05/30/2026
ON MY 30TH BIRTHDAY, I GOT THE CALL
I found out I was HIV positive on my 30th birthday.
It was one of the worst days of my life.
Not just because of the diagnosis.
Because of everything around it.
Like a lot of gay men my age, I grew up being taught life basically ended at 30.
That once you crossed that line, you were old.
Irrelevant.
Done.
I dreaded turning 30 for years.
In fact, in high school I wrote an essay about it.
It earned me a visit to my guidance counselor.
Itâs funny now because my 30s ended up being some of the best years of my life.
But back then?
Turning 30 felt like stepping waist deep into my own grave.
And then life decided to pile on.
My ex surprised me by flying my mom and sister into LA to celebrate with me for the week.
A thoughtful gift.
But if you know me, you know that was pretty much my nightmare.
Iâve never had an easy relationship with either of them, so being trapped in birthday-week family time was already a lot.
Finding out I was positive the same day made it unbearable.
I remember getting in my Mustang and driving to the beach alone.
I wrote my name in the sand and sat there watching the waves slowly wash it away.
Very dramatic.
I know.
But I loved drama back then.
Funny how a little over ten years later all I really care about now is peace.
I can tell you exactly when I got HIV.
I remember it vividly.
I was DJing in San Diego and hooked up with a couple in Mission Hills.
Years later I ran into one of them at Zoo and he laughed and told me he did it on purpose because he didnât like me.
Back then I wasnât careful.
I also didnât care enough about my health.
And before PrEP, for a lot of us who were barebacking, HIV felt less like âifâ and more like âeventually.â
About a month later I was in Northampton, Massachusetts for a gig and got unbelievably sick.
Like violently sick.
The promoter I was staying with suggested I go get a massage downtown because he thought maybe it would help.
It didnât.
It made it worse.
I remember DJing with a bucket next to me behind the booth so I could duck down and throw up when I needed to.
Still played the set.
Because I donât really believe in calling out sick unless Iâm basically hospitalized.
Which has only happened twice.
I was raised with the whole pull yourself together, show up, cope or be broke mentality.
So I played.
Then flew home the next morning.
And because I was cheap back then, I booked Southwest.
Which I hated.
Still do.
Flying Southwest used to feel like a full-blown anxiety attack.
Maybe not now with assigned seating.
But back then?
Dreadful.
No assigned seat.
Boarding chaos.
Human hunger games in the sky.
I was late boarding because I felt like death, so naturally the only seat left was a middle seat in row 22 between a couple.
(Yes, I remember the row.
If you lived this nightmare, you would too.)
Who spent the entire flight passing snacks over me back and forth while repeatedly telling me I looked pale and asking if I was dying.
At one point they joked that if I was going to die, I shouldâve done it before takeoff because they didnât want to sit next to a co**se all the way to LA.
Longest flight of my life.
Well⌠second longest.
There was also that migraine that lasted from Dubai to Paris and then Paris to San Diego.
I got home.
Saw my doctor the next day.
He was great.
He called me personally with the results because they had just come in.
On my birthday.
He apologized.
Then I sat with it quietly.
And then my ex told me we had to leave to go pick someone up from the airport.
Which is how I found out about the birthday surprise.
So I spent one of the hardest days of my life pretending I was okay around two of the most emotionally complicated people in my world while carrying something enormous alone.
I didnât tell anyone until after they left.
That birthday is a huge part of why I stopped caring about celebrating birthdays after that.
But hereâs the part I didnât know then:
Life didnât end.
It kept going.
And it was still beautiful.
Being positive has rarely been an issue in my life.
I know thatâs not everyoneâs story, and I donât take that for granted.
Iâve had two bad experiences around disclosure. One in DC and one in Houston.
Both hurt.
Both bruised my ego.
But Iâve always felt this way:
If itâs an issue for you, okay.
I respect that.
Just donât treat me like a science project while deciding.
Weâre both adults.
Just say it with your chest.
After I found out, I got even stricter about my health.
I already ate lean back then.
No sugar.
No cheats.
I remember my family having birthday cake for me that week and I skipped it completely and had extra broccoli instead.
Which back then feels very on-brand for me honestly.
These days HIV is not what it once was.
Treatment works.
Undetectable means untransmittable.
And PrEP is easier to get than ever.
Which is why Iâm saying this:
If youâre negative and not on PrEP, thereâs really no reason to keep putting it off.
If you donât know how to get itâŚ
If you canât afford itâŚ
If insurance is confusingâŚ
Message me.
I mean that.
I will help you figure it out.
No judgment.
Your health is your responsibility.
Not your boyfriendâs.
Not the guy you hooked up with.
Not your best friendâs.
Yours.
So if youâve been thinking about getting on PrEPâŚ
Maybe todayâs the day we change that.
And remember:
Never trust anyone but your doctor when it comes to your health.
Guys lie.
Guys donât care.
And a lot of guys genuinely donât even know their own status.
And for those of you who avoid undetectable guys, Iâm gonna be real with you:
Youâre statistically safer with someone who knows their status, is on treatment, and is undetectableâŚ
than with someone who hasnât been tested recently, doesnât know, or simply doesnât care.
Thatâs just the truth.
â¤ď¸
Drew Does Dallas
U=U matters.
PrEP access matters.
Ending stigma matters.
POZ Magazine Mistr Elton John AIDS Foundation HIV.gov Ending HIV Act Against AIDS Broadway Cares/Equity Fights AIDS
