Baby Alicia Is Dying (3 page)

“Their mothers are intravenous drug users,” Gayle explained, coming over, balancing a hefty and satisfied baby Dwayne on her hip. “They shared needles, and the virus passed to the fetuses before they were born. Dwayne here is almost a year old. He was born HIV-positive
and
addicted to cocaine.” The baby flashed a toothless grin that lit up his dark face.

“But they
look
healthy,” Desi declared.

“They are healthy right now. But we’re finding that many HIV-positive infants develop full-blown AIDS before they’re a year old.” Dwayne started squealing, so Gayle set him down in the playpen and handed him a toy. “Researchers are also discovering
that once the baby develops an immune system of its own, the baby
sometimes
stops testing positive.”

“Will Alicia get AIDS?” Desi asked. Already she felt a soft spot growing inside her heart for the little girl. The baby was so cute, and she kept watching Desi with avid interest.

“The jury’s still out,” Gayle replied. “We just have to wait and see.”

“But AIDS is fatal,” Desi said, remembering that AIDS destroys a person’s immune system, making it impossible to fight off infections.

“True, but new therapies are helping victims live longer. However, even without developing AIDS, these babies are very susceptible to bacteria and viruses.” Gayle dabbed Alicia’s chin with a clean tissue. The baby held more tightly to Desi. “With these babies it’s usually pneumonia or infections of the esophagus, which means they can’t eat or drink. Then they get dehydrated. Anthony over there’s been back to the hospital twice already, and he’s just ten months old.”

At the sound of his name Anthony slapped his hand on the tray of his high chair. “But you said that some of them do get better—they never get AIDS.”

“These days, we know more about the disease, and our treatments are better. Infants born with low T cell counts and symptoms of HIV can benefit from drugs like AZT. Some babies are even transfused, given immunogammaglobulin—IMg therapy—to build up their resistance.”

Desi’s head was swimming with all the information and the unfamiliar medical terms when a woman entered the kitchen and announced, “Gayle, you’ve got people waiting out in the playroom. What should I tell them?”

“The meeting!” Gayle slapped herself on the forehead. “Thanks, Sadie.” She motioned to Clare and Desi. “Come on out and meet the volunteers who are going to help us with the babies here at ChildCare.”

“Volunteers?” Desi felt interested.

“That’s what my new job is all about,” Aunt Clare explained. “Most HIV-positive babies are born at County Hospital. It’s my job to coordinate hospital efforts to give these babies a more suitable environment, when they’re medically stable, with ChildCare’s interest in providing a home for them. Follow me. You’ll understand better once you listen to Gayle.”

“You want me to take Alicia?” Sadie asked. The infant had fallen asleep in Desi’s arms.

Desi cuddled her tenderly. “That’s all right. No use waking her up.” Nestling the sleeping baby, Desi followed Gayle and Aunt Clare through the length of the house into a blue-carpeted room filled with playpens and baby toys. About twenty men and women were seated on sofas, chairs, and the floor. Desi and her aunt settled between two well-dressed women on a well-worn sofa. Gayle began to speak.

“I’m overwhelmed by the turnout—thank you.
I’m Gayle Sommers, volunteer coordinator for ChildCare. We desperately need your help with the care and nurturing of our ChildCare children. Until this home opened last year, some HIV-positive babies never left County Hospital—-living all their lives in a cheerless ward because there was no place for them to go. We know that the hospital staff do the best they can, but they have many patients to care for and can’t give these babies the undivided attention they need.

“Some babies have been placed in foster homes around the Atlanta area; five others are living here. This house, the two acres of property, the furnishings—everything has been donated by concerned citizens, local churches, and health care professionals to give HIV-positive children a place to grow up and to be loved.”

Gayle paced the room, weaving among the listeners as she spoke. “We have two full-time foster parents here on staff. They live upstairs and are the primary caregivers of the babies. But as you know, babies are a
lot
of work every minute of the day.”

Voices in the room murmured in agreement. “That’s why we need volunteers. Naturally these little ones must be fed, bathed, and changed, but they need emotional nourishment as much as they need the physical. Developmentally they’re behind other infants their age. They’re slower to gain weight, crawl, feed themselves—most normal activities.

“We can improve their lot in life by providing
family bonding. They need to see the same faces on a consistent basis. They need to be held and played with and loved. In other words they need you.”

Desi gazed down at the sleeping Alicia. The baby looked so small and cuddly in her sleeper. Her long eyelashes almost brushed her cheeks, and her rosebud mouth was puckered above her dainty, pointed chin.
How could a mother
not
love her?
Desi wondered. Then she remembered her own mother’s preference for Valerie.

“That’s why we ask you to volunteer here at ChildCare only if you can stick with the program,” Gayle continued, forcing Desi to gather her wandering thoughts. “Consistency is the key. Of course we understand that sometimes circumstances come up, but by and large, if you volunteer for a specific time to be here, it’s important that you show up. The babies will come to know your faces and your touches. They’ll come to depend on you like parents.”

“What if one of the babies gets sick?” a woman asked.

“Sick babies go back to the hospital, and when they get well, they come back here, to their home.”

“But since they’re HIV-positive,” another woman asked, “won’t they require special handling?”

“Every volunteer must go through our orientation program. You’ll learn CPR and basic first aid. You’ll learn how to properly dispose of soiled diapers
—the health department does a special pickup twice a week. You’ll be taught how to make formula, sterilize bottles, prepare food. We’ll teach you all you need to know.”

“How about the risk of getting AIDS from them?” a man asked.
Don’t these people know anything?
Desi wondered. She knew a person couldn’t catch AIDS through casual contact.

