They wouldn't freak out or run away or anything, or say anything really hard for me or inappropriate or offensive. They just would never bring it up again - like I had never said it.

I would even sometimes come back and say, "I'm sorry if I overwhelmed you. I know it can be a lot. It's a scary thing and I'm really sorry if it was too much."

"No, no, no, I'm very glad you told me."

That was often the reaction and then it would never come up again. It's just kind of a weird feeling. It didn't feel authentically like there's so much exposure to HIV that you realize, "Yeah, I'll add you to the list." It wasn't that, it was just more, "I don't know what to say. I can't approach this."

My husband -- the man who eventually became my husband -- he stood out to me because he started asking me all these thoughtful questions: "How much of your life do you think is HIV? If you were to make a pie chart of your life, how much is HIV? Do you think that it prevents you from trusting people? Do you think it affects your desire to be in a relationship?" Things like this, and I remembered thinking, "Who is this person?"

What was the worst reaction you got when you were disclosing?

I haven't had any terrible reactions. I was talking to a person recently who's a correctional officer. He was guarding a patient we had in the hospital. He and I were talking, and he started to say something that made my guard go up about, "Oh God, what's he going to say next about people with HIV?" I blurted out, which is not characteristic for me, "I have HIV, just so you know."

It was really my way of saying, "Before you say the next thing you're going to say, I want you to at least know that you're talking to someone who has this." I think there have been a few times like that, where I've end-run a potentially bad situation. I haven't had terrible situations.

For me this feels bad: I'm not saying it's terrible, but it doesn't feel good for me personally when I will tell someone -- which is, by the way, a very personal and difficult thing to say no matter how used to it you are in terms of saying it -- and that person will then very quickly say, "Oh, how'd you get it?"

Wow, that's their first question? Not "How are you?" or "How's your health?" or "How are you doing with it?" or "How long has it been?" but "How'd you get it?"

Very quickly you go from being this person who's just sharing. You've chosen this person to tell this to and what comes back to you is, "You're an object. I get to start finding out all these pieces of you."

Asking somebody, "How'd you get it?" -- especially in a casual way -- to me is hard, because no matter what the answer is, it's personal. Breast milk is personal. Needles are personal. Sex is personal. It's no small thing to tell someone how you got HIV.

It was hard for me for a long time to not assume I was being judged. Oh, you want to know if I do something you don't do. You want to make sure I'm doing something that you don't do. You want to put me in a box. You want to say, "Oh, she's promiscuous. She was a drug addict. I see, OK."

It took me a while to understand and it was actually only through the help of loving friends who would listen to me very patiently who would say to me, "You know, that's not always true. People don't always know anybody with HIV. For them, they're shocked. They're sad. In that moment, they may not be doing their best. All they can think of is, 'How did this happen to you, this person I know and like?' You have to give them some room there to have their reaction."

That was a good lesson for me, that I can't presume what's in people's hearts based on one question. All I do know is that it doesn't feel that great to me. My deal is, when someone asks me, "How'd you get it?" I say, "Why do you want to know?" I want them to claim it. Sometimes, people will say, "I'm just curious." Wow, OK, you're just curious. My answer is really, really intimate. For me, it's this intimate part of my life that wasn't without pain and difficulty.

That was a bit of an imbalance for me. I think it's incredibly important to share these things, because it helps us understand where risk is, and that it's often in places we don't expect it. Many of our stories are exactly that. I also think there is a necessity for a great deal of respect around the issue.

I want to say something about my parents. Concerning my sexual orientation, when I came home from Vietnam and decided I had to come out to my father, I was scared of how he'd respond. I took him to a park, because then if he was going to do anything he'd have to do it in public, you know? Before I even opened my mouth, he said, "Son, God gave you to me, and nothing's gonna take you away from me." I told him, "Your son's gay," and he said, "Your point is?"

So when they learned about my diagnosis, they did not say, "I don't know you." They said, "What do you want us to do, besides keep loving you?" They spoke out whenever they heard prejudice against HIV-positive people or gay people.

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They're my support system. They always want the best for me, so it was really difficult for me to tell them. But when I did, it felt like a big relief. I felt like, in some way, I was letting them down. Here I am trying to tell my mother -- the person who gave me life -- that, because of some of the bad choices and bad mistakes that I made in the past, my life might be taken. In a way, taking life for granted.

They were the only people that I really cared about telling. I didn't mind if anyone else knew, but I really cared that my family knew. But once I did tell them, and they said that they loved me no matter what, and that they were going to support me and give me every opportunity to take care of myself. Once I knew I had their support, then I could move forward.

