sorry, not dead yet!

Sorry, Not Dead Yet! A Tapestry of Inspiration and Survival against the Odds

© 2010 by Sven Paardekooper Cover Artwork © 2010 by Dan Santiago © 2010 Photo of Sven courtesy of Kirk Kelso

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine, or journal. All characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Limited Edition Hardcover

Creative House International Press, Inc. CreativeHousePress.com

Sorry, Not Dead Yet!

Sven Paardekooper

- 2 -

To David, your gift is what started my journey.

I guess now it is finally understood.

This book is dedicated to George Sonsel. George, you allow me the one thing I

need the most: to just be me. I love you.


Sven Paardekooper

- 3 -

The Beginning There are no words to describe how you feel that very

first second after. It is a moment so surreal, so overwhelmed with sadness, fear, shame, anger and terror all at the same time.

I can hear the counselor talking to me, but he isn’t making any sense. Something about condoms, he wants me to do what?

This isn’t real. This can’t be happening to me. I can see the words. They are right there on paper.

But they can’t mean that. How can it say: TEST RESULTS: POSITIVE?

I am negative, NEGATIVE. This can’t say Positive. It’s okay, I can handle this. My god, I am going to die. I just need to go home. I’ll be fine. Shit, how did this happen? What am I going to do? I

have to get home. If I get home, I’ll wake up. This isn’t real. I can do this, just take deep breaths. HOW THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN?


Sven Paardekooper

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Stay calm, focus. Where did I park? Why can’t I find my car???

GET A GRIP ON YOURSELF. Remember what Jill taught you: repeat things you

know. Okay, my name is Sven. I live on… Breathe in, breathe out. Good boy. Oh my god, this isn’t a dream. Why isn’t this a dream? I am going to get tested again. And when that one

comes back negative, I am going to sue the clinic. Jesus, this isn’t something to make a mistake with! They should know that. I am going to kick somebody’s ass over there. You don’t mess up an HIV test. That’s all there is to it. It is a mistake. It has to be.

Lord, please don’t let me waste away like Rock

Hudson. I don’t want to die. How can you be such an idiot! You know better. It’s your own fault. Idiot. Go home, get high. I’ll be the first person to beat the virus. Yeah! Don’t let me die, please. How am I going to tell my friends? I am so stupid. I can’t believe I fucked up like this. Now what? I don’t know what to do!!!! Somebody tell me this is a

joke, please?


Sven Paardekooper

- 5 -

I can’t be Positive. I wasn’t meant to be Positive. God

wanted me to be Negative. I wonder if I can convert back. Shit, did you really think you were THAT special Sven?

God you’re an idiot. You deserve this just for being so stupid.

I’ll show them how to live proudly with HIV. I am so scared. Dad was right, I am a loser. And I just had to prove his

point. I can’t afford to lose any weight! I couldn’t just get the clap or something…nope. I had

to go out and get infected with freaking HIV. I should just keep driving, right down the canyon. I am never going to leave my apartment again. Dirty, I feel so dirty. All I want to do is take a shower.

Wash all of this off. I can’t breathe. Scared. I don’t want to think anymore. Stop thinking. Stop

feeling. Get out of my head.


Sven Paardekooper

- 6 -

This isn’t happening to me. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

I can’t do this. I just can’t. What am I going to say? What are they going to

think? Shit, who fucking gave this to me? Who?? Oh my god. Who else? I swear I am going to lose it. I am going to go out of

my mind. What have I done? God please I beg of you. I am so scared, please God if you truly exist, please

help me. Help me…….. I don’t really remember how I got home after I left the

clinic that morning. Somewhere between being told I was HIV + and finding myself sitting on the kitchen floor sobbing, my mind managed to black out a good 3 hours of my life. Judging from what I do remember of that day, I cry as to how all encompassing my fear must have been during those hours.


Sven Paardekooper

- 7 -

And then I started to think back, trying to look for clues in my mind as to when this could have possibly happened. That is when I remembered that one weekend months earlier….

