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| GiGi
Nicks (1952 - 2004) |
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IT'S
NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE TO CONDUCT AN UNINTERRUPTED CONVERSATION WITH
GIGI NICKS. INEVITABLY, HER PHONE RINGS, UNEXPECTED KNOCKS SOUND
AT HER OFFICE DOOR, AND HER PAGER VIBRATES UNINHIBITEDLY. BUT THESE
INTERRUPTIONS ARE SUPERFLUOUS WHEN WEIGHED AGAINST WHAT SHE HAS
TO SAY.
When
I entered her office, GiGi was on the phone counseling a client.
She simultaneously beckoned me in while urging the person on the
line, "Don't hesitate to ask; it doesn't hurt to inquire."
GiGi was diagnosed with HIV-positive in January 1991, as a result
of an eight-year heterosexual relationship with an intravenous drug
user. She had battled an unexplainable illness for weeks. One day,
her suburban health provider asked if she'd be willing to take an
HIV test.
"Ms.
Nicks," he said, "would you subject yourself—would you be willing
to subject yourself —to an HIV test?"
"Not
only did I not know what an HIV test was, but I didn't care. At
that point I just wanted to know what was wrong with me and whatever
it was, I wanted to get it treated.
"Two
weeks later, I got a phone call from the clinic nurse who told me
that my test results were back and they were positive and I needed
to make a follow-up appointment with my primary care provider as
soon as possible. Well, I already had a follow-up appointment scheduled
with my primary for two weeks from then, so I wasn't about to bother.
I'll just wait, you know. I didn't know what HIV was. Curiosity
kicked in then. 'What is HIV? What does it mean?' I was totally
ignorant of HIV. I had heard the word AIDS but I didn't know what
HIV meant. Hearing the word AIDS, I heard it all within the context
of gay white men."
Three
days prior to receiving her diagnosis, GiGi had been laid off from
her job. Thus, in addition to researching HIV/AIDS, GiGi was looking
for a job. She left her suburban (read: costly) provider and sought
out free medical care. She called her local board of health.
"I
said, 'Hello, can I get an HIV test?' 'Sure! Come anytime.' 'Okay,
my name is…''Oh, we don't need your name.' Well, how are you going
to know me when I come for my appointment?!' [Laughs] I mean total
ignorance, but ignorance is bliss though. I can't say I regret being
ignorant because it saved me.
"I
remembered going into the place like a dummy, walking up to the
desk and saying, 'My name's GiGi and I have an appointment for an
HIV test' Well, the whole room cleared out and I didn't understand
why. The young lady whispered on the phone and here comes this guy
rushing from the back of the clinic, whisking me away with him to
the back. He says, 'You don't have to give your name.' And I replied,
'Well, I don't speak in code. I am not a number. I am a human being
and I do have a name.' So I'm going off on him…" She pauses and
laughs, then laughs some more. We laugh together.
"It
was news to me that I was supposed to be ashamed. He showed me what
HIV is and what it's not. When he showed me the risk factors, I
saw that I was clearly at risk. The whole world opened up because
of the knowledge he shared with me. Unprotected sex, with an injection
drug user. Duh; there I am, right there!
"When
he told me about the odds at that particular time of people progressing
on to an AIDS diagnosis, I automatically told him, 'I might progress
on to AIDS, but you can rest assured that I will certainly exceed
that life span that you shared with me. Thanks for sharing with
me, but that doesn't apply to me. So in the meantime, you said something
about treatment. That's all I heard. Where can I go to get this
treatment?"
GiGi's
doctor sent her to Cook County Hospital.
"Meeting
my provider—we had been talking for maybe two minutes before
she asked, 'Are you interested in maybe speaking to people with
HIV?' I said, 'Look, I just got here. I don't feel that I can educate
anybody else yet. But there is something else…I need a job. I'm
unemployed at this moment. I'm an independent person. I've always
supported myself. I don't have any food for my kids when they come
home from high school today. Do y'all have any jobs?' [Laughs] She
said, 'How would you like to work with HIV-positive people?' I said,
'AIDS folk?' At that time they had these peer educators who would
go over to the AIDS ward and educate people and hold hands. And
I thought that was what she was talking about. And I said, 'Oh,
no,' and left it at that.
"At
the next visit, she gives me the results from the lab. And I said,
'You find me a job?' She said, 'Well, I asked you if you wanted
to work with me and you said no. 'So I said, 'Okay, look at my resume
and tell me what do you have on your staff that can fit my qualifications.'
She went into the hallway and called the administration building.
She came back and said her administrator wanted to see me. I ran
over there. They offered me the position of administrative assistant
to their program and I said, 'Fine, I can do that.'
"That
was the stepping-stone to making me draw upon the experiences I
use in the field of advocacy. After coming to terms with my own
diagnosis and watching other people come through being newly diagnosed,
I realized I could be a real asset, have a real positive effect
in their lives. It sort of, like, took off like a whirlwind. Before
I knew it, I was spending more time at the clinic, meeting patients
and helping them along. It came to be something that I actually
enjoyed doing. It became bigger than life."
I
asked GiGi to share with me some of her thoughts about advocacy.
"I
stand firm on what I advocate for. I'm selective in what I advocate
for, what aspect of HIV/AIDS I advocate for. My passion is women
and children, African American women and children; I identify more
with that population. That's the population I can speak authoritatively
on. If I have any opportunity to be at anybody's table, that's usually
who I tell them I'm representing. I think that gives me so much,
so much to work with. I could never run out of work. In the light
of the numbers, you know I'd never run out of work.
"Because
I've been involved, I think I got it. I understand it now. I continue
to evolve because I continue to be involved. I think that's my key
to surviving healthy with HIV—being involved. Every ounce of
knowledge I acquire, I have an obligation to share, to get it out
of me and to someone else. I'm taking it in and I'm putting it out,
because I don't think it's mine to keep. I get off on teaching.
I get off on advocating. I get off on raising hell. All those things
make my T-cells rise and keep my viral load low."
I
asked GiGI how she gets African American women and children involved
in the fight against HIV and AIDS.
"We
need to be more utilized, those of us who are impacted by HIV and
AIDS. People need to be given an opportunity to be educated enough
to be able to reach out to those like them. I have never, ever,
spoke to an audience that had people like me—and when I say
like me, I mean African American women—who didn't hear my message.
It has never not worked for me. So I think what we need is still
education, because we're not working with anything else as far as
a cure is concerned. We're going to have to continue educating people
on a level that they can be educated.
"I
may not ever benefit from [patient advocacy], but I'm saying I know
the needs of my peers and I respect them. God forbid if I'm ever
in the position some of them are in and need those services. I clearly
would want them to be available. I'm not just doing this on a selfish
note. But I tell you, it's a wonderful thing to do something you
love to do and get paid for it, too. It's the best thing in the
world."
GiGi
still works at the place where she acquired a job 10 years ago,
shortly after being diagnosed; she is an HIV/AIDS patient advocate
for the Women and Children's Program at Cook County Hospital in
Chicago.
Written
by Chris Bell
Photographed by Jason Smith
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