Do you remember how you started that conversation with your sister and your mother?

I don't remember that conversation too well, but I think I do remember my sisters crying. I'm sure that they were very afraid for me. We didn't know anything about HIV, I guess you could say, other than what is said in the media: that once people get HIV, they get AIDS and they die. I remember them being really sad and really afraid, but the particular conversation I don't remember exactly what was said. I just know that at that time, they were my support system.

How are your relationships with your mother and your sisters now?

They're excellent. It's kind of weird to say, but since I've been diagnosed with HIV, my life has become so much better. It's better than it ever was before. Today, I'm able to live a clean, sober life. I have direction and I have the love and support of my family. They're very accepting and very encouraging. They give me every opportunity they can to do as much volunteering and outreach and education that I can. They're very supportive. My relationship is wonderful with them.

I blamed her. I said, "This is your fault, because I'd rather not know." But actually, it was really good that she suggested it, because I also was to discover that I [tested] HIV positive maybe three or four years after being infected. This gave me the chance to change my habits and to start treatment early enough; I never got sick, like being in bed. I think I have been HIV positive for nine years now. I never got so ill as to be in the hospital.

Many of my friends in Bolivia discovered they were HIV positive only in the hospital, and only when they were about to die. So my relatively early diagnosis was, at the end, an advantage. But at that moment, I couldn't rationalize; I didn't yet have an understanding of that.

I was very angry, because the information we had been given was that people who had HIV could die in three months. That's really what I thought was going to happen to me. I was so depressed. Even though my older sisters tried to help me and explain it, for three months I was isolated and really ... I didn't know what was going to happen until I decided to talk to my family. I decided that their response was going to determine what I was going to do. If my family ever rejected me, I was going to kill myself. After they responded with a lot of love, I decided to live.

I told them after three months. My father is a pastor in an evangelical church in Bolivia. He's very well known. I knew this was not what the pastor expects to happen to his daughters. We are three sisters. I am sure no father expects this to happen with his children. So I knew this was going to be a very difficult situation for them to understand, but I had to tell them, because I thought I was going to die. I wanted to explain.

Then my parents told me that they didn't care about what happened in the past, and how I got HIV -- they didn't ask me any questions. My parents told me, "You are our daughter, and we love you and we will love you, three months, six years, ten days ... however long you will live, we will be with you." That really changed my mind. Since that moment I decided that it was worth living, even with HIV.

Did you expect them to say anything different?

I thought they were going to be a little disappointed. I thought they were going to exclude me from the house, because, being in the context of an evangelical community, this could be really shameful for a pastor. I thought they were going to at least ask me difficult questions: How did you get HIV? What did you ever do to get HIV? They were so wise; they didn't ask me these questions. At the end, I told them the story, but in that moment, they just showed me love. I was really expecting that they would reject me, or at least confront me with my mistakes. I felt that I may bring shame to the leadership of my father, because he was the pastor. He is currently still the pastor. That was a really difficult time for me, but they were full of love, and that really changed the response. There was no judgment from them, actually.

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There is a greater level of honesty and openness. When I was forced to have a dialogue about my HIV status, everything else became, like, nothing. Sexuality, whatever, you know. I have really seen that I do have people in my life who love me unconditionally, and I think that has been the thing that has kept me alive.

When did you disclose to them that you are positive?

I told my mom and six friends right away -- in high school, there were six of us, three guys and three girls who hung together like glue. I told my mom first, and then invited all of them over and passed around the letter I got from Lifesource [saying I was HIV positive]. But the thing was, I was like, "I'm giving you this information about me, but I don't want to talk about it and I don't want it to be brought up again." I didn't talk about it again for years.

How did they respond to you?

My mom really took it hard, really hard. I never felt anything negative, just a lot of concern, and I felt that in some way she felt she was responsible somehow. My friends were all very supportive -- and very scared. One said, "You know, I really thought we would grow old together. I can't believe this is happening to you!" They were supportive, but very afraid, and rightfully so.

I didn't talk with my girlfriend at that time. What I did was just break it off with no excuse or reason. And just recently, she was able to get closure on that -- because we're still close. She has two children now; I see her all the time. Recently I was able to disclose to her and talk about why I had to break it off at the time.

How do you want people to treat you?

I think they treat me exactly the way I want to be treated: I don't want any special attention, but I do want support -- support going through this graduate program, working the hours that I work. I just need support, period, and I get that.

How do you decide whether to disclose your HIV status to someone?