I woke up drenched in sweat. Nauseous and sick to my stomach, I had trouble deciding if I should throw up first or take care of my onslaught of diarrhea. Something wasn’t right. A few hours went by, most of which were spent in the bathroom. Sitting down on the cold linoleum, I found new respect for my porcelain god. My fever was up to 104; I was shaking from cold but burning up on the inside. My mind was racing a mile a second. Was it food poisoning? Perhaps I got blood poisoning? It just has to be a bug that is going around, it has to be.

Eventually, I picked up the phone and called my friend Michael. It is the only time I ever asked anyone to come over because I was sick. I didn’t want to be alone in case this would possibly get worse.

I was sick for 3 days. My fever finally broke the next day, having spiked at 104.3 the previous night. Between the diarrhea and vomiting, I lost close to 4 lbs. Writing the whole thing off on a fluke and just “one of those bugs”, I returned to work and thought nothing of it. As a matter of fact, I completely forgot about it until that afternoon on July 5th 2001, sitting on my kitchen floor.

Then I got up and walked over to the calendar hanging on the fridge door, looking for that particular weekend. I circled it with a black marker. It was to be the weekend that destroyed my feeling of being invincible; it stopped my life dead in its tracks and changed the path I was walking. It changed not just my hopes and dreams butalso my entire life, forever.

Remember the movie “Invasion of the Body

Snatchers”? I feel like that. That time when I woke up in


Sven Paardekooper

- 8 -

sweat, that’s when it took over my body and turned it against me. That wasn’t a fever; it was the virus burning down the fortress of my defense, infiltrating my immune system. My body maybe only lasted 7 hours before handing over the keys. Seven hours is all it took to erase my hopes, my dreams, my beliefs and my innocence. To this day, I still shower twice a day, hoping that with each shower another layer of shame and guilt will disappear. Maybe by some miracle, it will all just wash away.

Every morning I wake up realizing that I made a decision that completely altered the course of my life. You see, unlike the long term survivors of HIV/AIDS, who contracted the disease without knowing anything or very little about it, I was fully aware of the risks I was taking. Unlike a cancer that just shows up in your body, I became HIV+ because of something I did that I knew was wrong. Yes, it may have very well become a manageable disease, there are still no survivors. Yes, life goes on and so must I, but like a drunk driver who gets behind the wheel and causes an accident, I continue having to face and deal with the guilt surrounding a really bad judgment call.

I remember the first time I cut myself after I found out I was HIV+; I just stood there looking at my finger bleeding. And all I could think was that my blood had actually become poison, it had become a deadly weapon. I am a college educated male, I read the paper, I watch the news. I am not stupid by any means; yet when it came down to having unprotected sex and drugs, all that went right out the window. Somehow I never really worried about becoming HIV+. Partly because I still had that feeling of being invincible (after all, this always happens to “those people” not me,) partly because of the media.

We all recall the panic that set in after the world learned about HIV and AIDS. The horror stories, people


Sven Paardekooper

- 9 -

selling their life insurance and living it up before they would die; Rock Hudson; the “new plaque”. Over the last 10 somewhat years we have made such progress in treating HIV, along with the media’s part in tempering the panic, that we have become so much more complacent about this. HIV+ is no longer a death sentence; it is now a life long illness. No longer cause for immediate funeral planning, it is now manageable. All it really means is a regimen of pills. Right? Why really be concerned about it?

We have done such a great job in downplaying the effects of HIV that in the process we have made ourselves more ignorant. There are “bug chasers”, “gift givers” “conversion parties”. Call me stupid, but when is the last time you heard anybody volunteer to get syphilis? Or Hepatitis? I must have missed the invitation to my “Brothers of the Clap” community. Instead of making us more conscious and aware, we have created a group of people who think that HIV is actually kind of “cool.” I really hate to be the one to break it to them: but it’s not like signing up for an AAA membership! It doesn’t come with any frequent flyer miles nor do you get a free coffee mug. It is a lifetime membership without a cancellation policy. No cancellations allowed, ever.

