Quality of life

There are lots of people who don’t believe it. That’s why Jonathan Ervin keeps a copy of his medical lab reports in his car.

There are times when he doesn’t believe it himself. That’s why he has already paid for his tombstone, which sits patiently waiting for cold reality to catch up with what can only be called an ongoing miracle.

To put it bluntly, Jonathan Erwin should be dead. It has been nine years since his doctor called him at home in Memphis to tell him that not only had he tested positive for the HIV virus, but he only had around 400 T-cells left.

The average person has 800 to 1,200 of these cells, which function like a firewall in a computer to ward off infection. In time, Erwin’s T-cell count would dip as low as 19.

Even more remarkably, he now refuses to take any of the current medications that have shown the ability to dramatically raise T-cell counts and greatly prolong life for AIDS patients. In a book that was released this month, “My Secret Place,” co-written by Mitzi Bible (a former News & Advance editor), Erwin explains why.

“It was horrible,” he said of his brief experiment with some of these medications. “I had dreams off the hook; when I woke and tried to walk, the dizziness was severe. I literally had to hold onto the walls to get to the bathroom. But I pressed on.”

For a time, until finally he decided that “quality of life was more important than length.”

I met with Erwin and Bible last week at the Applebee’s near the campus of Liberty Univeristy (from which Erwin graduated and where his 22-year-old son now goes to school) and was stunned by Erwin’s appearance. At the age of 47, he looked almost like a student himself — a virtually unlined face, no gray hair. I would have guessed him to be in his early 30s.

The book is just the latest step in Erwin’s ongoing campaign to deliver a message. He has also spoken at an LU convocation and appeared on television with the Rev. Jonathan Falwell.

These giant steps were nothing, however, compared with the sharp pain of sitting across the kitchen table from his father — a Southern Baptist minister — and telling him that not only was he gay, but he was probably going to die of AIDS.

“He just sat there for a minute,” Erwin recalled, “and then he said, ‘Sin bites, doesn’t it, son?’ It took him a long time to come around.”

Erwin says he has been celibate for years, and credits prayer for the strength not to act on his homosexuality.

“I’m not one of those who say it’s a choice,” he said. “I’ve had these urges for as long as I can remember, and will always have them.”

In every other way, though, Erwin was a staunch believer in a fundamental form of Christianity. His father preached against the gay lifestyle some Sundays, while his son sat beset with guilt in the audience. The brief marriage that produced Jonathan’s own son simply necessitated yet another secret place.

“It was a wonderful feeling to come out,” Erwin said. “It made all the difference.”

Not that Erwin ever hid in the shadows. Blessed with a pure and powerful singing voice, he starred in musical performances at Liberty and, later, in local community theater. As a hairdresser, he was the type who listened to clients’ problems and offered gentle advice to the rhythm of his scissors. He knew a lot of people, and that led him to keep his sexual preference hidden for most of his life.

“That was the biggest thing I was afraid of,” he said in the book, “that I would lose my job, then my home, my car. None of that has happened, and I think that’s God’s blessing for obedience. My business is even busier.”

Erwin has concluded that his remarkable state of health has been bestowed upon him so that he can tell his story, a story he couches in terms of redemption.
“I don’t judge anyone else,” he said. “All I know is what has happened in my own life.”

Dr. Robert Brennan, Lynchburg’s leading authority on AIDS and Erwin’s physician, put it this way in the book: “I think his faith and his spirituality play a big role in this. I think he feels that God has a role for him to play.”

It has become a cliche, but Jonathan Erwin really does live his life one day at a time.

“The end could come any time,” he said. “I’m at peace with that.”

Erwin and Bible will sign copies of the book at Thomas Road Baptist Church, following the last service on July 26.