Lately, I don't have a choice. Usually when I meet people, they already know because I'm a pretty public figure and I talk about it wherever I am. But there are moments when it is an issue, when I don't want to talk about it and I don't want to disclose it. It's when I'm meeting someone new, especially if we are meeting to date. It's kind of like "OK, here we go ..." I usually start by asking them if they know their HIV status, and then we go from there.

Now, if someone tells me that they don't know their status, I'm very unlikely to be intimate with him, because in this day and age if you don't know your status, you're not the person for me: You're not cognizant of the fact that you are a man who has sex with men, and we're the highest-risk population, so if you don't understand that, then our worlds are not going to gel at all: You don't understand re-infection, resistant virus, any of that. So we will be friends, and I will educate you and help you get tested. But as far as intimacy, we're not even going there.

What is the best response you have ever gotten when telling someone?

There was a girl in a class at the Chicago Vocational Career Academy when I was doing a presentation, and she was just overjoyed at the fact that I had the courage to stand in front of this class and say that. And there was so much love and so much appreciation in her words, and she wished me so much strength and well-being that I was almost overtaken. I hardly ever break down in presentations, but I almost did because of her reaction.

What is the worst response?

The worst was from someone who said that I deserved what I got for engaging in intimate relations with other men. I was giving a presentation, so I couldn't give him the Keith Green that the 'hood might know. But there was this all-eyes-on-him kinda thing, and there were a couple of folks in that room who got him together for me. I didn't even have to do it.

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When it comes to being intimate with someone and intimate issues, that tends to be a little sticky. Sometimes there are people that you meet that you may have feelings for or emotions. They may not be HIV positive, but they're not asking the right questions, so I like to be honest with myself. I like to let people know what they're getting into.

I've seen HIV-positive people while I was doing outreach blatantly be with somebody and have unprotected sex with them. That really bothers me, and I don't want to fall into that category. I know it's easy to do when you're still in denial. I'm far beyond that. I believe in telling the truth. Honesty means a lot to me. Even if I may lose somebody I may want to have feelings for, if they can't deal with my status maybe it wasn't worth it at all. They couldn't deal with HIV and that shows me something about them. I would say, "Their loss and my gain."

How did you disclose to your most recent partner?

Well, I've known him for a long time, back and forth, back and forth. Matter of fact, he had heard from somebody and he called me and asked me. I said this is what is going on. He said, "I still I care about you and love you, and I'm here to support you."

I asked him, "Have you been tested?"

He said, "I haven't been tested."

That's his bridge to cross, but I always encourage him to make sure that he knows what's going on, and to get tested.

So he knew before you got together, and it wasn't a problem for him?

No, it wasn't a problem. It wasn't a problem.

That's great. What would you say are the best and worst responses you've ever gotten from telling someone?

The worst response was that somebody just dropped the phone and picked it up and hung up on me. [Laughs.] Or I'm talking to someone, and all of sudden they say, "Oh!" and they start backing up and backing up and then they say, "Oh, I'll be right back," and then they are gone. When they came back they had washed their hands. I just started laughing. I was like, "You can't catch it from shaking hands. You can't catch it from being in my presence."

They were like, "Oh, no, no, no!" and I could see them turning red. I was like, "Wow!"

The best response was from my mother. She said, "No matter what, you'll always be my son and I'll love you." Her being a nurse, she said, "I kind of figured that was what it was. I prayed that that wasn't what it was, but no matter what, I'll always love you; no matter what."

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When I was diagnosed, I didn't hold back. Within 10 minutes of me knowing, I told my mom, and my family.

What did they say initially? Were they cool about it?

They were cool in front of me, but I'm sure it hit them like a ton of bricks. They tried not to show fear in front of me, because they didn't want me to worry. They were kind of walking a tight line. But when I would get sick -- and I did get sick back then -- my mom would come out to see me, almost on a daily basis. I was so sick; I would go weeks without eating food. She was always there.

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That was just my rule of thumb. I chose to bring it up in conversation some kind of way along the way. I kind of let them decide to do whatever they felt like they needed to do. I got turned down sometimes. A lot of times I got rejected. But at no time, thankfully, did I experience any violence.

What were the best and worst responses you have ever gotten when you disclosed?

The best response when I told someone I was HIV positive came from my daughter, who looked up at me with those little brown eyes she has and said, "Well Daddy, no matter what happens to you, I will always love you." After that, it's like, you know, who cares? Everybody else can take a number, because I'm all right now.

The worst response, probably, was from someone I thought was my friend. This was kind of early on when I was still in the Navy, and I ran across someone -- we were close while I was on the ship -- and I told him what was going on with me.

