knew I couldn't live like that - it was insane. I was not well.” He ended up living in a national park in Queensland, isolated and in fear for his life. He left his relationship behind too. His partner had offered to care for him back in Adelaide, to nurse him before death. “I ended it,” Bridge-Smith recalls. “I freaked out, knowing he was HIV negative, and being told I only had a few years to live. I didn't want to cause any grief for anyone else, so he just had to go.” In Queensland things were tough. The conservative government of New Zealand-born Premier Jo Bjekle-Petersen was hostile toward HIV sufferers. “There was paranoia,” says Bridge-Smith. “If I went to the hospital they would notify the police. Anyone with HIV was tracked.” Hospital staff themselves were paranoid. “There were huge big stickers on the door: “Contaminated Area - Do Not Enter.” People wore masks and protective clothing. Going to the dentist was impossible. People were convinced HIV was transmitted through the mouth.” Bridge-Smith felt shunned and diseased. “It was like wearing a huge sign, flashing neon above your head: Contaminated - Do Not Enter, which sometimes I think is still there...” he says, his voice faltering. Throughout the 1990s Bridge-Smith moved between Queensland, Sydney, and New Zealand, nursing friends and burying them. “It's a hideous way to die, so when you're close to someone...” He can't finish the sentence. He continues: “I suppose being killed in a car accident is revolting too, I've seen that on the TV... but it's pretty quick, isn't it?” As for AIDS, “it's just too long. It definitely kills you, but man, it can take a while. It's such a long lingering death, and such a struggle for the person, and you just don't know what to do. You try to help them as much as possible, but it just gets worse and worse.” And then there are those who die with little warning, like his friend Frazer. Some sufferers develop toxoplasmosis, a parasitic infection of the brain. “That was my friend Frazer - he went gaga. He was such a beautiful man - I couldn't believe it.” Not long before Frazer died Bridge-Smith met him at the K Road Carnival in Auckland. “He was having such a good time, and then: boom! One minute he was fine, then he's in hospital, he can't speak, half his brain went.” There was another friend, a Brazilian dancer, “an extraordinary man,” says Bridge-Smith. “He went from around 110 kg to about 40 kg in such a short space of time. I couldn't even comprehend it was the same person. I couldn't believe how much it had changed him, to the point of eating away his body and brain so badly.” OBITUARIES AND FUNERALS In the late ‘80s and early ‘90s Bridge-Smith attended many funerals for his friends. He didn't bother reading the newspaper, he says. “I'd turn straight to the obituary pages.” The funerals have been difficult for him to handle. “Your own death is staring at you. You think, well, it's not me this time - I'm still here. You'd look around the congregation and think, “fuck, he's not looking the best this week.” And then you'd look in the newspaper a bit later, and well, he's gone.” Many of his friends refused to change their lifestyle after learning they were HIV positive, continuing to drink or take drugs. Some increased the abuse of their bodies, no doubt hastening their death. “They just carried on with it all - they've now died.” But Bridge-Smith has fought on. He ditched the drugs, and then gave up smoking and drinking. “If you want to survive you have to take your health in hand,” he says. He struggled with his AIDS medication, suffering side effects. He recalls badly burning the soles of his feet on hot sand, without feeling a thing. The medication had desensitised him. And now his body fat is relocating, collecting where it shouldn't, and his liver is in bad shape - all side effects of the medications. As for the disease, it reveals itself in numerous sores and lesions that come and go. He suffered major chest infections right throughout the 1990s. He thought he would die at that stage, but he pulled through. Bridge-Smith feels like he's constantly under siege. “It's very crafty,” he says of the virus, almost in awe. “It gets in there and then it transforms itself... it just keeps working out what meds you're on. The meds try to alter its DNA so it falls apart, but it just transforms.” The virus attacks his immune system and his organs, and his body is in a constant battle. Just when the medication seems to be winning, the side effects