ACCEPTANCE is the first step to healing when one tests HIV positive. Testing HIV positive comes as a shock to most people and a sense of bewilderment engulfs one as confusion reigns supreme at that time.

“So I am going to die?” This is the scene flashing in the head of one who has just tested HIV positive.
This is where counselling comes in handy. One is pre-counselled before taking the test and then afterwards. If one tests HIV negative then the post counselling emphasises the need for one to avoid infection.

Testing HIV positive when one has walked through the VCT doors or a New Start Centre when one is healthy and testing HIV positive when ill or when pregnant all present different reactions. The acceptance levels in these different cases vary from person to person.
Acceptance is a process and individuals’ duration to accept the new condition varies too.

I recently had a bereavement of someone I held dear — a mentor, advisor, friend and aunt. My aunt, who was the last born in my father’s family, was a unifier and loved people in general. She had looked after the extended family from her husband’s side and her own. Orphans from the church and the community had been raised by her. She had a huge heart — love flowed out of her.

Maybe this could be traced back to who she was. My aunt was married to a priest and was Mai Mufundisi. She had lived in many communities by the nature of their calling. She knew several districts in Zimbabwe like the palm of her hand and was well versed with their customs too.
A decade ago, aunt and babamukuru decided that they were to build a homestead of their own since old age was catching up with them. In a few years the clergyman would retire.

When the need to build her own homestead arose my aunt did not hesitate to do so. They settled for Wedza. Neither aunt nor babamukuru hails from there but it was their retirement choice.
This saw aunt living apart from her husband for the duration of three years as they were building. She would occasionally visit but for a few days as she had to oversee construction work in Wedza.

With the building completed, my aunt became a permanent resident in Wedza visiting the husband who continued with his work elsewhere. No one knows when temptation called but my aunt believed that they were old enough and trusted each other to handle life in that manner. This will be evident as you read on.

Like all people aunt got a fever. She phoned one of her children who is abroad and the son got in touch with our uncle (babamudiki), who is the only surviving male on my father’s side. Baba, as we all call him, did not hesitate to ask his sister to come over to Harare to seek treat-   ment.
Aunt made the way from Wedza to Harare on her own by bus. She was not in bad shape. Baba phoned everyone informing them of aunt who was recuperating at his

home.

Since aunt was a wonderful woman most relatives trooped to see her. She was still the same old aunt — jovial, offering advice and asking everyone about their families. Meanwhile, the son abroad had sent funds so that aunt be attended to by a doctor. This was duly done.
Despite aunt being put on medication she did not get better. After a week the doctor referred her to a specialist who ran several tests.

It was found out that she had renal failure. She was commenced on haeomodialysis at a private hospital. Everyone expected her to recover. She had faith that she would get well and recited Psalm 91. She was a prayer warrior.

A month and a half into dialysis aunt continued to deteriorate. The family panicked. The doctor ran further tests and although aunt was not coughing she was found to have tuberculosis. This was a blow to the family but a relief because the doctor knew what to do now.
So now with the jigsaw pieces coming together he hoped to fix the puzzle. She was referred to a public hospital for the TB treatment.

At the public hospital they normally offer counselling and testing of HIV to all their patients. Baba, who always accompanied aunt for treatment, told the hospital staff that an HIV test was not necessary.
He is quoted as saying: “Aah imi uyu ihanzvadzi yangu, uye ndimai mufundisi zveHIV anenge azviwanira kupi?” (This is my sister, she is a priest’s wife, where can she have contracted HIV?”

The health staff allowed aunt to commence TB treatment without taking an HIV test. It was on the second visit that the sister-in-charge who had attended them on the first visit pointed out that there could be an underlying cause since she was not responding to medication.
Baba answered again that it was due to renal failure. The nurse fully explained the benefits of knowing one’s status to which aunt reluctantly agreed.

“If that will make me recover let the test be done. They have done several tests so what harm will this one do to me. It will clear the air because I am not HIV positive,” aunt said.
She was counselled and a rapid HIV test was done. A second one was done to confirm the first one. Aunt was HIV positive!

The news was shattering to her and baba. Baba phoned babamukuru asking him to come to his home as a matter of urgency. When babamukuru arrived the debate was stormy with baba accusing him of infecting his sister.
He is said to have burst out: “So you hide behind the Bible while you are an adulterer? Look at what you have done to my sister. Can you explain your movements you devil?”

I am told babamukuru was equally surprised but made a confession that during the three years they stayed apart some seven years ago when aunt was building their retirement home, he was seeing another woman.
Aunt refused to talk to him. She refused to eat and stopped treatment forthwith.

The son abroad was informed and took leave from work. In the meantime everyone tried to talk sense into aunt. Baba asked me to talk to her on positive living. I told her that she could get onto the path to recovery if she first accepted her status.
“Aunt you can get well, the first step is to accept your status then medicine will take over,” I counselled her.

“You must be mad. Who will see Mai Mufundisi being initiated on ART? If this is what it has to be so be it,” aunt retorted.
Within a week the son arrived. Aunt was in very poor health and wearing diapers. She was happy to see her son. Prayers were held all night long. Aunt also sang hymns as if she had recovered. She finally allowed her husband into her bedroom and spoke to him.

“I have forgiven you my husband. When I die may I be buried right here in town. Give the house to our son,” she said and before anyone could answer she closed her eyes and breathed her last.
During the funeral the husband was suddenly taken ill. Everyone dismissed it except the son from abroad.

“I am taking father to see a doctor,” said the son immediately after burial of aunt at Warren Hills Cemetery.
He asked my husband if he could move his father to our place to which my husband agreed.
Since the young man was not familiar with the city my husband took them to the doctor and back.

He phoned me with a sad intonation.
“Mainini, dad has tested HIV positive,” he said.
Babamukuru expected this, I guess. This was not the time for interrogation. At home we discussed and agreed that he goes for a CD4 count and liver test function.

He obliged. The liver test results did not look good. There was an anomaly. Further tests revealed he had liver cancer.
Since the son had only two weeks break from work it was time for him to leave.
“Amainini Cathy, I had two weeks only and it is time for me to go back. Babamudiki (referring to my husband) this is the challenge I leave you. I will foot all the

medical bills and nurse aide services if the need arises. Please assist me and look after my father,” he begged.

“We lost mum and we cannot lose father just like that,” he said.
Before he could continue his father interjected: “Amainini, babamunini do not bother. Son, it is okay you can go back to work but before you go please take me to Wedza. Babamunini please pick up my property from Chiundura and bring that home too. That is all I ask, as for hospitalisation, no,” he said.

Now that the man had refused to be treated they had to take him home as requested.
The couple that lived at the homestead with my aunt (the one aunt called son again) was an adopted orphan from the church. He was a son because he grew up in their love and care. They left babamukuru in his care.

As duty called, the son flew back to Atlanta, Georgia. Babamukuru flatly refused even to take a painkiller, he has retired to Wedza.

• cathrine.mwauyakufa@zimpapers.co.zw