Interview Jax Dowdell. Editing by Alisha Ostberg and Oluwaseun Ayodeji Osowobi.
June 5 is HIV Long-Term Survivors Awareness Day—a time to honour those who’ve lived through the earliest and most painful years of the epidemic.
David is one of them. Diagnosed before effective treatment was available, he has lived through decades of loss, stigma, and resilience. His story reminds us that surviving HIV has always taken more than medicine—it’s taken community, care, and courage.
Today, we share David’s reflections on survival, aging, and what it means to lead with legacy.
Table of Contents
About HIV Long-Term Survivor Day
HIV Long-Term Survivors Awareness Day (HLTSAD) is observed annually on June 5 to honour and recognize the resilience of people who have lived with HIV for decades—many since before effective treatment was available. First launched in 2014 by the advocacy group Let’s Kick ASS (AIDS Survivor Syndrome), the date was chosen to coincide with the anniversary of the first official report of what would become known as the AIDS epidemic, published by the CDC on June 5, 1981. The day raises awareness of the unique challenges long-term survivors face, including aging with HIV, compounded stigma, and the lingering trauma of a crisis that devastated entire communities.
Long-term survivors include people diagnosed before the advent of effective treatment in 1996, often referred to as the HAART (Highly Active Antiretroviral Therapy) era, as well as those who acquired HIV at birth or during childhood. Despite medical advancements, many survivors continue to face isolation, health complications, and systemic barriers. HLTSAD is a call to remember their history, acknowledge their strength, and commit to ensuring they are not left behind as we continue working toward equity, care, and dignity for all people living with HIV.
David’s Story
On Finding Out He Had HIV
“I found out I had HIV while recovering in the hospital after a brutal gay bashing. I was in a coma for 10 days, underwent extensive facial surgery, and that’s when the blood tests were done. That’s how I found out I had HIV—and AIDS.” David pauses, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “If it hadn’t been for my lesbian landlords, I would’ve died. They heard something, called the police, and saved my life. I fought so hard to survive that assault, only to wake up and be told I had what felt like a death sentence.”
Back in those days, receiving an HIV/AIDS diagnosis often came with an expectation of death. “The doctors told me to get everything in order. But when I got home, the community had rallied around me. They repainted my apartment, bought me a new bed, took care of everything. They were so good to me. So amazing.”
David’s parents were elderly and unable to travel to Calgary. Most people with AIDS at the time were seeking care at Foothills Hospital.
His Hero and Best Friend, Broderick
“That’s where I saw my best friend, Broderick. He was getting a blood transfusion. When I saw him, I went white. He told the nurses to give us 15 minutes alone. Then he read me his list of medications and his beads.”
Broderick’s words still echo in David’s mind. “He said: ‘You take the pills. Don’t miss the pills. Some are experiments—they might not help you, but they might help someone else. Make sure you get your blood work done when you need to. Never miss an appointment at the clinic. And you weather it all.’ I listened. Thirty-three years later, I’m still here.”
Living with the Diagnosis
“Being diagnosed with AIDS changes you. It’s trauma. You’re suddenly surrounded by death—friends dying by suicide because they couldn’t face their families. I lost my friend Terry when he was just 20. He couldn’t cope and died by suicide in a park.”
David recounts those early years with raw honesty. “There were weeks we had three funerals. To lose friends week after week… it takes a toll.”
Living with HIV
Even though medical treatments have improved drastically, living with HIV is still life-changing. “Things are better now—I used to take 20 pills a day, now I take just one. That’s huge. But the disease still controls your life. I get blood tests every week. And anytime I got sick, I’d panic. It’s hard to ask for help. It’s not easy.”
Maintaining Mental Health
Isolation is a significant challenge, especially as a long-term survivor. “I go to The Bunker to see friends and stay connected. There aren’t many places left for people like us. And now that I need a walker, I often rely on others to get around.”
Informing His Parents
Telling his parents about his HIV status was one of the hardest moments of his life. “My mom always called me, and one day she asked why I had so many doctor appointments. I hesitated, said everything was fine, but I knew I had to tell them.”
David wrote a long letter and mailed it home. “I didn’t want to do it that way, but I had no choice. I wrote, ‘Please call me when you get this.’ When they called, my dad said, ‘You’re our son. When you told us you were gay, nothing changed. This doesn’t change anything either. We just want to know you’re okay.’ It was harder for my mom. You feel a lot of guilt.”
Disclosure and Responsibility
David knows exactly who he contracted HIV from. “It was a guy I had a certain kind of sex with. When I was diagnosed, the doctors said I needed to call everyone I’d been with. I called him. He said he’d get tested. A month and a half later, he phoned me, crying. I told him, ‘I’m not mad at you. It takes two people. We can’t change the past.’”
Finding Meaning in the Journey
Despite the trauma, David speaks of resilience, work, and friendship. “There were good parts too. I met amazing people while bartending. It mattered to have a job. It mattered to have friends.” After the assault, I became a different person. It took me until just two years ago to truly deal with the trauma. It takes a long time to sit with something like that.”
