FDA Panel To Discuss Lifting Ban On Blood Donations

One interesting irony in my transition came about two years into it.  There was a blood drive in the college in which I was teaching at the time.  I'd donated at other drives in other workplaces, so I had no qualms about doing so again.  Besides, colleagues were also giving theirs.

I knew there was a ban against gay men donating, but I didn't know what, if any, rules were in place for trans women on hormones.  The screening nurse didn't get that far:  One of the first questions she asked was whether I'd traveled abroad within, if I recall correctly, the previous year. 

I nodded, and she shook her head.  "I'm sorry, you can't donate.  She even showed me the relevant passage in the policy about donors.  

Oh well, I thought.  I haven't tried to donate since then; maybe I will one day, if I'm allowed.

What got me to thinking about that was hearing that a panel of FDA advisors is meeting next week to consider lifting the ban on blood donations from gay men.  The prohibition was enacted more than three decades ago, as AIDS outbreaks were rapidly turning into a worldwide epidemic.

The American Red Cross and America's Blood Centers, the organizations that sponsor most blood drives in the US, say that the ban has no scientific or medical rationale. 

The FDA is not required to follow the advisors' recommendations, and those in the know say that the ban probably won't be lifted.  However, the word on the street in Washington says that current policy would be amended so men could donate only if they haven't had sex with other men within the past year. 

The Last Night Before AIDS

If you are my age, or a little older, you can clearly remember a time when most of the world--and, probably, you--didn't know about AIDS.

The "beginning" of the epidemic is often placed on the 5th of June in 1981.  On that day, the Center for Disease Control released its report documenting five young gay men who were treated for pneumocystis carinii pneumonia in Los Angeles hospitals between October 1980 and May 1981.  On the day the report was released, two of the men were dead.   

The reason why this mini-outbreak of pneumocyctis carinii was seen as so significant, even unusual, at the time, is that nearly every recorded case of PC developed in people with compromised immune system.  That meant most of those afflicted with it had been, up to that time, elderly, suffering from some condition that compromised the immune system or were taking medications--or abusing substances--that weakened them.  The patients in the report were described as "previously healthy"; the oldest of them was 36 while the youngest was 29.  So they did not come close to fitting the profile of previous PC sufferers.

At that time, I was living some semblance of a straight male's life.  By that time, I'd had relations with two males; the rest of my romantic/sexual life, such as it was, involved females.  So, not many people would have described me as being part of the gay (nobody was calling it LGBT) community.  Still, I knew more gay men and lesbians than most other people I knew and had heard stories about the "gay cancer" before the CDC report was released.

Still, I didn't think much about it.  Part of it was that I wasn't really gay--which, by my definition, meant that I had nowhere near the number of male partners as some gay men I knew.  Also, I suppose I had some of the arrogance of the young:  I didn't think it would happen to me or, by extension, anyone I knew.

Well, a couple of weeks after that report was released, I went to a party held at the house my closest friend (a woman) at the time shared with another woman and two gay men.  We were all students or recent graduates of Rutgers and some of our friends and classmates attended this party.  

It would be the last time I would see most of them.  Of course, some of us simply drifted apart, as people often do after graduating or leaving school.  But four other people--including my first roommate at Rutgers-- would die within the following decade--from HIV, of course.

But none of us were thinking about it then.  Nor were very many other people 

Upon This Rock Was The Movement Founded

Although people became ill and died from it long before then, the first documented cases of what would come to be known as HIV/AIDS were reported on 5 June 1981.

For the next four years, the mushrooming epidemic was depicted as a consequence of the libertine lifestyles of gay men and the poor choice others made to use intravenous drugs.  Anyone who contracted the disease was thus tarred with the most negative stereotypes about one or the other; family, friends, colleagues and others often abandoned those who were wasting away and dying from the ravages of the disease.

It was a time when many--including then-President Ronald Reagan--would not speak of AIDS, at least not publicly.  To do so, at a time when the so-called Moral Majority was at the peak of its influence, would be to identify one's self with immorality, degradation and sloth.

Then, on this date in 1985, something happened that began the change in public perception about AIDS and its victims.

If you are around my age, you remember it well:  It was announced that iconic actor Rock Hudson was suffering from the disease.