take their toll. After ten years on the same regimen, Bridge-Smith is changing the medication before the side effects win out. “And I try to balance the toxicity of the meds with herbal remedies,” says Bridge-Smith. He's tried almost everything. “I've laid on the floor with five thousand crystals on top of me... I've said, “look, I'll believe you - whatever you want, just please, please, please...” "KEEP AWAY FROM HIM! The stigma continues for Bridge-Smith and other sufferers. He still hears the murmurs when people realise he's sick. “It's quite interesting watching people freak out when they work out someone's HIV positive - ‘Oh no! We'd better keep away from him!' I find it hard to cope with,” says Bridge-Smith. Even in the gay scene, well, “they don't want to know about that!” he says emphatically. “No one wants to go to a nightclub and see a whole lot of sick people there! People who are diseased from sex! No way!” Friends of his with HIV have locked themselves in their rooms for extended periods, some never resurfacing again. “You don't go outside when you look too sick,” he says. “Too much shock value.” “It's a brand new world,” Bridge-Smith observes. He believes people are tired of hearing about HIV and AIDS and the perception of the disease has changed. “Like a chronic condition you can live with. Yeah, whatever,” he scoffs. “Just take some pills if this comes along and you'll be okay! Yeah right.” Bridge-Smith worries that young people are not taking HIV prevention seriously. One young chap showed an interest in him just recently, but insisted on not using condoms for anal sex. “He said to me: ‘I don't care, I don't worry about anything.” Bridge-Smith was stunned: “‘We've got to stop. I can't get my head around it - you're freaking me out...' I can't condemn him, ‘but I just don't understand it.” As for those who seek out unsafe sex with HIV positive men, so-called ‘bug-chasers,' Bridge-Smith is at a complete loss. For gay men in a relationship, Bridge-Smith can understand why they would choose not to use condoms. “But why bother?”he asks. “The ramifications of it all turning to custard, one chance in whatever, then wow! It's a life-changing event.” Bridge-Smith is convinced that practising safe sex since he was diagnosed has helped him to survive. “No cum up the bum for me! That's what's saved me. I've picked up no different strains.” Perhaps we should return to the days of the scary ‘grim reaper' advertisements, released when AIDS first shocked the world, says Bridge-Smith. He finds it ironic that anti-smoking and anti-drink driving advertisements show horrific images of disease and carnage, yet the companies that market HIV medications depict buff, healthy gay men climbing mountains. “It's all just crap - just an illusion. It's just a big marketing ploy. It's not that pleasant at all.” He'd go on television and tell his story, if it would help. “What are you doing you crazy people?” he asks in exasperation. “Have a good time, sure, but where has the ‘be careful' bit gone?” REPLAY: ANOTHER TIME, ANOTHER GENERATION Bridge-Smith worries that the gay community and society at large is setting itself up for a re-run of the 1980s. “Anything's possible now,” he says. Once upon a time, young people thought the pandemic only effected the older gay generation, but the converse could occur, he warns. Another HIV strain, coupled with a generation that is desensitised to the HIV prevention message, and “bam - we'll have nightclubs full of old people. The young ones will die.” So Bridge-Smith has survived another year and will attend another Candlelight Memorial service on Sunday. He finds it terribly distressing. The names of “virile young men,” cut down in the prime of their life, are read out along with friends recently taken. Bridge-Smith doesn't believe scientists will find a cure. For those already infected, “that's your lot and you're just going to have to deal with it.” He dreams it would all just stop, but doesn't know how to achieve this. He encourages people to attend the annual Candlelight Memorial services. “I think it's important for people to see what's really going on in our community with AIDS, which is not being reinforced right now.” It's like a sorry story that just won't end, as young gay men continue to play ‘Russian roulette' with their lives. “So be prepared for another Candlelight Memorial next year,” says Bridge-Smith, ‘'cos there's going to be a lot more names read out once again.” David Parrish - 19th May 2006