Rough Draft : Retelling My Ruination

I am a young gay man living with AIDS, who has already on numerous occasions fallen to the detriment and devastation of this horrifying disease. And, I am only 30 years old! This rough draft retelling of my ruination serves a specific intention: to catalog both the tender touching and terribly traumatic moments of my miserable mayhem, for the sake of both posterity and universal accessibility.

My intention here is to be brave and bold in the broad casting of my courage, contentment, and collected wisdom through written narrative, while refining my eloquence through an evocative enunciation of the eternal conflict and reconciliation between external/internal beauty and ulteriorly ultimate, indomitable integrity inspired by such doomsday devastation as disease(s) and disfigurement(s).

In late 2007, I was living a very isolated, lonely life... addicted to crystal meth and ignoring the obvious signs of the deterioration of my health, when I acquired PCP pneumonia (but didn't know it!), fell unconscious (for what my doctors now believe was between ten to twelve days!) alone in my stark, sterile studio apartment. Laying face down on my pillow in bed, I allowed eminently dangerous bacteria to enter my mouth through the constant streaming of saliva and drool that dripped from the curl of my lips and cheek.

At some point during my apparent coma, I was infected by a poly-microbial bacterial infection similar to, but much more destructive, aggressive and incurable than, say, MRSA (staph infection) or Gangrene. This bacterial infection invaded my face and began necrotizing the flesh and bone of my upper jaw, mouth and nose.

On October 7, 2007, I was found less than a few vacant steps away from death, by the San Francisco Fire Department, who came and busted down my door. I remember being woken by their inexorably loud pounding, so I peeled myself out of my urine- & blood-soaked sheets, in the daze of dying, and stumbled to the hallway that directly faced my front door. I saw the door collapse, the fire fighters and my property manager standing there calling my name. Then I in turn collapsed, fainted, again unconscious and was rushed to the hospital, where I remained in medically induced coma for eight weeks.

During this time, my doctors attempted to cure a pervasive PCP pneumonia, as well as the ultimately incurable bacterial infection in my face. While they succeeded in curbing the affects of the pneumonia, the heavy, heavy doses of antibiotics that they were injecting into me had no significant affect on the bacterial infection, which kept eating away at my face. Tragically, during the third week of my hospitalization, while i was still unconscious, my doctors were forced to amputate my entire upper jaw & palette, my upper and left lower lips, my left nostril and septum.

Five weeks later, I woke form the coma and was presented a mirror by a terribly awkward and forcibly compassionate student doctor. He told me to take it into my hands, directed me to lift the mirror above my head and to bring it down slowly, with calm and reserve, so that I wouldn't be too terribly "terrified." So, I did what he said.

I gazed through the mirror, first at the top of my head, where wisps of hair stuck out in all directions, noticed that it was getting long...longer than I had remembered it to be, and that it was pretty awfully disheveled. I brought the mirror down to my eyes and stared intently into them, begging to know what I was about to see, and then I slowly dragged the mirror down the length of my nose.

Before I had any chance to gasp for breath, I saw the start of it: my nose had been cut in half at it's tip; I could see inside of it. Suddenly, I experienced an astounding jolt of excitement, awe and curiosity in such a way that I had never experienced before; so, without fear, i continued to pull the mirror down the length of my distorted, disfigured face, and I saw the rest of it. From the edge of where my nose had been cut off, a large gaping hole obliterated, obscured and obstructed what were once the familiar features of my beautiful face and awkward, crooked smile.

I could see through to the back of my throat, to my uvula. I could see my tongue flinching hesitantly, reluctantly, with reserve, itching the few bottom teeth that remained. I realized just then that I had never once noticed nor recognized how gargantuan my tongue is: just a testament to how big my mouth once was, and still was just then.

I hated what I saw. It certainly intrigued me, but it horrified me very much just the same. So much so that I remained expressionless: my eyes void of emotion, as I continued to stare. I felt so many diverse, painful emotions in that one single instance, that I could not even bear to cry; however, the student doctor was determined that I should. He grabbed my hand and held it tightly, with angst and force; although, I did not want him to touch me. He explained the trauma I had experienced and stressed stoically that with modern advancements in the science and practice of plastic surgery, my face could...would...be restored.

