A Forlorn, Faceless FRIEND!

A letter to Damon John Burns, a good friend that I met two and a half years before my tragic accident. He tried contacting me when I was passed out, unconscious, in my apartment; he even came by and banged on the door. He thought I was angry with him and was not up for communicating any longer, so he just let me be. I wonder, if he had had more faith in the fortitude of our friendship, would he have abandoned our relationship and me near death in my bed so easily? I do not however blame him for the illness and the accident. I blame myself.

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It has been so long since we have spoken with or seen each other and so much has changed in my condition of life that I am not entirely sure how to approach this first correspondence after such distance. I realize that you are at least partially aware of what has occurred in my life since October of 2007, after having spoken with Mr. Paul Poole (my peer advocate from the UCSF Medical Center's 360: Positive Care Center; a.k.a The Positive Health Practice). However, let me reiterate my story from the time at which last we were in contact.

The reason why I had not contacted you toward the end of September / beginning of October, last year is because I had fallen terribly ill in my apartment and I was sickly sleeping in bed. One morning around the turn of those months (I'm not exactly sure of the exact date), I remember watching the Today Show and getting up from my bed to get a yogurt from the refrigerator. Sliding sweaty and sticky sickly out of bed, I fell face-flat to the carpet, unconscious and remained their for what is believed to be 10 to 12 days. Coupled with the infection of CMV (an AIDS related retinitis eye disease) and PCP Pneumonia, the additional bacteria from my dirty carpet infested my face through my saliva and began to eat away at the skin and bones of my mouth and nose.

On October 7th, Liz Longfellow (my former Larkin Street Youth Services Case Manager) came rushing to my door with the San Francisco Fire Department at bay. Having been worried that there had been no contact with me in three weeks, Larkin Street knocked down my door to find my half dead, half conscious body lying on my studio floor. My face was blackened and my teeth falling out. I was extremely dehydrated; my kidneys were failing, and I had fallen to a weight of 110 pounds. I don't remember these events.

Next, I was admitted to the Saint Francis Memorial Hospital Emergency Center and remained in intensive care for 2 weeks. After realizing that the infection in my lower face could not be contained, the doctors at Saint Francis sent me to UCSF Medical Center for an emergency debridement surgery to have half of my lips and nose (the infected tissue and bone) removed. I was in a coma for this entire period of time.

Three days after the surgery, I regained consciousness and was informed by the doctors at UCSF of what had occurred. Five days later, I removed the hygienic dressings for a changing and saw for the first time my new, lesser-than face. There was a giant, grotesque hole where my mouth and nose should have been. It was shocking but I handled the introduction with grace, good will and high hopes. The doctors continued to reassure me that reconstruction would occur and that plastic surgery would improve my situation.

I was eventually moved back to Saint Francis Memorial Hospital for a month, until space at Laguna Honda Hospital and Rehabilitation Center became available for me. I have been here for a week now and things seem well. I am waiting for my first reconstruction surgery at San Francisco General Hospital which is scheduled for January 30th. My residence at Laguna Honda is permanent, at least until I am well enough to return "home," being paid for through Medi-Cal. I anticipate that I will be here through February, maybe longer.

I wear a mask. It covers the unsightly, horrific hole in my face, so that strangers will not gasp and gawk at my deformity. I have trouble talking, unable to pronounce certain labial sounds: consonants B, P, M, etc. I salivate constantly and the warm liquid steadily drips from the gap in my lower lip, wetting my mask and irritating my skin. I am self-conscious and anxious about the reconstruction, but I am nonetheless full of hope and determined not to let this experience destroy me.

What is important for my psyche as well as for the success of my healing is that I am well supported by my friends and family (that includes you, I hope). To that regard, my Dad, whom I have not seen in five unfriendly years, came to visit me in the hospital for ten days, from Massachusetts. It was a very rewarding time I shared with him. We were able to express to each other and likewise comprehend how much love was shared between us. My Dad's mind has been opened wide in his nearly 60 years of life, making him a very caring, courageous man. His support is a treasure. I love him dearly.

This love I feel for my father, I also would like to share with you. You are a dear friend, and I miss you. I know it must be difficult hearing my recent story. It must be even more challenging to confront my situation in light of all recent changes. But please, do not be afraid to come to me to offer your support. I am dearly in need. Please know that I cherish all of our experiences together and hope beyond hope that you will have the strength to come and visit me in the hospital. Maybe even on a regular basis, so that I can have someone to talk to and with whom I can share my new experiences.

Laguna Honda Hospital is located at the Forest Hill MUNI Station (one stop away from Castro on either K, L, or M). I am in ward O4 room 403 at the back of the building. It's the "Positive Care Unit." I hope to hear back from you soon. Please stay in touch.

God Bless you. Stay well.
And Dream big...like you always do.
See you soon, my love!

Your forlorn, faceless FRIEND!!

Sincerely,

Matthew D. Blanchard
Laguna Honda Hospital
Unit O4, room 403
San Francisco, CA