[UPDATE] I'm (27F) scared my friend (50M) is becoming isolated during a long hospital stay, but the stigma surrounding his illness (AIDS) limits what I can do

In the original post, I described the predicament of my dear friend, a >30-year HIV survivor who suffered massive inexplicable treatment failure and was alone all day in the hospital because he'd kept his condition a secret. I also described my quixotic effort to become his one-woman T cell cheerleading squad.

I'm sorry to report that my friend has died. After all that could be done was done, he went home and passed away surrounded by his loved ones.

His suffering is over. That's supposed to be the important thing. In the original post, I avoided talking about the suffering. How his intestines had filled with abscesses and bacterial films and Kaposi sarcoma and God knows what else to the point where he vomited fecal matter. How he weighed ~80 pounds and had a bedsore that showed bone. How the virus had invaded his brain in a way that might have condemned him to Alzheimer's-like deterioration had he lived, even with the newest and best drugs. He'd stolen three decades from HIV and that bastard was out for revenge. Call me a sweet summer millennial child if you like, but it was the worst thing I've ever seen.

Nonetheless, I'd be lying if I said I was taking his death well. I'm writing this from inside the Pillow Fort of Grief I built in my living room. Redditors have no way of knowing, but he was a wonderful, special person. I opened my heart to him for a reason. The world is a worse place without him.

I'm grateful for the advice of some of those who commented on the original post. I did ease up on the presents. When I visited the hospital, I focused on just spending time with him. We watched a lot of HGTV, and I would try to make him laugh by making fun of the questionable taste and skewed priorities of the couples on House Hunters. I held his hand, brushed his hair, stuff like that. The last time I saw him, I told him I loved him and kissed him on the forehead. He could speak faintly at that point. He said, "you're so good to me." You probably have no idea what that meant; I've always thought of myself as a robot and a moral failure, and he knew it. He was the gift-giver in the end.

On social his husband is maintaining that he died of freak complications from routine surgery. I wish I could tell him he didn't have to do this, but this very week an authority figure in town went viral for a deranged homophobic rant in which he said, among other terrible things, that AIDS was God's punishment. I feel like I'm trapped in an '80s time warp, but with all the fun parts with the synth music and crazy fashion removed.

I don't know what happens now. Clinical depression? Volunteer work? Befriending the husband? There's a big old void right in the middle of my life. It's the price you pay for caring, sometimes.

TL;DR rest in peace my beautiful friend

Submitted June 19, 2019 at 11:06PM by hospital_throwawei http://bit.ly/2x28bCU