This is a story about a Malaysian woman who had suspected something was wrong for years. She had no idea how right she was.
I contemplated a lot before deciding to share my story, knowing the stigma that comes with it, but I can no longer keep it to myself.
On a Friday afternoon, I paced the hospital corridor for over thirty minutes waiting for the doctor after I received a call to come down and discuss my husband’s health. He had been admitted for over a month by then, and the doctors were still running tests, mentioning something about a lung infection. We are a low-income family, and my husband is the sole breadwinner, so every day he spent in that hospital the bills were piling up faster than we could borrow to cover them, and I was already asking relatives for money just to put food on the table.
Our marriage had never been easy. His temper always got the best of him, and there were times he raised his hand at me, times that always ended with apologies and promises and him working harder for the family. I stayed because I believed people could change.
and because I had chosen him over my family’s warnings
When the doctor finally appeared, he led me into a small room where my husband was already seated. There was another man in the room I had never seen before. We settled into old plastic chairs arranged in a circle and the doctor took a slow breath before speaking. He said they called me in because my husband had asked them to break some news to me. My heart started pounding so loudly I could hear it. I thought it was cancer. I remember thinking, we cannot afford the medical bills, he is too young, what will happen to the children if he dies.
I looked at my husband for answers, but he would not meet my eyes. His back was hunched, his neck tilted forward, his gaze fixed on the floor. The doctor began listing tests and results and medical terms I could not follow and at some point, I could not take it anymore and I demanded he just tell me plainly what it was.
The doctor sighed. His face changed. Then he spoke softly, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry puan. Your husband has HIV.”
My head started spinning. The room went silent around me, or maybe I just stopped being able to hear it. I watched the doctor’s lips continue moving but without a sound. A hand touched my shoulder and I flinched. The doctor looked directly at me and told me that my husband had disclosed to them that he had unprotected sexual relations with multiple women, and that from the timeline they believed he had contracted the virus five or six years ago.
Five or six years ago. My husband was working as a truck driver back then, traveling around the country. I sat with that number and felt something inside me go very cold.
My husband was sobbing beside me, his face buried in his bony hands, his body folded over itself. He had lost so much weight in that hospital that he looked like someone I struggled to recognise. I had carried suspicions over the years, small things I could never prove, things I had brushed off and explained away because I had chosen this man against my family’s wishes and I needed to believe I had chosen correctly.
“You’ve been cheating on me,” I said. “You’ve brought this onto our family. How could you!.”
He asked to go back to his bed. I let him go because I knew we could not have that conversation in front of strangers.
After he left, I asked the doctor how serious it was. He said my husband had a chance at a good quality of life if he followed his treatment plan. The other man in the room, who I had almost forgotten was there, introduced himself as someone from an HIV prevention programme. He said they were aware of our financial situation and that my husband had already reached out to them, and that they would help cover part of the costs.
Then the doctor said there was something else I needed to know.
He said there was a possibility I was positive as well and asked when I had last been intimate with my husband. I told him four months ago. He asked if I would be willing to test then and there. He had a kit available and I nodded.
He took my hand and said I would feel a slight pinch. He dropped the blood sample into the test cassette and placed it on the table behind us. Then he said we would know in five minutes.
Those five minutes felt like a lifetime. Nobody spoke. I stared at the cassette and thought about my children, about my youngest who is eight years old, about everything I had built with this man who could not look me in the eye.
When the results came through the doctor looked at me and said sorry and showed me two lines. I am positive.
I cannot describe what I felt in that moment, I am still in disbelief. I know only that in that moment the ground beneath everything I had built was breaking open.
The children were tested the following week. They were all negative, and I have never been more grateful for anything in my life. I, on the other hand, also tested positive for syphilis.
I have not told anyone. I rely on family and friends for small amounts of money to survive and there are days we do not eat and I do not send the children to school. My husband was discharged and we borrowed money to cover the hospital fees. Since he came home things have gotten worse. He cannot find work. His treatment of me and the children has gotten worse. He refuses to take any responsibility for what has happened.
Four months have passed since that afternoon in the hospital. Two weeks ago, I reached out to a close friend in Australia, the only person I trust with something like this. She spoke to a lawyer on my behalf who said I have a strong case. She also connected me with women’s aid organisations who told me the most direct path to getting help is to leave him.
I am torn and I cannot decide. I have never lived alone. I do not know how to find work. My family will not welcome me back easily after I fought so hard to be with him, and I know people will judge me for saying this, but I still love him, and I feel sorry for him, and I do not know how to walk away from someone in the worst moment of their life even when that person is the reason I am in the worst moment of mine.
I know it is not rational. I know he’s the one to blame but I just cannot seem to stop feeling it.
What I know with more certainty than anything else is that my children deserve a future, and that has to be the thing I hold onto when everything else feels like it is falling apart.
If you or someone you know is in a situation involving domestic abuse or needs support, the Women’s Aid Organisation Malaysia can be reached at 03-7956 3488. If you suspect being exposed to HIV virus, reach out to HIV Connect at 013.338.5795 / 03.4047 4309. For patient support & welfare reach out to Malaysian AIDS Foundation at +603 4047 4222
Submit your story to ym.efillaerni@olleh and you may be featured on In Real Life Malaysia.
Read also: ‘I gave up my family to pursue my dreams’ Shares 34 YO M’sian woman – In Real Life
https://inreallife.my/i-gave-up-my-family-to-pursue-my-dreams-shares-34-yo-msian-woman/
‘I gave up my family to pursue my dreams’ Shares 34 YO M’sian woman
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