New Orleans is rich in history and celebration. On the steps of the New Orleans Museum of Art, eleven HIV advocates came together for the cover photo shoot of this year’s annual HIV Drug Guide and shared their own experiences. Here are some of those personal stories, lightly edited and excerpted.
Jimmy Gale — (he, him), 39, public health professional and bartender
I’m a proud resident of the Upper Ninth Ward. This historic neighborhood has overcome a lot and survived its share of adversity. Around here, we take care of each other like family—after surviving hurricanes, tornadoes and floods together, family doesn’t even begin to describe it. Over here, we live on the porch and food is always meant to be shared. As a transplant to this amazing city, I’m so grateful to have landed where I did.
When I was diagnosed 15 years ago, I never dreamed that my life would be as magical as it is. I abruptly changed careers following my diagnosis to work in the field of HIV prevention and care. It led me to see the world through a different lens and eventually brought me to New Orleans. I immediately knew that this was where I was meant to be.
When I was diagnosed 15 years ago, I never dreamed that my life would be as magical as it is. —Jimmy Gale
I am living with HIV due to sexual assault. I had to forgive myself long ago for something I had no control over. I always remind folks that we are much more than our diagnosis—you are still the same person and are worthy of every wonderful thing that comes your way.
Telling my mom was one of the hardest things I ever had to do. She raised three boys on her own and I was so afraid that she would be disappointed in me. Before I was diagnosed, I was heavily involved with HIV fundraising and education. So when I told Mom, her immediate response was, “Remember how passionate you were before all this… just think about what you can do now.”
My circle of friends was there for me as I navigated healthcare appointments and labs. They lifted me up as I learned how difficult disclosure and rejection can be. They reminded me who I was when I would fall into bouts of depression. Leaning on those that love you most can be scary, but I promise you that it’s worth it. Your hardest lessons eventually become a “how to” guide for others—so pay kindness forward and help newly diagnosed folks along their journey. For every moment you may have felt alone, you now have the power to help someone else feel loved.
This past October, I celebrated my fourth “NOLAversary” and am proud to call the Crescent City my home. Last year I was named Southern Decadence Grand Marshal, Gay Man of the Year and was “sainted” by the Big Easy Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence. I represented my new home as Mr. Louisiana Leather at this year’s International Mister Leather in Chicago. None of this would have happened if I hadn’t been set on a different course. Living (and thriving) with HIV has reminded me to appreciate every wonderful thing that comes my way—and here in New Orleans, any excuse to celebrate is all you need.
Morris A. Singletary — (he, him), 47, community organizer and study recruitment coordinator
I found out on June 23, 2006 at 3:15 p.m. I had been super sick. I couldn’t eat without throwing up. I was losing weight faster than I could eat. When I found out, I was afraid and felt disappointment in myself. I was shocked.
What’s helped me live for more than 18 years have been God, my mom and the kids of my friends, who love and look up to me. The key is to let people love you, romantically and in friendship.
Cedric Sturdevant — (he, him) 58, executive director of Community Health PIER
I’m from a rural area in Mississippi called the Mississippi Delta. It’s an area with a lot of richness, like farming, blues music, southern soulful cooking and Christian values. On the other hand, the Delta is also known for its lack of resources when it comes to HIV, including housing, transportation and adequate provider services.
Being a gay man and living with HIV, I never thought I would become an ordained minister, especially in the Mississippi Delta. I was ordained in June of 2022 by my pastor at Anointed Oasis of Love Ministry in Greenville, Mississippi. One goal I continue to pursue is educating and supporting Black boys and young men, whether or not they are part of the LGBTQ+ community. In my area, many Black boys and young men are growing up in unstable housing, without a father in their lives. I try to be a mentor figure.
Jen Laws — (he, him), 38, trans man, president and CEO of Community Access National Network, public policy analyst
I was diagnosed in 2004 on my first test. It was a routine part of my medical care as a young queer adult looking for my first “grown up” doctor on my own.
Despite a decent amount of education on HIV at the time, the very first moments felt like a movie happening outside of myself. I’m not sure I even heard what my provider was telling me after sharing the diagnosis with me. I don’t remember much of the day after the appointment. It took me years to rid myself of some unreasonable fears about my own health and for the health of my partner, but I overcame them eventually.
I think anyone facing a life-changing diagnosis needs time, regardless of how manageable that diagnosis might be. Distance from that traumatic moment helps. And in that distance, I found a lot of love and support and a whole lot of folks who didn’t make a big deal about my status. Not that they didn’t care, but that it did not affect their affection for me or their desire to be friends.
It’s gonna feel lonely from time to time. And that’s OK. Our purpose in this life is to help each other feel a little less alone and to seek out the people who help us feel less alone. Give it time, shift your effort some maybe, and you’ll find more of your people around you.
My motto is, Try something new every week—and I do just that! I appreciate life and do not take it for granted.
I want to end on the thing I struggled with the most: God loves you, in all your glory. You were made in the image of the Divine, which makes you Divine. This virus cannot change that fact. Anyone who struggles to love you is merely working out their struggle in their connection to God and that’s not yours to carry. You just love them through it, even if that means from a distance. Because the closer you get to settling yourself in that Divinity, the more connected to It and yourself you’ll be. You got this. And I love you.
W. Miller — (he, him) 69, retired surgical technologist
The neighborhood I call home is Gentilly Terrace, located in the 8th ward. It was the first residential area built on hills and contains a series of Craftsman homes, each uniquely designed.
When I was diagnosed January 2, 2000, my response was one of shock. I was numb. I did nothing for almost a year. After talking with a close friend, I decided to get onto antiretroviral treatment. I made an appointment with the HIV clinic at the University of California-San Francisco (UCSF) medical center. A new young doctor at the time, Malcolm John, prescribed my medication and enrolled me in a program he was starting, The Men of Color. I listened to Dr. John and I’m still here! My support systems have been a series of wonderful health care providers starting with the UCSF HIV clinic and now here in New Orleans with the caregivers and medical team at Crescent Care.
I’ve enjoyed 17 years with a wonderful man who is now in heaven but forever with me in my soul. He saw something in me and gave me the pleasure of sharing his life with me knowing I was living with HIV.
HIV does not feel like a barrier to life, thanks to the medication that keeps me undetectable—and untransmittable. Life has given me a chance to explore new experiences. My motto is, Try something new every week—and I do just that! I appreciate life and do not take it for granted. At 69 I expect to live and make every effort to live another 31 years—after that, I’ll renegotiate.