Most people believe that I was born in the wrong place at the wrong time, but I disagree. Everyday I wake up I feel lucky; lucky to have such amazing parents and lucky that I, alone, was able to survive.
Without further introduction, my father, Terry Stogdell, was (and is) an extraordinary man. Filled with life and love and his best quality was that he never understood boundaries. At 20 years old, I was born. My mother, 18. And while this seemed young to most I cannot help but be thankful; they were childhood sweethearts and six months after I was born my father tested positive for HIV and blood samples taken earlier date my his infection back to 1979 and thank G-d, I was born in 1985 to parents that had loved each other a while.
[To this day I am HIV negative as as well as my mother.]
A young parent? Yes, but any later would have been an obvious non-happening. I was born on this planet HIV negative in 1985 just as my father learned of a disease that would take his life a decade or so later. Its sounds complex but transmission scenarios can be explained later. Science was barely on all our sides, this time. When people ask me, “So how did you do it” they make it sound like a bad thing growing up with a terminally ill father.
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