Note: This was written as a guest column to the local newspaper after the hospital involved was criticized by the CDC on national news for their decision to notify and test over 5,000 patients who came into contact with the doctor involved.

FACING AIDS

I have a friend who says that my sister's fear of flying is really a fear of dying. I've never spent a lot of time worrying about dying. Death happens to someone you love, and you are sad because you will miss them. But you accept it, secure in your faith that there is a better place to which they have gone.

I thought I was going to die three years ago in a car accident, and I was surprised at how calm I was. I'm faithful about annual mammograms and watching my blood pressure because of family histories of breast cancer and heart problems. I never worried about AIDS.

No, that isn't true. I worried about what AIDS was doing to our world: the loss of good, talented, young, creative people. The face of Ryan White haunted me, his courage inspired me, his treatment by some people angered me. I cried when I heard of his death. I worried about how AIDS might affect our insurance premiums, but I never worried about "catching it."

Then I heard that AIDS was a national news item in my own community -- and that the gentle, kind anesthesiologist who had attended me during surgery was dead. The yellow slip of paper in the mailbox made it real: I got "the letter."

I'll never forget the scene at the post office: the parking lot full of cars, with drivers and passengers sitting, all reading a letter written on HEB Hospital letterhead; passing people coming out as I entered, each carrying an envelope with a green certified mail sticker; not having to say a word to the counter attendant: he saw the yellow slip and knew. I've never had to show an ID before to pick up a letter!

I'll also never forget my husband's face going white with shock or fear or pity when I told him. I'll never forget my mother's voice as she asked the question after hearing the news on television. I'll never forget my sister saying, "I knew as soon as I heard that you'd get a letter." I'll never forget the questions on everyone's lips at the office: "Didn't you have surgery? Was he your doctor? Have you gotten the letter?"

Intellectually, I know that the chances of my being infected are about zero -- but I plan to have the blood test. Intellectually, I know that no one will think I have the disease, but that doesn't stop the irrational thoughts I'm having. There are people at work I don't want to know because I consider them to be judgmental. There are neighbors I don't want to know because I think they are intolerant. I wish I could have picked up the letter from a postal employee who had never waited on me. I wonder what the letter carrier who left the slip in my mailbox must think. Will a negative blood test erase the pain in my husband's eyes?

The hospital spent thousands of dollars and came under criticism from The Centers for Disease Control, who called it a "non-story". I'm proud that my hospital made this mass effort at communication and service to the community. I'm proud that my hospital considered my right to know, my feelings, my future.

I'm sad that with absolute freedom in a democracy comes questions of where an individual's right to privacy ends and where my right to know begins. It disturbs me that people are refusing to take responsibilities for and face the consequences of their actions, depending on society to do it.

I don't know how the doctor got AIDS: was he infected by a patient who didn't disclose the disease; was it his lifestyle? At this point, I guess it really doesn't matter. I am very protective of individual rights, but I am becoming increasingly distressed at a society which says that the rights of the individual outweigh the good of the group. Why should there be a right to privacy which allows one person to put another at risk? When will the people of this nation once again become their brothers' keepers, and accept their responsibilities to one another?

This whole situation has caused me, once again, to question the benefits of absolute and unconditional freedom, to question individual rights, and to question what the future holds for this nation. Whatever the outcome of the blood test, I will never be the same.

--Written the night I received "the letter." The blood test was negative.