The last place I would have thought to search for the cure to HIV: the honeycomb. Needless to say, that’s why we have scientists on the job and not me.
Researchers at Washington University School of Medicine discovered that a toxin found in bee venom may destroy HIV cells. The discovery is monumental but very much preliminary. HIV undoubtedly affects the world, and a world without HIV is a ubiquitous dream and goal. But what many people don’t realize is that this is more than just a possible cure. And it’s doing more than just attacking HIV-infected cells. It’s attacking the stigmas, barriers and connotations associated with HIV.
When HIV was discovered in the United States, it was among gay men and drug users. Not long thereafter, HIV was coined a “gay disease.” Despite men who have sex with men and drug addicts accounting for the most new cases of HIV, it has moved beyond the realms of being a “gay disease.” It’s a human disease — one that is blind to race, sexual orientation and gender. It’s a human disease that affects people around the world: from the U.S., where 1.1 million people have HIV, to South Africa, where 5.6 million people have HIV, the highest number in the world.
How all of this could change from a bee sting makes my thoughts diverge in a million directions. Just what would it mean if a bee venom cure that is naturally accessible and relatively noninvasive were created?
To those already living with HIV, it’s a godsend. If you can’t even remember to take your daily vitamins, it’s unlikely you’ll be able to keep up with comprehensive HIV treatments, which typically combine multiple drugs, taken daily, from a variety of different treatment classes. Not to mention the side effects associated with these drugs, ranging from diarrhea to lipodystrophy, the redistribution of fat in the body. The bee venom cure is a release from the daily burdens of drugs and unwanted side effects. It’s an opportunity for individuals with HIV to go a day without worrying about when to take the right pill.
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To would-be mothers already living with HIV, it’s an opportunity to start a family and for their children to be born HIV-free. Although many mothers in the U.S. have access to interventions that reduce mother-to-child transmission to below 5 percent, many mothers in other parts of the world do not. A cure would close this gap. Mothers, regardless of their access to interventions, could bear children without fear of passing it onto their children. HIV-positive mothers who are hesitant to have children and to seek partners in fear of reactions to revealing their status — a cure knocks down these mothers’ barriers and worries about forming families.
To everyone around the world living with HIV — and even those living without — it’s a blow to the stigmas associated with the virus. Nobody can say that HIV is a disease perpetuated only by gay men. That someone is automatically either a drug addict or prostitute simply because they have HIV. That it was entirely personal irresponsibility that accounted for someone contracting HIV. And that just because someone is HIV-positive that they must be feared or that they be perceived as overly promiscuous.
And to me? Well, I’m HIV-negative, but that doesn’t mean HIV isn’t important to me too. I’ve worked with HIV-positive children in South Africa and witnessed that, despite having life-threatening diseases, they are still some of the most joyful and positive children I’ve been around. And as part of the LGBT community, I’ve seen how prevalent HIV discussion is in our lives. A cure would mean a guaranteed future for these and many other children.
But as an individual, a cure is the realization that we are all very much human and very much vulnerable to the same diseases and struggles.
It’s hard to think that a honeycomb may be holding the cure. It’s just as hard to think the stigmas associated with this virus would be eradicated all the same. But then again, this is all just speculative. Sometimes it takes something as simple as bees to make us realize that we are all too human. That we, HIV-positive or not, are very much desperate, yet hopeful for a cure all the same.
Adam is a junior in ACES. He can be reached at [email protected].