I wouldn't, couldn't find the grace and courage and hope within myself to believe him, so I pulled my hand out of his and tenderly touched it to my my teeth and tongue, trembling. As if, with a single touch, I could denounce and defy the reality of my destruction. He noticed that no tears were coming out, and his eyebrows slumped downward in obvious concern. He said that he wouldn't leave my side until I cried. Almost whimpering, with a quivering lip and trembling eyes, suffering himself the agony of the moment, he desperately cajoled me: "You are supposed to cry, Matthew. What has happened to you... It's devastating."

I realized just then that I hated that word: "devastating," but that from that moment onward, it would be one of the only few words I could ever find to describe the full magnanimous force of the mayhem and misery that had befallen me. I was angry. I was puzzled. I was horrified. I was immensely, terribly, devastatingly saddened by what I saw staring back at me in that mirror: a ghastly, grotesque, gruesome grimace gone awry. And, I was very frustrated with this man who was just sitting there, watching me suffer, urging my suffering on, expecting me... asking me... telling me... to "CRY!!"

So, to appease and abet a little the young student doctor's dutiful determination and perhaps, in one way or another, to see if his sympathy was sincere, I let a tear tarry a second on the tip of my lashes, then drip down my swollen, scarred, scarlet cheek to fall into the chasm at the center of my face. And Goddammit! Then, do you know what he did? He immediately swiped the mirror from my tight grip, stoop up, began shuffling backward towards the door and muttered, "So, I guess we're done here. I'll check in on you tomorrow. Don't let this get you down, Matthew. Try to smile!" TRY TO SMILE!! That's what he said to me. The bastard! Then, he walked away, and I never saw him again. To this day, I don't know if I have ever hated anyone in one moment more than I hated that student doctor then.

It's been almost two years since my eight-month hospitalization came to an end. I eventually returned home, again to be isolated, alone in my studio apartment, where I began the tedious, depressive struggle of trudging onward through five consecutive surgical reconstructions, so far. My face is a tattered tapestry of flesh and bone taken from my lower left leg and hanging from my forehead. I'm currently awaiting with great anticipation my next surgery: "a division & revision of the left nasal flap," scheduled for January 4, 2010. Reconstructions will continue well into 2011, progressing at a steady six week pace if, and only if, I remain sober.

One redemptive aspect of my story: a "Saving Grace," per say, is that while my addiction resurfaced just after I returned home to isolation and to a $350.00USD baggy of crystal meth laying next to a dirty, used bulb-pipe at the center of my desk, I have fought long and hard to conquer this ulterior disease of drug dependency, ever since. As recent as July 14, 2009, I entered a ninety-day triple diagnoses residential rehabilitative recovery & transitional housing program called Ferguson Place, through Baker Places, Inc. of San Francisco.

Rehab was an immensely transformative, successful experience, and I have remained sober since graduating the program on October 11, 2009. I feel very secure in my recovery, thanks to my very strong support network, which includes doctors, surgeons, nurses, a psychiatrist, a therapist, a L.I.F.E. coach, a Care Navigator, a sponsor, friends, family and other sober members of my recovery community.

My concern during this tedious time of continuously tentative transformations, is the temptation that will doubtlessly seep through the walls of my studio apartment as I sit alone, day in and day out, in isolation. Isolation and inactivity can only lead to a progression of my disease(s). In fact, that is exactly what got me into the this predicament in the first place, I believe. Truth is: It's difficult for me to get up and get active, and to exercise with lots of strenuous motion, because I'm missing my left fibula.

The majority of the bone (save an inch & a half at either end, where the tendons and ligaments attach) was removed during my first extremely invasive, debilitating (although, quite successful!) maxillofacial reconstruction, only to be sawed, separated, screwed and secured to my face in an effort to recreate my upper jaw. So, I have a lot of trouble walking with stability and speed. I'm also only about five months clean and sober, as I alluded, previously.

For these reasons (and many more!), I am in need of the companionship and responsibility that comes with caring for a supportive service/assistance pet: in order to 1.) maintain sobriety, 2.) to get some exercise on a daily basis, and 3.) to venture out into the world, where I might encounter real people; instead of being always shut up at home.