Earlier in the summer, rumors about his health began to circulate when he looked gaunt and pale--almost unrecognizable--during an appearance to promote a new cable series of his longtime friend and former co-star Doris Day.

He was diagnosed with the disease after collapsing in Paris in early July.  There, he was able to receive treatment with HPA-23, a drug that wasn't available in the US at the time.  The announcement that he indeed had AIDS came while he was in the hospital.

Rock Hudson changed the "face" of the disease, not only because he was so famous, but also because, until then, very few people knew that he was gay. Ironically, his character "feigned" gayness to get the character played by Doris Day in Pillow Talk:

 


He died on 2 October 1985, less than three months after his announcement.  In that short time, he started the Rock Hudson AIDS foundation.  He was also credited with jumpstarting Elizabeth Taylor's then-nascent fundraising crusade to fight the disease.

Most important of all, his illness and death inspired, in some people, a willingness to be associated with AIDS victims, which probably did more than anything to bring the fight against the disease into the mainstream of society.

For Alexis Rivera

Just before I started my transition, I attended the wake and funeral of Sylvia Rivera.  (I can't believe a decade has passed since then!) She died at the same age at which I had my gender-reassignment surgery.  At the time, I remember thinking that she had died (relatively) young but had accomplished--and lived through--so much.


That seems to be the story for so many trans people who manage to find the strength of their voices.  I am going to talk about one such person in a moment. However, there are far too many others who, for various reasons, simply die young--like the person I'm going to mention.


Alexis Rivera (no relation to Sylvia, to my knowledge) was only 34 years old when she died on Wednesday, 28 March.  She'd become a grandmother only a month before her death.  In California, she  was one of the leaders of the transgender community, fighting for our equality.  She also worked on issues relating to AIDS.  According to reports, complications from that disease resulted in her death.


Now, I have had people in my life die that way.  Even though treatments have improved, and the length and quality of the lives of those affected have improved, it's still a terrible way to die.  On the other hand, the fact that people do live longer (I remember when people lived no more than a year after being diagnosed.) and can spend at least some of that time in much the same ways as people who aren't infected has much to do with the work of Ms. Rivera, not to mention any number of dedicated scientists and medical professionals.


Still, I couldn't help but to think about things that I didn't understand when Sylvia Rivera died.  For one thing, the fact that both she and Alexis died relatively young had, ironically and sadly, much to do with the fact that they  "came out" and transitionsed (at least in Alexis' case) at a young age.  Sylvia, from what I know about her, seemed not to have a choice; somehow I think the same was true of Alexis.  What that meant for Sylvia--and I susupect, for Alexis--is that they didn't have access to some of the care and support we can find (even if we are of modest means) when we're in our 40's and 50's.  Plus, more people are more aware of what it means to be trans now than when we were young.   


Also, I suspect that being leaders of the activist movements for transgenders and people afflicted with HIV/AIDS made it more difficult for Sylvia and Alexis to care, or get care, for themselves.  People like them feel--rightly, I believe--the need to be strong and to seem brave for us, and to the rest of the world.  Part of that has to do with not wanting others to see chinks in the armor.  People like the Riveras--especially Alexis--do not want our detractors to see their (and, by extension, our) vulnerabilities.  


Plus, I think having to overcome the adversities they experienced may have led both of them to trivialize whatever medical or other problems they may have had.  I think now of an activist who is a dear friend:  Jay Toole.  He has had various health problems which, I suspect, are due to having lived a more stressful life (a family situation so terrible I can scarcely imagine it, and having to live in a world even more hostile to "butches" than the one I have experienced as a trans woman) and to his attempts to be strong for all of those for whom he is working.  There is also, of course, the issue of getting health care that is appropriate for his physical needs as well as sensitive toward the ways in which he differs from most people.  


In the end, though, I believe the most important parallel between Jay's and Alexis' health problems is this:  They put others before themselves.  Alexis said that everything she did was motivated by love; knowing Jay, I believe that he has similar, if not identical, motivations.  He never demeans those against whom he has to fight; instead, he sees them as people who can be educated and won over.  From what I've heard about Alexis, she had a similar way of seeing her opponents, whom neither she nor Jay would label as enemies.


Although I never had the opportunity to meet Alexis Rivera and have only heard and read about her work, I feel I owe her a debt of gratitude.  We may have lost her "too soon," but wherever she is going will be better for her energy and spirit.