My doctor calls last night, having read in my records that my mother died. I assume my psychiatrist recorded that in my notes. I have a crack team of specialists handling my physical and mental care, but I’m pleasantly surprised at his empathy. He’s a good man. He also tells me that my latest lab results are in and my T-cells are now up to 1100. That’s an amazing number. “Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.” I continue to feel like an HIV imposter.