I wrote an entry in the G2 series, A Moment That Changed Me, reflecting on how some tenderly-spoken words (and their implication) in a hospital room sent me on an eight-year sojourn into chaos. I was about to write “into chaos and back” but the back bit is still ongoing.


“You know he’s going home to die?” I was at St Mary’s hospital in Paddington, London, in 2004, collecting my boyfriend, Miguel. The words were spoken gently by his lovely Scottish ex-boyfriend, Gordon, as if he was checking to make sure I understood.

Did I know that Miguel was going home to die? Not really. He had been deteriorating for more than a year from HIV, but until now had remained independent. Surely he would get back to normal? Gordon’s question pierced my denial, but weirdly I still felt hopeful that Miguel would make it.

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