Each day I walk this thin line dealing with people who pity me, mock me or even, in all actuality: envy me. And somewhere in the midst of all this, I am trying to find my new place in life. In the first 12 months following my diagnosis my entire life, as I knew it to be, would come to an end. First I lost my job, then my father passed away from cancer and I stood by as most, if not all, of my friends parted ways with me. Seemingly unable to stop this avalanche of destruction, my drug use soon became completely out of control. Yet no matter how high I got, I never truly escaped the feeling that all that was


Sven Paardekooper

- 10 -

comfortable and safe to me was gone and I was about to start a whole new adventure.

I went from being the golden boy to the loser nobody wanted to know. Once called a lucky son-of-a-bitch, tenacious, persistent, an achiever, I was now being told to “cut the drama,” to grow up, stop whining.

I was told that people just did not care about me any longer.

There were nights when my demons were so strong I almost went mad and all I could do was to pray for daylight to come. There were days where I asked myself: if my friends didn’t care about me, why should I?

I have been destitute; I have eaten dog food and I have been robbed. I have been raped, threatened with my life and tried to take my own life.

But each and every time that I thought I just could not hold on one more second, each time that I came close to giving in; something inside of me knew that life would be okay again if I just gave it one more day.

One day it will all be okay again. And while I will always regret having turned HIV+, I no

longer regret being HIV+. I am as much HIV+ as I am Dutch, gay or a recovering addict. They will never be the mere definition of me, just parts of me. How I allow all of those aspects to shape the course of my life is completely up to me.

There are still times when all of this makes me feel lost, scared or overwhelmed but all I have to do is to remember the things I know:

My name is Sven.


Sven Paardekooper

- 11 -

A Bastion Falls I remember being about 4 or 5 years old. I had just

gotten my very first “real” bike. The one without side wheels. Running outside, eager to drive down the street and show off to my friends, I fell flat on my face as soon as I started peddling.

My dad was right there, working on the car. I remember he picked me up, put me back on and promised he would hold the back of the bike so I wouldn’t fall again. I peddled, confident that my dad was holding my bike. When I turned around, he was standing right there smiling. I had been peddling all by myself while he watched.

It is the very first real memory I have of my dad. I also remember how little he was home throughout the years. Always on the road, there were times 6 weeks would go by before I saw him. I remember going with him on his trips all over Europe. Riding in the big 14 wheeler, I got to see sides of Europe that aren’t in vacation brochures. Trading rice and chocolate for gasoline in Poland, driving through the Alps in a snow blizzard and a truck loaded with fruit syrup, squatting over a hole in the ground in Italy, praying to God I wouldn’t fall into it.

When I turned 16 years old, that same man who taught me how to ride my bike told me that I was a mistake. I never should have been born. I ruined his marriage. I spoiled his fun. And he would gladly pay for me to go to the US for 1 year if it meant I got out of his hair. He called me a smartass, an embarrassment.


Sven Paardekooper

- 12 -

When I saw him last month, none of that mattered anymore. The man whom I had talked to maybe twice in the last 10 years, the one who for so long controlled my life (even when he wasn’t in it) was gone. Instead I saw this helpless human being that was being destroyed by cancer. He could barely walk anymore and couldn’t have weighed more than 75/80 lbs. A far cry from the 6’2, 230 lbs rugged truck driver he had always been.

His voice was shaking and he was no longer coherent all the time. But when I walked into his hospital room, his eyes lit up. We had lunch together. He had taken care of everything, down to custard pudding for dessert for me (it’s a Dutch thing…trust me), we talked. We talked about the past, about pride, about mom and sis. And all the anger I had felt inside was no longer there. All the harsh words I wanted to say wouldn’t come out. I had been angry for so long and blamed him for so many things that were wrong in my life, but somehow all of that vanished.

All that came out was “Thank you”. Good or bad, right or wrong, you made me who I am today dad, and for that I owe you a thank you, because I like who I am. We both cried and laughed. Because you know, real men don’t cry. We talked for almost 4 hours.