The next two years of reconstructions are going to be long and arduous, but I maintain hope, determination and ambition. I'm looking forward to going back to school to get my Master's in Social Work (MSW), as well as either an NPA Professional Certificate (Non-Profit Administration) from U.C. Berkeley, or an only Master's in Nonprofit Management (MNM) from Regis University (based out of Boulder, Colorado). I intend to fully utilize all the various resources at my disposal as a resident of San Francisco, California, such as benefits I expect will be awarded to me by the Department of Rehabilitation: a state-run bureaucratic social services division that funds eduction and training for disabled peoples whom are aiming to return to work.

I am fully committed to positively impacting my community through expressions of compassion, courage, empathy & autobiography. I anticipate the moment when I am able and invited to share my story with the broader recovery community, to down my mask and recount the wretched horrifying lowdown depths to which addiction can thrust someone with utmost turbulence, and without the slightest pause in consideration of one's imminent trepidation and trauma.

For now, I practice my telling narrative nearer to the people, passed along via the ebbing, flowing tide of cyberwaves, broadcasting my story to the world here via this dynamic social media infrastructure in the off chance that some solitary sober someone may stumble out of the "ROOMS" and into my "WORDS," before I sound off for once on my own back where we both are bound to face my face, face-to-face, together. C'est à dire, « dans des SALLES!! » At which point, I will always end in saying, "Thank you for your acceptance. Thank you for listening. Next time, I'll be sure to bring some lil' smoked sausages to go with those NUTS!!" ;oP

Respectfully submitted,
Matt(e)o | QHereKidSF
Matthew D. Blanchard
San Francisco, CA USA
[MDB2009.12.06@19:31]

30TH Birthday BASH!! (Flickr®)

This has been very slow in the making, given the tedium of scribing 56 or so individual captions and cutting/cropping even more photos than you'd first expect from a birthday celebration, but it was a time to be celebrated. To introduce my Flickr® Photostream™ Slide Show below, I'll simply say that I am blessed to have been able to celebrate my 30TH birthday with such pomp & circumstance.

It was a celebration of pure decadence and lavish living, for a newly sober sane man, leaving behind his old face and his youth for a future filled with promise, potential and profound friendships. From the bottom of my heart, I thank every person who came to Ferguson Place on September 18th, 2009 to celebrate with me my birthday. I will always keep these memories dear to my heart! God bless you all as he has blessed me!!



The evening certainly did not begin with the lighting of the candles and the cutting of the cake, but I thought that framing these photos first would at least be a good introduction, with the bright bold thirty candles and all the sprinkles to shots of me slicing and serving.

Then we were in the kitchen for eats, and from there it's pretty much chronologic: the photo display. Next came the opening of the gifts, and boy, were they a delight!! My favorites (and I mean no harping on the lesser than gifts for being "oh, lesser than!" -- Just Kidding, of course!) have got to be the black and white OldNavy™ bamboo-rayon scarf I got from my nurse from UCSF 360: The Positive Care Center, Patrick F.; my bright royal blue SNUGGIE® from Timothy V., a Ferguson Place alum; and my box o'condoms from Thomas C., a previous graduate from Ferguson Place who was a client for about 2/3 the time I was there!! What a great surprise they all were!! Thanks guys!

But the one person I have to thank above anyone else is my sponsor, Jeffrey J., who I was linked to through John Olesen, MA: my Shanti L.I.F.E. Coach. To my great fortunate, Jeffrey J. just happens to be a very talented professional pastry chef, king of Cakedom® and an all around amazing person. I'm a really lucky kid to have him as my first sponsor in any 12-Step Program. He's been sober for over 5 years, and stays sane and stable by devoting his life to service, mostly baking cakes from original recipes for his closest friends' (and he's got a lot of them!) sobriety birthdays.

Jeffrey, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for investing so much of your time into baking me such a decadent chocolate cake, but mostly for all the strength of spirit and teaching you will bring into my life as months and years go on. Thank you for letting me into your life, even though it may not be easy for you sometimes. I look forward to working with you!!

God's GRACE & GRATITUDE... My "Unintended Teachers!"

As was my practice after last week's FERGUSON PLACE Client Council presentation of our thoughts on "FUN!," I now present my written response to the most recent "Theme o'da Week:" GRATITUDE!

I began the process of expressing my thoughts on this hefty, weighty word as I would have started any writing practice in my journal: very off the cusp & spontaneously. My initial impulse was positive: to somehow relate my own personal gratitude directly to God's GRACE, as it is within the scope and grandeur of his love that I survive. Above all, I am grateful to be alive!! And, I only have The Lord My God to thank for that.

