I think that, really, I should start another thread about the AIDS Drug Assistance Program's (ADAP) ongoing crisis. Short news: it's not going away anytime soon
As to the trip itself:
I arrived way late due to some bad storms we'd have been forced to fly through (even though Washington itself was clear and fine). By the time I got to the hotel and checked in, it was about 11:30 (should have arrived before 7:00).
Instead of being the good guy I should have been, I really was curious about where I was and wanted to go exploring, so I went to the overnight concierge and got a city map with very vague directions as to how to get to Dupont Circle, which I know to be the focus of gay night life in DC.
I got out and went where I thought was the right direction, but was very unsure, and while not horrifying, the neighborhood I found myself walking through certainly didn't seem what I expected, and I refused to pull out a map and stand under a streetlight in a strange neighborhood to verify my location. Once it began to sprinkle some light rain, I hailed a cab and asked him how much it would cost to get me to The DC Eagle, a legendary leather bar that I've heard so much about. As the amount seemed right, I was off and, about ten minutes later arrived at a price lower than had been quoted, including a nice tip. It was nice to meet an honest cab driver :biggrin1:
The bar, sadly, was pretty much deserted, and some people I'd gone there specifically to meet were nowhere to be found: there were about seven patrons and three employees. As is normal for me in such circumstances, I talked up the staff, tipping generously to get and maintain the bartender's attention and, at the door outside smoking a cig, made such friends with the doorman that he absconded with my shirt for the duration of my stay. I ended up leaving shortly before last call and made as much of an impression as possible.
The next day the conference itself began at around noon. I got up pretty early and went for a walk trying to get my bearings, but the street system in DC defied simple, easy understanding, and I found myself traveling in circles in a humid heat worse than FtL <uhg!>. I gave up and went back to the hotel around 10:00, texting the organizer/CEO/founder of the non-profit responsible for the conference, asking if I could do anything to help. When he agreed in the affirmative, I made my way downstairs to the conference area.
The CEO (Brandon) and I have been good friends since 2006; we were roommates for about three years and I had helped him co-ordinate his activities for this non-profit as well as several others which he served as a consultant. But it had been about 18 months since he'd left FtL and returned to DC, and we'd drifted a bit apart. The actual reunion was, typically for us, cordial but not overly emotional (that came later), both being reserved Yankee types.
I helped with registration for about three hours as a thank you for the scholarship Brandon had arranged which allowed me to attend. I saw several faces I recognized from previous ADAP conferences I'd attended, and met a lot of new ones. It was hectic and fun (mostly), and took a seat in the main hall once the presentations started.
The actual conference packed about two weeks worth of information into 2.5 days of intense presentation and discussion afterward. We were told that all the PowerPoints would be published on the
non-profit's website, but as of last night there was just the agenda posted. I have many pages of notes taken as quickly as possible.
At the end of the first day, one of the the board members, a pal from FtL, invited me to dinner with some pharmaceutical reps, promising that it was be wonderful: it turned out to be exceptional, one of the kinds of meals I haven't had in a long time. Both food and conversation were fabulous. Afterwards, Brandon and I met at the hotel bar for some drinks, followed by some more in his suite after the bar had closed.
We bonded very quickly again. Brandon and I are, in many ways, very different: he's politically conservative on most every issue, despite being a gay man living openly with HIV. During our early days, and continuing straight through, I grew to understand (if rarely agree with) his stances on a number of issues. He's an odd sort of hybrid that the Republican party is so actively removing now under the Teabaggers' influence. He's an Independent only so much as the party's left him, not the other way around.
It took me a long time to find out why he finds me so compelling: he's very successful and accomplished with more than a touch of OCD. I'm much more ad-hoc, entirely non-money motivated (which is surely why I don't have any now) and live the kind of bohemian personal anarchy that would send him screaming after a few days were he to try and attempt it. Yet he calls me one of his heroes; perhaps it's the pure hedonism with which I approach life, perhaps it's my recklessness. I do know that he admires my resiliency and the militant obstinacy with which I disdain the opinions of others. He also deeply admires my mind.
As we sat on his balcony, I leaned back a little too far, tipping over and hitting the back of my head quite hard. The resulting cut bled out for quite a bit. Anyone else would have been terrified/horrified, but Brandon and I are well-used to my exceptional clumsiness, the falls, the cuts, the blood. It happens to me quite a bit. We launched into our old mode, with his getting out a hand cloth and helping me mop up, cracking jokes just as we did so often as roommates.
The next day started very early and lasted over 12 hours, between presentations and an awards banquet that night, which was a tear-jerking sob fest, without a dry eye in the house. Just before the banquet, I went down to the bar in the lobby for a drink and bumped into the reps who'd treated me to that lavish dinner the night before. We laughed and joked and genuinely enjoyed ourselves. But as I got up, the rubber treads in my seldom-worn shoes grabbed the carpet and I took another spill, this time face-first (no blood, though my ankle was twisted pretty bad). They were gracious but I was just mortified :redface: And as I'd only had one drink after having eaten well for breakfast, lunch and plenty of snacks, I couldn't blame anything but my inherently clumsy nature for that one.
That night a local bar hosted a poz-friendly event which we essentially took over; I was home in bed by 1:30, though many people stayed out much later.
The final day featured my first Congressional briefing, with presentations in a building next to the Capitol given before congressional aides and staff. It was fascinating. There were plans to meet with one of our senators (Rubio), but in the end I had a plane to catch with the same board member who'd invited me to that great dinner. We wound up running in appalling humidity and 95 degree heat about a quarter-mile to catch a train (even with my twisted ankle), which me made with fewer than five minutes to spare. I was so soaked with sweat that I had to change my shirt once on board.
<sigh>
The takeaways:
1) The biggest and most profound nugget of info was about the new option for
insuring people with pre-existing conditions. There is a potential for me to get back into a system of regular health care which, for reasons I'd rather not disclose, has been lacking since 2009. This will transform my life if it works out, and I believe it might.
2) I have long suffered some rather profound effects to my well-being, which I've always attributed to the early drug combos I was put on beginning in 1996, 12 years after my infection. The three worst for me are Peripheral Neuropathy (PN), which is a pain and burning in my extremities which limits my mobility; Cardio-Vascular issues (I have serious arterial damage); and a diminution in Cognitive Function, which I find very apparent (as would anyone who'd known me previously) and which is spoken of in the HIV community as "brain fog".
It turns out that these are conditions now associated with delaying treatment, not caused by specific treatments. This is somewhat bittersweet for me: had I begun treatment in the late 80s or early 90s, I'd likely have died from AZT monotherapy, which killed nearly everyone I met who'd survived infection. And I was still subject to some very harsh side-effects due to combinations of early meds once I began treatment anyway. So it's sort of lose/lose for me in that regard.
3) The ADAP Crisis is entirely political in nature due to a "perfect storm" of economic crises, indifference/apathy after years of complacency due to AIDS-minimizers and a complete lack of advocacy leadership within the HIV+ community. I'll start a thread in the next few days regarding the political aspect of this crisis in the Politics forum, where it belongs.