He kind of looked at me. He was younger than me. We never had a physical relationship, but we were close friends because we worked in close quarters, and we talked a lot. He looked at me and said, "How could you do that to yourself?" He proceeded to just berate me: "You should have known better. There is no reason why you should have it."

He was absolutely right. But of course, it doesn't help. It hurts more than it helps. Of course, in hindsight he was completely right. But he got so upset he just walked off, and I never heard from him again. I would hear about him through other friends, and I would send my regards on, but I never saw him after that.

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It's important to build a support system around you before you get sick. If you got sick right now, you should know you could call one person, and they know everybody to call.

Don't assume family and friends will not love you. Most of the time, you will be quite surprised -- they come around and are there for you. If they're not, it's better to find out while you're healthy than when you're ill. I tell people, "Take the power out of a secret: Tell it."

How do you decide whether to disclose your HIV status to someone?

I think you have to look at each person you tell on an individual basis: How important is that person in your life; how close are they to you? I'm a public person, so I've told it in magazines, newspapers, on TV. But that's not for everybody. Even when I speak to people now, I still sometimes get a little nervous. It's still like having to come out again when I'm standing in front of people saying I'm HIV positive. You have to begin to find those one or two whom you can tell, so it takes some of the anxiety out of it. If it's a really close person, you need to tell it, get it out of the way, and have faith that they can handle it.

What is the best response you have ever gotten from telling someone?

The best responses were times when I was ill. People showed up that I didn't expect to, just to be with me. I've been blessed with that. I've had people drive hundreds of miles to see me. I've been home and a friend came to me and said, "I want a set of keys to your house." And I said, "For what?" He said, "So that I can get in." And he just took over, and I sat back and laughed.

Also, I've had people come to say thank you because they've heard me speak, or watched me go through it.

What is the worst response?

The worst responses were in early days when people got judgmental. I knew they were just venting, and I was able to stand there and let them get it out of their system, which most people have a hard time doing.

I was speaking at one event, and a guy stood up and pointed his finger at me like he had a gun, squeezing the trigger, and waved at me to come outside. After I had finished speaking and greeting people, I went outside and stood across the street. My attitude was, I would die standing, but I wouldn't run and hide.

You still have people with negative responses. I've been blessed not to have it much because I'm very clear: If you want to judge me, then let's open up the doors, let's see what you're doing. I believe in the Scriptures, which say, "Love God with all your heart, soul and mind. And love your neighbor as you love yourself." It didn't say love your neighbor if they're HIV negative, or love your neighbor if they're straight. It just says, "Love your neighbor."

Also, a doctor told me in 1990, the first time I was hospitalized, "You will never walk again. You won't see Christmas."

I said, "Who told you that?"

He said, "That's my professional opinion."

"Then I'm safe," I said, "because you can be wrong."

He said, "I've seen this a hundred times before."

I said, "I'm a hundred and one. I'm the one you haven't seen, and I'm telling you, I will walk."

It wasn't easy. I struggled; I forced myself to get up. I had people hold me up, and let me wiggle, but be there to catch me if I fell.

Where do you think you get that strength?

Two places. One, my mother and grandmother were two very determined black women. Two, I started training in martial arts when I was 14 in a very traditional way with a Korean instructor. The mind-set was: You do not let anything defeat you. I studied meditation and yoga, which gave me inner strength to visualize and accomplish my goal. I would visualize myself standing and walking, just like when I was in a martial arts competition I saw myself going through and winning. Every time I stood up or took a step, I would go, "I win."

Building that kind of attitude gets you through. And having strong faith is of major importance for me.

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I will continue to save lives.

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Like, this is what's going on with me. And I have disclosed in all kinds of different ways. Sometimes I have disclosed by sending out a fundraising e-mail for the AIDS Walk that talks about my personal story. I'll send it to people who I haven't really officially disclosed to before, and that's how I have disclosed to them.

Sometimes I have disclosed to people by saying, "Let's go for a walk. I want to talk to you about something." But most of the time, now, it feels like a less serious and intense thing.

What's important to me, in figuring out who I'm going to tell, is whether they need to know. Like, in what ways do they need to know? Obviously, anybody who I'm interested in having a relationship with, an intimate relationship that would go on for a significant period of time, would definitely need to know.

Other than that, people in my life usually need to know, because it's going to come up at some point or another, because it's relevant to the work I do. It's relevant to who I am. It's relevant to how I live. I do public speaking. I do advocacy. So I disclose to people sometimes by just inviting them to my events.