Kalee Garland was born in 1986. Until the age of seven, she was unfamiliar with the idea of what AIDS was, or maybe she could even have had it. At seven, she received an AIDS diagnosis, where Doctors explained that “HIV” stood for Human Immunodeficiency Virus. It was a virus like any other for her; the term didn’t frighten her. To Kalee, it was simply part of being human, just an extra virus in her body; little did she know what it was.
She had gotten it at birth from her mother, who had never known she was HIV-positive. Her mother had unknowingly acquired it from an ex-partner before marrying Kalee’s father. suprisgly, both her father and her two older brothers were HIV-negative.
From the moment of her diagnosis, Kalee’s world split in two. Only a few close family members and her doctors knew the truth. In 1993, treatments were limited to AZT and anabolic steroids. With the help of her mother’s connection with the Elizabeth Glaser Pediatric AIDS Foundation, she entered one of the first pediatric combination therapy trials at the National Institutes of Health (NIH).
At the NIH, Kalee learned more than medical facts while undergoing several medical procedures like CT scans, MRIs, psychological tests, and even hypnosis to overcome her fear of needles. Beyond the science, she discovered what it truly meant to be human. She understood pain was never always physical, but one could feel it deeply emotionally. As a child, Kalee overheard parents whispering about bleach bottles and separate dishes, precautions to “protect” others from her invisible illness.
She learned that some children were barred from camping trips or simple social activities, excluded for something they had no control over. Even at seven, she felt the sting of isolation and the heavy weight of fear; she had to face how cruelly society could treat someone simply for being different. At just seven years old, she understood the harsh reality of stigma and the weight of taboo. She promised herself she would not be cruel or judgmental toward anyone and would never hurt anyone like she saw others hurt her.
Her HIV remained a closely guarded secret throughout childhood, but it made her become a quiet observer, a self-described wallflower, enduring ignorant jokes about AIDS in silence. Anxiety often shadowed her, but she had a weapon, her breathing technique that a professional at NIH taught. It became her anchor, a quiet way to reclaim control over her body, emotions, and life that often felt under siege.
For her, High school was like a crushing reminder of society’s Ignorance. During a discussion on current events in eleventh grade, a classmate mentioned World AIDS Day. The teacher said bluntly, “You will never meet anyone with AIDS,” and moved on. Kalee sat frozen, screaming silently: “I have AIDS. I was born with it. You already know me!” For the first time, she felt small, as if she were invisible.
That same year, she faced an even greater trial: she was suddenly afflicted with Cryptococcal meningitis, a severe fungal infection that affects the brain and spinal cord, causing intense and severe pain. From ages sixteen to eighteen, she battled the infection four times. Each time, doctors warned she might die. During her third bout, she missed her senior prom. During the fourth month, she lost her eyesight for ten days. Later, a shunt surgery went wrong, and doctors even suggested hospice. She shouted at the doctors who had given up on her. She refused to surrender. She found strength within herself through pep talks, affirmations, and self-love when no one else could provide it.
Eventually, Kalee recovered, though frail. Weighing only eighty-eight pounds with a single T-cell left in her shaved head and weakened body. This state used to draw stares and judgments from strangers. But instead of hiding, she embraced it. For her, it was like a rebirth. She realized what people with HIV go through, and she promised to honor that experience by speaking out and helping others.
At nineteen, she broke her silence in a college Health class 101 and revealed her status. Her white, heterosexual appearance startled classmates as they shattered their assumptions. In that moment, she realized the power of her story. HIV had no face, no race, no sexual orientation. The virus was not the enemy, but the stigma associated with it was.
Years after high school, Kalee decided to confront that very English teacher about his comment from class when he had said, “You will never meet anyone with AIDS.” She reminded him of that day and how his words had made her feel invisible and small. When she told him that she had been living with AIDS all along, he was shocked and immediately apologized. Kalee chose to forgive him.
For her, this confrontation helped her release years of pain and frustration, and it was necessary because it allowed her to reclaim her voice, heal emotionally, and close a chapter that had caused her deep hurt.
She learned Ignorance was merely a lack of education and nothing more. But Ignorance paired with stigma was dehumanizing. Kalee found purpose in storytelling. With every retelling, she chipped away at prejudice.
As someone once called her, she became a “stigma warrior.” For her, it was the highest compliment. She speaks out not just for herself but also for that seven-year-old girl who once felt invisible and countless others who were silenced by shame. Her mission is simple: to make the world a little kinder. Because, at the end of the day, we are all human, and kindness never hurts anyone.
