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The ultimate betrayal

My hubby's affairs will kill me...


Published by: Laura Hinton and Jacki Leroux
Published on: 6 September 2012

The raised voices outside told me my hubby Eric and the kids were back from swimming.
‘I wanted ice cream, too,' whined our eldest Erykah, eight. ‘Mummy would have let us.'
‘No she wouldn't,' laughed her brother Seaduan, six.
Moments later, they barged through the door. Eric was carrying a pizza on one arm and our youngest daughter Tionne, four, in the other.
‘I know you hate the kids eating junk food...' he admitted.
‘Never mind,' I tutted. ‘It saves me cooking.'
To be honest, the kids had Eric wrapped around their little fingers. But he was often away for months at a time with his construction job, so I let them get away with it. Soon enough, we were all tucking into the food.
Suddenly, Eric put down his pizza slice. ‘I'm not feeling great,' he frowned.
He went to stand, but collapsed. ‘Oh god,' I panicked, grabbing the phone.‘Ambulance!'
When it arrived, the paramedics rushed him to hospital. Eric had suffered a stroke.
‘Isn't he too young?' I said.
He was only 33.
But he was paralysed down his right-hand side and his speech was slurred. ‘You'll be fine,' I said, taking his hand. Soon, his test results were back. ‘You might prefer to hear these alone,' the doctor said.
Eric shook his head.
‘Okay,' he continued. ‘I'm afraid you have Aids.'
‘What?!' I cried. ‘There must have been a mistake.'
But he was explaining that the Aids had weakened Eric's immune system so badly that he'd had the stroke.
As I looked into Eric's eyes, I knew this wasn't some nightmare I'd wake up from. ‘How?' I whispered. Sure, I'd known about an affair, but that was years before. We'd put it behind us.
‘There were lots of women,' he admitted, slurring. ‘And drugs...'
The lies were unravelling now. So that's why he was always away for work - he'd been leading a secret life.
‘How could you?' I yelled. I didn't recognise the man I'd married. But then I'd fallen in love so fast. Just a few months after we'd first met, I'd fallen pregnant. Seven years on, we'd got married.
It was a simple ceremony, just us and the kids. How could Eric have thrown all of that back in my face?
I felt sick. But I didn't want to know what he'd done, or how he'd contracted this disease. It didn't matter now.
‘You'll need to be tested,' the doctor added, interrupting my thoughts. ‘Your children, too.'
Oh my god, I hadn't even thought of that. He could've given it to me, our babies...
‘If they've got this, too...' I cried to Eric. Tears were
rolling down his face.
I wanted to scream, shout, hit him. Eric could hurt me, but not our children. Despite what he'd done, I visited him every day as we waited for the results of our blood tests.
‘I'm sorry,' he kept saying.
‘I know,' I'd tell him. ‘But you've put us all at risk.'
Two agonising weeks later, I got the call to say our results were back. ‘Just tell me over the phone,' I begged.
‘Your children are in the clear,' the doctor said. I slumped with relief. ‘But you're HIV positive.'
I felt numb as I imagined this disease snaking its way through my blood, a death sentence given to me by Eric.
Hanging up, I rang him a few hours later. He let out a cry.
‘I've ruined your life,' he sobbed. ‘I'm so sorry.'
Hearing him break down, my heart crumpled. I'd already frantically researched everything I could find about the condition online. I knew all about cell counts and life expectancy.
Although my HIV could be monitored and treated - some people could live into their 70s - Eric was already in the advanced stages of Aids. He'd need constant care. He'd betrayed me and the kids in the most awful way, yet I felt
so conflicted.
For so long he'd been the perfect husband and father, surprising me with flowers, jewellery and trips away. A year before, in fact, he'd wowed us with a trip to Disneyland.
I had to see him, so I went to the hospital.
‘I have mixed feelings about you,' I told him. ‘If the kids had contracted it too then this would be very different, but...'
I stopped and cleared a lump in my throat. ‘I love you.'
He tried to speak, but I shushed him. I knew I was doing what very few other women would, but I couldn't help myself.
‘Thank you,' he mouthed. I couldn't forgive him, but
I couldn't leave him to battle this on his own.
Accepting Eric had Aids was just the first hurdle. A few months on, he couldn't even swallow or bathe himself. He had to wear nappies and was constantly sick.
‘I feel like such a burden,' he slurred. ‘It's fine, love,' I lied.
Truth was, I was really struggling. Although a nurse came every day, I was bringing up our children on my own.
At the same time, I was battling HIV. The medication I took kept me healthy, but the stress wasn't doing me any good.
Nearly two years on, it had become too much. Eric would get terrible mood swings from the cocktail of drugs he was on. It was like looking after a child.
‘I think it's best if you moved into a hospice,' I told him.
He nodded. He'd accepted it long before me.
When Eric was there, I took the kids to see him. But he was deteriorating. I wasn't surprised when I got a call to tell me he'd slipped away. He was just 36.
I was sad, of course, but part of me was relieved, too. The children, however, were devastated.
Even though I'd lost the man I loved and was fighting the same disease, I kept going.
‘You can have a long life,' doctors assured me.
Although I never told anyone, it was like my HIV was always there in the background, silently mocking me. It took me seven years before I even told the kids about my condition.
‘Can we still hug you?' Erykah, now 14, asked nervously.
‘Of course,' I smiled, before explaining everything I knew.
Still, I'm determined not to let this disease beat me. I speak out about HIV at schools and in prisons, in the hope that some good will come from this.
The way I look at it, nobody is guaranteed a tomorrow. All I can do now is live my life in a way that makes me feel good about what I did today.
Tonya Rasberry, 37, Seattle, Washington, USA