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McCord Hospital closure could kill



Faith ka-Manzi 28 January 2013

Our city has more HIV+ residents than any in the world, so last week’s news that a great hospital will close due to budget cuts is like a terrorist’s bomb exploding in the middle of town.

Almost two years ago I finally heeded a dear friend’s long-standing request that I investigate Aids medicines. AntiRetroVirals (ARVs) help fight opportunistic infections like bronchitis, pneumonia, shingles and Bells Palsy.

Before then, I had alternative herbal treatments concocted by Patience Mavata, one of our city’s great informal biochemists. The herbal alternative worked well for a couple of years, helping me get strong after my body sometimes collapsed.

But two years ago my system started breaking down because of TB. I had heard the McCord Hospital’s Sinikithemba clinic was excellent. So after almost losing my balance and hardly carrying any weight on my Aids-ravaged body, I finally succumbed to my friend’s request.

I must be frank, I had been terrified of ARVs. I had heard ARVs were toxic, they changed your body shape, and they didn’t work. But I could see that I was dying and that the herbal treatments had done their job, as far they could. My friend was adamant that I must give ARVs a try, so I did and went through the three days training at McCord’s.

The first thing that impressed me was the way that Sinikithemba was run, by professionals and very caring social workers, counsellors, doctors, nurses and administrators – mostly women. It struck me as a very special clinic, with staff who were tough but loving, exactly what I needed.

They helped me go to war. Being melodramatic, I told my Mom in Cato Manor that the battle had begun inside my body. Aids was panicking because of this menacing presence of ARVs starting their attack.

I shouldn’t have said that, because a couple of days later the most disturbing pain drove me nearly crazy. Another trip to McCord’s revealed that I had worms, gastro infection and abdominal TB. A team of amazing professionals hit these problems head on, adding new medication for gastro infection and TB.

Every week I visited the Sinikithemba clinic, but then as I became more responsible and stronger, the visits were less regular, just once a month to collect my medication. I was soon health personified: eating like a piglet, focusing on fruits and vegetables. I was back to work much to the consternation of my friend who wanted me to take it easy. He calls me a cat with nine lives because of my body’s way of being able to recover quickly.

But there was still a problem: ARVs or not, I was also still adamant that I would continue my lifestyle of partying, drinking and smoking, and I was not going to give up my habits. I could justify this to myself by eating well, drinking beer with barley and hops, and sippi