Retired - Anh Ho
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A Long 80 Kilometers
-Harmony E. Caton
80 kilometers does not seem too far to travel for antiretroviral drugs.
Until I picture the clinic vehicle -- a covered pickup truck with a mattress in the back.
Until I remember my jarring rides safely seat belted in the front of the cab.
Until I recall the choking dust and the smell of diesel fumes.
80 kilometers does not seem too far to travel for antiretroviral drugs.
Until I remember his sister easily lifting his wasted frame from a wheelbarrow.
Until I recall him lying on the vehicle's thin mattress covered by a dusty blanket.
Until I picture his eyes sunken and dull, his lips chapped and blistered.
80 kilometers does not seem too far to travel for antiretroviral drugs.
Until I recall his sister leading him back to their unpainted cement house.
Until I picture his torn pants falling from his skeletal hips.
Until I remember the bedsores covering ever pressure point on his body.
80 kilometers does not seem too far to travel for antiretroviral drugs.
Until I picture the long lines of people waiting in the sun.
Until I remember he made several futile trips to the hospital.
Until I recall the many days lost to communication breakdowns.
80 kilometers does not seem too far to travel for antiretroviral drugs.
Until I remember him waiting alone -- his violent coughs echoing down the clinic hallway.
Until I recall his sister's sadness as the nurse failed again and again to draw blood.
Until I picture his glazed eyes as he received counseling about his treatment.
80 kilometers does not seem too far to travel for antiretroviral drugs.
Until I recall his passport photo -- a man only a few years earlier in the prime of life.
Until I picture the pages and pages of registration forms filled out to no avail.
Until I remember he died just days before starting treatment.
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