Mentoring the Younger Generation
Younger people living with HIV sometimes don’t grasp the seriousness. “They’ll say, ‘If you miss a pill, it’s no big deal.’ I tell them, ‘It is a big deal. If you want to be here, this is what you have to do. You don’t joke about it.’”
On Relationships, Love, and Family Support
“I always told people I was HIV-positive. In the beginning, it was hard, but it was different. People didn’t act like you were poison. But in the last 20 years, it’s been harder—once you tell someone, they’re gone.” Despite the stigma, David has always chosen honesty. Love and connection, however, have often been complicated by fear and misunderstanding. “I want to enjoy the life I have left. My parents—my mom and dad—are the reason I’m still here. I grew up with amazing parents, and I thank God for them every day.”
The Early Medications and Medical Trials
When asked about the early medications, David recalls the physical toll and unpredictability of early HIV treatments. “I was on AZT and a long list of others. I wrote them down in a journal, but I don’t remember them all now. One medication made me feel like I was on fire. I was at work, sweating through everything. I didn’t think I was going to make it. When I got home, I laid in the coldest bathtub I could run. I called the clinic, and they told me to come in right away. They immediately took me off that drug. I later learned a man in the U.S. had gone blind from the same medication.”
David says he kept taking whatever was given to him—not out of blind trust, but in honor of his friend Broderick’s advice. “Broderick told me to take the pills, even the experimental ones. I signed the consent forms. You had no idea if they’d help or hurt—but I’m still here. If the meds hadn’t helped me, maybe they helped someone else. I’m glad I did it.”
Community, Friendship, and Chosen Family
“My lesbian friends were there every day for me—from the assault, through recovery, to dealing with HIV. I worked at lesbian bars, and those friendships have lasted 30, 40 years. They’re my family. I still text a lot of them every day. Thank you, Jackie Dixon.”
“You fight for your life. I didn’t want to die. I fought. I didn’t let HIV take over my life. And I know I’m lucky—I didn’t go through what some others did. But the grief, the trauma… it stays.”
Community Involvement and Peer Support
David began engaging with AIDS Calgary Services more actively when Mark Randall joined the team. Later, he attended support meetings through HIV Community Link. “Julio’s night group met every two weeks. I loved those meetings, but I had to stop going when I got sick. I really miss them. It was a welcoming space. I learned a lot, and they appreciated that I could share what it was like to live with HIV long-term. Especially people from other countries—they had their own battles with stigma and health systems. It was powerful to hear their stories.”
Witnessing the Epidemic
David vividly remembers the first friend he lost to HIV. “It was a good friend in Ontario. He was in a hospital in London. Back then, they didn’t even know what it was—you had to gown up just to visit the room. I had just come out, and seeing what happened to him scared me so much I went right back into the closet.”
“I’ve seen every stage of this disease. I’ve lived through it all. The healthcare I received was always good. Dr. Gill was my doctor for years, and now Dr. McMillan is. I think the world of him.”
World AIDS Day and Shifting Awareness
David was heavily involved in World AIDS Day events for many years, especially at local bars and lesbian venues. “I used to organize and attend events every year, but lately, I just can’t afford to. It’s harder now—venues are expensive and less accessible. But it’s still an important day to me. I always know what’s happening, and I think about it deeply.” This past year, a friend went to an event on David’s behalf. “He walked through the bar, talked to all my friends, and they sent messages back to me. When I heard from them, I bawled my eyes out.”
Why does David think fewer people participate today? “People don’t see it as a death sentence anymore. The fear is gone. The urgency isn’t what it used to be. But it still matters. Especially for those of us who are long-term survivors.”
The Hardest Part
“The hardest part now? Seeing women and young children at the clinic. That’s what breaks my heart.” David respects the privacy and confidentiality of others. “What you see and hear in the clinic stays there. You don’t talk about it. That’s always been my way.”
On Death, Grief, and the Stigma of Funerals
“We need to talk about the fact that some of us are still here. People don’t realize what we lived through. And I hope no one else has to go through it the way we did.”
“There was so much stigma. I remember going to funerals and not being allowed into the main room because I had HIV. Sometimes we were turned away entirely. Imagine grieving your friends and being treated like that.”
What Keeps Him Going
“Do I understand why I’m still here? No. But I believe I’m here because I listened to Broderick. He was family. Speaking at his funeral was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.” David admits he’s had to battle depression, anxiety, and anger. “Losing people over 20 years—it breaks a person down. I tried to be tough. But it was hard.”
A Message to the New Generation
“People need to know what we went through. Younger folks with HIV need to understand it’s not just about taking a pill.” “Some of them say, ‘If I miss a dose, no big deal.’ And I tell them—it is a big deal. You want to be here? Take your pills. Don’t joke about it. Show respect—for yourself, for the people who came before you, for those we lost.”
Conclusion
David’s story is a powerful reminder that survival is not just about staying alive, it’s about finding meaning, connection, and purpose in the aftermath of unimaginable loss. Long-term survivors like him carry a legacy of resistance, care, and courage that shaped the HIV movement and continues to guide it today.
As we honour HIV Long-Term Survivors Awareness Day, let’s listen to their stories, uplift their voices, and commit to a future where no one faces stigma, isolation, or illness alone. The fight isn’t over—but because of people like David, we know what it means to keep going.
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