“Studies of kids already placed in foster homes show that such activities as hugging and kissing—even the sharing of toothbrushes—do not spread the virus,” Gayle told him. “Actually it’s far more likely that these babies can catch something from us. That’s why we ask you not to come if you have a cold or a sore throat. You could infect one of them, and because their immune systems are weakened, the baby could get very sick.”

Alicia stirred in Desi’s arms and stretched. Desi lifted the infant to her shoulder, and Alicia’s head flopped into the crook of her neck. Then the baby promptly fell back asleep.

“So their mothers have given them up?” a woman asked.

“Not in every case,” Gayle explained. “Some of the mothers signed them away immediately after giving birth and learning about their HIV-positive status. Others haven’t given up custody and may reclaim their babies if they prove they can be responsible for them.”

Desi didn’t think any mother deserved to have
her baby returned if she had deliberately rejected it. Gayle said, “If a mother wants her child again, the human resources department sets up supervised visits and evaluates the mother’s competence. If she proves she can handle the responsibility of caring for and raising her child, she can have custody.”

“So what should we do if we want to volunteer our help?” someone asked.

“I’ll pass around a sign-up sheet with the hours we need covered. Feel free to come more than once a week. I’ll contact each of you soon to set up a day for group training.”

“I want to be a volunteer,” Desi whispered to her aunt as the paper went around the room. Something had stirred inside her toward these helpless and, for the most part, unwanted babies. They were children in need of love and attention. Desi realized she had a lot of both to give.

“Are you sure? The work is time-consuming.”

“There’s nothing at school I’m really interested in doing. And with Valerie at college and mom starting work full-time, I think it’s something I’d like doing. The babies are cute, and no one wants them. I think that’s awful.”

“Shouldn’t you check with your parents first?”

With Valerie gone, Desi doubted her parents would be interested in her activities at all. “I’m sure it’ll be all right. If I can figure out a way of getting here.”

“I can make arrangements to pick you up from
school and drop you off. I know how much ChildCare could use the help.”

Desi lowered the sleeping Alicia from her shoulder and gazed at her adorable features. It wasn’t fair that this baby should be so small and helpless and have so much stacked against her. Her life had just started. She looked from Alicia to her aunt. “I’d like to help out. I really would.”

“A volunteer taking care of AIDS babies! You can’t be serious,” her mother declared when Desi told her parents what she wanted to do.

They had returned from Gainesville late the night before, and now everyone was seated at the dining room table in Clare’s town house having Sunday dinner. Aunt Clare had set the table elegantly—as if for a special occasion—with her fine French imported lace tablecloth, her best bone china, and silver candlesticks. “Why would you want to do such a thing?”

“Because I just want to,” Desi replied stubbornly. “Besides, none of the babies have AIDS. They’re only HIV-positive.”

“AIDS is a terrible disease,” her mother countered. “There’s plenty medical science doesn’t know about it. What if you somehow become infected?”

“I work with AIDS patients at the hospital, Eva,” Clare said. “We take precautions.”

“You’re an adult, and what you do as part of your health care training is your business. But Desi’s just a child. Why should she needlessly put herself at risk?”

“Eva, think rationally,” Aunt Clare replied. “No one’s ‘at risk’ helping out at ChildCare.”

“Don’t patronize me, Clare. I read the papers and watch TV. I understand plenty about HIV and AIDS.”

Desi bit her tongue to keep from screaming. She was fourteen—hardly a child—and her mother was totally ignoring the fact that working at ChildCare was something she wanted to do. “I’ll be okay,” she blurted. “If you could just see these little babies—”

“Bill, tell these two lunatics that this venture is out of the question,” her mother interrupted, and turned toward Desi’s father. He had shoved his chair backward and was listening, but hadn’t made a comment yet.

“I frequently handle AIDS patients in my practice, Eva. My hygienist and I are extremely careful. We double-glove and wear masks. I see no reason to deny someone proper dental care.”

“But you’re a professional. Desi isn’t.”

He looked at Desi. “School’s important. I wouldn’t want your grades to fall.”

“My studies will come first. I have no intention of blowing it academically.”

“Look, I can’t understand why a girl with all your advantages would want to put yourself out for a group of strangers’ babies,” Desi’s mother said. “Surely a school the size of Grady can offer you
things to do—sports, clubs, music. This is high school, Desi. You should be having fun.”

“Mom, I’ve never been into clubs. That’s Val’s thing. I’m
me
. I
really
want to do work at ChildCare. Please don’t say no.” Bright sunlight poured through the bay window of Aunt Clare’s dining room, throwing light across her mother’s long dark hair and fine-boned features. Desi couldn’t help thinking that her mother was still quite beautiful. What a disappointment Desi felt she must be to her. Desi was so unlike her mother. So unlike Valerie.

For a moment silence descended on the room, and all Desi could hear was the sound of her own breathing. Her father finally spoke. “I have no objection to Desi’s performing community service, Eva. I know Clare will keep an eye on her.”

“Of course I will.”

Her mother glared at each of them, and gripped the arms of the graceful Queen Anne dining chair until her knuckles went white. “Well, it certainly appears that I’m outnumbered, doesn’t it? I’m not in favor of this, Desi. I know you think I’m being overly harsh and unsympathetic, but I don’t care. I have my reasons.”

“And I have mine,” Desi insisted. This was something she wanted because it would be
hers
. She wouldn’t be following in Val’s or even her mother’s high school footsteps. Her mom and Val could be pretty, athletic, and popular. She wanted to be useful and valuable.

“I start work full-time next week. I won’t be able to shuttle you to and from this ChildCare house,” her mother warned.

“I’ll be responsible for driving Desi,” Aunt Clare interjected.

“I won’t bother you about it, Mom.”

Still agitated, Desi’s mother rose and started clearing her place.