But somehow, the writing exercise turned into a rather pompous expression of my arrogance and self-importance as such relates to my historically weak and unstable relationship with and impression of my parents (all four of them, in fact!).


In the original opening to my essay on gratitude, which is presented in the closing of this particular post, I bereaved and berated my parents & guardians for what I presumed to be their unjustifiably "human imperfections and sin," while arguing that I was & still am, in fact, closer to God "in virtue & in practice," because of all the torment and admonishments I fell victim to as a closeted queer youth.

This was surely the wrong way to approach this exercise of contemplation, introspection and self-expression. It was indeed oxymoronic and largely hypocritical for me to begin to reveal my thoughts on "GRATITUDE" by holding in and expressing outward such stolid, stubborn, senseless resentment toward those three or four people who raised me. I'm a decent person; although, I have experienced immense suffering. But still, my parents must have done as best they could, because I turned out pretty well; I think.

So, that said... Allow me to present to my readers the text on GRATITUDE that I wrote for and presented to the clients & staff at FERGUSON PLACE of Baker Places, Inc. The "YOU" that I mention repeatedly in this essay refers to all the members of my Recovery Community: past, present & future. May they all know how grateful I am for their support, acceptance and understanding!! Read on...

As an young, impressionable adolescent or from very early on in my childhood even, I would often cry myself to sleep in anger & resentment, beseeching the Lord my God to save me from my suffering or simply screaming, "SCREW YOU!" when all I heard from him was silence.

As an adult, more conscious & aware of my myriad of divine virtues & blessings, I often find myself thanking God for all the goodness... the greatness, that he has brought into my life, even despite the immense tragedies I have lived through as a gay, HIV/AIDS+, drug dependent and miserably isolated twenty-something in San Francisco.

Now, at my first glimpse of growth, change, progress, blessings & beatitude, I immediately express my gratitute to the the Lord God through prayer & meditation. Today, I define my gratitude in practice, prayer & study under my spiritual guide in Faith: my chaplain—my priest—who happens to be wise enough and so secure in his identity & in his human nature that he graciously invites challenges & arguments contrary to the teachings he preaches in homily. We dialogue on Faith, and debate is welcome, but together, in union, we praise God; we thank God, and we worship God.


I am grateful for his presence and for the presence of so many other "unintended teachers" in my life, from whom I learn more about myself, about my addiction, and about my path toward Salvation, Enlightenment and toward the fulfillment of my true potential every waking day.

The unintended, unsuspecting teachers in my life are numerous; in fact, they are so numerous that I could never possibly name them all at once. Some are friends. Some are family. Some are providers. Some are in this room. And, some even are total strangers. They...NO! YOU. You all teach me, often through no fault or intention of your own, how NOT to live and how BEST to live.

That is to say... In the best of circumstances or by the random chance of luck, some anonymous but mightily virtuous soul will, in simple acts of «politesse,» righteousness, concern, sympathy, compassion or even in strong solemn silent stillness when faced with his own great trepidation or tribulation—poised solid, upright in unrelenting tenacity & perseverance, demonstrate to me how to live & act like him: in virtue, in «noblesse d'esprit,» in the GRACE of GOD...

I am grateful to be part of the Recovery Community, for it is within the reach of its embrace that I have found strangers who've become teachers, who've become friends or even as close as family. I am grateful to have such a patient, caring, empathetic sponsor! I am grateful to have each of you, the clients & staff of FERGUSON PLACE, in my life for all your amazing virtues and for having accepted me so lovingly and without question or hesitation.

It is as part of this community that I am constantly able & welcome (if not entirely expected!) to gain new perspectives on my life and on my addiction, on my strengths & potential, and on my deficits, as well. Thanks to these new relationships which I have cultivated in the last 65 days (or even since my illness & injury in 2007), I have been able to discover my many virtues. Or, should I say, "RE-DISCOVER...?"'

Thanks to all of you, I have been able to believe in myself again, and to trust in myself and in others anew. Thank you a thousand times; thank you!!


Once upon a time, a quarter-life ago, I relied on my faith in God and on my faith in God's faith in & love for me, to strengthen and sustain my own faith in myself. Today, I can't say that I haven't asked the difficult questions: the quandaries & conundrums, the "whys & wherefores" of my immense suffering—"How could God have let this happen to me?" OR "What did I do to deserve this misery & misfortune?"