More than we had talked in the 14 years before that combined. He made me promise that I would call him if I needed help. I did, but not before I told him that I was more like him than he thought. I have my pride I said and he just smiled and said “Oh, I know.”

Parents are supposed to live forever. Isn’t that why we all still call for our mother when we have a nightmare? Maybe it is because in some small way they still represent a time in our life when all was well and we had nothing to worry about. The last remaining bastions from our age of innocence.


Sven Paardekooper

- 13 -

My dad died this morning. He was 56 years old. The last thing he told me was that he loved me.

As I got off the phone, I started to cry. For the very selfish reason that I wanted to have spent more time with him. More time to get to know the man who made up half of me. Time to tell him about my dreams, and how he influenced my life without even being in it. Time to tell him how often I had thought about him these last 10 years and how much alike we really were. I wanted to have time to be father and son.

Instead I got something better: my last conversation with my dad was not one of fighting and accusing but one of love.

So while he may be gone, I know he is still here. Standing back there, he is watching me as I am peddling my very first bike down the street. There is no way I can fall down.

My name is Sven.


Sven Paardekooper

- 14 -

Merry Christmas

Isn’t it funny how things change so fast in life? A year ago this Christmas, I followed a group of 5

strangers across the streets in Glendale in search of a homeless shelter.

Instead of staying at home feeling sad for myself, a friend of mine asked me to come help serve dinner for the homeless. Not having a good enough excuse not to go, I said yes.

We got lost on our way to the shelter and as we started walking around I got to know a group of wonderful people. Amongst which was a woman whom I am proud to call my friend and who has shown me several times what true courage is about. Commenting on the cold and the spirit of the night, I suggested we started Christmas caroling. 6 Californians underdressed for the occasion, roaming the streets of Glendale singing Christmas carols. What a sight we must have been.

That night we served dinner for 500 homeless people. 500 plates of string beans, Mac & cheese, a biscuit and a cup of peaches. (Guess who was in charge of the fruit?)

We met 500 people who did not have a roof over their heads. Single mothers with their children, old people, drunks, we met people like you and I. We also met a realtor who made well over $250,000 the year before but lost everything including his home. We met a lady who worked at a bank but was laid off and unable to find another job. We met people. People like you and I.

As we walked out of the shelter feeling good about

ourselves for having served dinner, ready to go back to


Sven Paardekooper

- 15 -

our homes to turn on the heat and curl up on the couch, those 500 people gave us a minute long standing ovation. 6 people were applauded by 500 others for letting them not be hungry for 1 night. A 1 minute salute to a plate of string beans (watery), Mac & cheese (undercooked), some peaches (canned) and a biscuit (no Pillsbury). Seems a big Thank You for something that small.

Today, I have 1 can of diet Ice tea, 3 cans of tuna and a stack of Kraft singles in my refrigerator. Last Sunday, I woke up hungry for the first time in my life. And I thought about those 500 people I had met last year. And how almost impossible it was for me to imagine what it must take to get to “that” place. About how sad I felt for them. About how so very close I have gotten to just “that” place. But also about how they didn’t feel sorry for themselves.

They weren’t in the mood to accept pity nor were too many of them dwelling on the Woo’s of homelessness

My friend Jill stopped by 3 days ago with two bags of groceries. On Friday I tried applying for food stamps and for the Necessities of Life program at APLA. Michael’s family has invited me to come stay with them for a few days. My friend Lydia invited me to have Christmas dinner at her place.

Yesterday, a complete stranger on AOL, a person I have never met and was nothing more than a string of emails on a hard-drive, sent me a Ralph’s gift card to go buy some groceries with. Andy wished me a Merry Christmas in the most meaningful and heartfelt way “Merry Christmas” was intended to be wished upon.

I usually spent the month of December channeling scrooge and Bah Humbug my way to New Years. This year instead, I will give a 1 minute standing ovation.

Merry Christmas. My name is Sven

sorry, not dead yet!

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