To My Brother in Arms in the Fight Against AIDS
November 18 would be Steve Scheibel’s 66th birthday. He was born in 1957 and died in 2019, way too early.
I've been thinking about him a lot. I thought of him daily during the peak of COVID, thinking, “I wonder what Steve would do about this.”
Our relationship started in 1985 when he moved to Rochester to become a fellow trainee in our infectious diseases unit at Strong. We became good friends, came out to each other and became friends both socially and professionally, and we co-founded Community Health Network, the AIDS clinic, in 1989.
He was my student at first, but he actually became my mentor.
He understood HIV, almost to the point where he could predict the future. He knew very early on that this would require combinations of drugs, and in fact, we came up with a number of combinations over the years. Before the drug AZT was introduced in 1987, we were using combinations of drugs including alpha interferon, which is an injection, and things like acyclovir, the drug that's been used for herpes for many years.
I remember when the interferon wasn't tolerated well. Patients got sick from the injections.
Steve came up with the idea of giving the drug under the tongue, where it would get absorbed into your system and be better tolerated. He did it in communion wafers.
He sent one of our residents out to find wafers. The resident was equally enterprising. He’d met up with a priest not long before that. And let's just say he got two large boxes of communion wafers for the cause.
It was not only a medical thing, but it was spiritual for a lot of people.
But that was Scheibel. A lot of the ideas that he talked about in the 1980s have science behind them 30-40 years later. He was way out in front in terms of combinations of drugs, early treatment of HIV and even the communion wafer as a way of delivering drugs that are difficult for patients to take by injection.
He had a remarkable brain. I called him my Phi Beta Kappa biker. He was Phi Beta Kappa at the University of Illinois, a biker, a gymnast, a talented dancer, great storyteller, just a great, great guy and left us way too early.
Somebody sent me a note when he died and called us brothers in arms, which I thought was pretty appropriate. Two people joined together fighting the same battle.
When he left for San Francisco in 1993, he wrote a letter to the Empty Closet. He’s thanking people for supporting our efforts in the AIDS epidemic.
He talked about “I especially want to thank my patients, both alive and those who have passed into spirit, for the glimpse into their lives, their values, comments, appreciation and concern, which have assisted me into becoming a better healer. I wish continued health of my patients. And I will think of them often as I enter into another phase of my life and career.”
We wanted to create a health organization that would outlive us, and that would be Trillium Health. Steven, we did it.