But today, I can say that I am grateful not to have had these questions answered. Not knowing, not constantly demanding a rational reason for all things wrong in my life and wrong in the world, mitigates my doubt in a higher power and reinforces my faith—FULL CIRCLE! For that, I am grateful...

The morning after I read this essay to the residents of FERGUSON PLACE at our Client Council Meeting, I offered to escort an impassioned, progressive, politico-blogger (a recovering addict & one of my 4 roommates!) to a treatment appointment, and while we were on the bus headed to the same agency for two different reasons, he remarked on his impressions of my writing style.

First, he asked what I studied at university, so I told him: French Literature & Theatre Arts. And he just chuckled and said, "Yeah, I figured you were into something like that. You're writing style is incredible; it's almost like poetic prose." I synopsize some, but you get the gist, right?

He was paying me a compliment, so I thanked him and continued to listen to him rant vivaciously about all the bullshit comments he gets from whacked-out Republicans on his blog postings, amongst others. I don't use his exact words here, so no quotation marks; but, you catch the drift, right? HEHEHE. He's a good guy. His verve and passion is refreshing, and I appreciated his feedback. What he had to say was nice to hear. YET....

Even after being complimented in person, directly, on my writing style and on what I had to say, I feel obliged to demonstrate the prevalent, preposterous weaknesses of my written essays by presenting now the original introduction to my thoughts on GRATITUDE, which I previously mentioned at the start of this post. Here's a sample of my serious preoccupation with self-aggrandizement... Take it for what it's worth: a load of bologna!! Here goes...

As a young, impressionable adolescent or from very early on in my childhood even, I was always ever so intrigued & impassioned by the traditions of my Faith. Even when i was forced to battle the demons & devastation of my own deviant sexuality that seemed forced upon me by my heartless, insensitive peers, I found solace in the timeless practices of my religion: prayer, confession, genuflection, the Sign Of The Cross, etc.

My mother, father & stepfather (even his next wife!), who were by no means stalwart exemplars of true Catholic virtue, would still shuffle me off to church every Sunday in obedience of the saintly stricture of the "Good Catholic Family." But, there was always such an unconscionable opposition between their very human imperfections & sin and the virtuous path preached to me so often by priests.

So much so that i knew from a very young age that my parents' behaviors, lifestyles, ideas & perspectives were more often than not always misguided, ignorant, prejudiced and distant from & dismayed by the true potential of their own earthly Salvation. I, being the selfless victim of constant torment & ridicule, admonitions & condemnations for my queerness, seemed, on the other hand, closer to Christ in virtue & in practice.

However, i must be honest here and admit without shame or regret my own imperfections. YES! During the most trying times in my life: periods of isolation, abandonment, illness, pain, suffering and doubt, which seem to repeat cyclically in perpetuum for me every odd number of years, I often found myself questioning God's love for me & questioning the motives behind the many manifestations of torment & tribulation I've so often suffered through in my life.

I'll leave you with that to ponder, hoping that you will not be encouraged by this pithy, petty, perturbed state of mind to think that I am any less of a person for it. Doubt is a devious, disgusting reality of Human Nature. Questions are born of FREE WILL—from that first bite of fruit off the Tree of Knowledge.

I am a faithful, humble servant of the Lord, grateful to be alive and blessed so immensely and in so many unique ways. Just as my "unintended teachers" are numerous in my life, so are my Guardian Angels!!


But, trust me! I don't take them for granted. I'm pretty sure that I'm on my last life here... God willing! And, I'm committed to doing and making the best with it in the end, as I intend to demonstrate with this public account of my life's story day by day.

Winston Churchill once said, "If you ever find yourself in Hell, just keep going!" How profound a statement!! I've heard it four times from four different people in two days. That must mean something special! What do you think? LMK. K? Tootles for now! Godspeed...

BTW, I hope to see some of you at my birthday party tomorrow!! Don't forget! I'm a bitch to buy for, for I expect only the best, most sentimental and touching gifts of...YES! GRATITUDE... and good fortune! Keep 'em coming! Thanx y'all...

Gratefully yours, :P
Matt(e)o | QHereKidSF
Matthew D. Blanchard
San Francisco, CA 94109-7821
[MDB2009.09.17@2:35PMPST]