Most Jamaicans know and will remember Carl Stone as a master of public opinion surveys, better known as the Stone Polls. What many will not know is that this brilliant and revered university professor also existed in the shadows of the night; roaming through a world of bars and exotic clubs, until he met his untimely end, wasted by one of mankind’s deadliest enemies, Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome – AIDS. It was never determined how he contracted the disease, although suspicions abound.

But Rosemarie Stone, the beautiful Jamaican woman who loved Carl Stone through the pain and agony, suffered the trauma of watching as the disease ravaged and tortured the body and soul of her beloved husband… awaiting the inevitable but cruel news that she too would contract the evil virus. In her forthcoming book, No Stone Unturned, Rosie Stone tells a gripping, mind-bending tale of love, courage, forgiveness and sorrow – a sorrow that no woman should have to bear. Today, the Sunday Observer brings you the second of three excerpts of this shocking, yet revealing book, soon to be released by Ian Randle Publishers.

Carl was an incurable workaholic, teaching full-time, marking papers, meeting deadlines for the numerous market research surveys he did, and the political polls he conducted for The Gleaner, writing two newspaper columns a week and, occasionally, giving speeches at various gatherings. On top of all this, he had to be a father to his growing children, especially Timothy who idolised him. He had to be my husband and, he had to find the time to allow me to be his wife. He also had his morning run and tennis game, and he loved going to nightclubs and bars in Kingston and St Andrew.

It had become our custom that each anniversary we would leave the children with Momma and my sister Andrea and steal away, the two of us, to the north coast and spend a weekend in a hotel. In June 1990, we arrived at Sandals Ocho Rios. As was his terrible habit, he carried work with him, and did it right up until the time we reached the hotel. Because he was so tired, when we arrived at 5:00 pm, Carl had to take a nap. I changed into swimwear and headed for the beach. When I returned to the room sometime later, he was still asleep.

At 10:00 pm, Carl was still sleeping, and I was upset and disappointed over the difference between how I imagined this weekend to be and how it actually was.

We had planned to reach the hotel by at least 2:00 pm; we were going to swim for a while and then dress up for dinner. By 10:00 pm, however, I did not feel like dressing up any longer. When Carl finally woke up at 10:30 pm, he apologised, and I had to make the decision to be pleasant and not bring up all my issues connected with his ‘workaholism’.

It was difficult for me to be upset with Carl for sleeping when I knew he was tired, but I certainly had many complaints about how he had set up his life so that there was hardly any time for him to rest.

The next morning, we had breakfast and then strolled down to the beach. The water was calm and the white sand inviting. We saw two empty hammocks and I suggested we lie in them for a while. We were so relaxed, I thought, just lying there, chit-chatting, when Carl suddenly said:

“Rose, you are probably the only person in the world I can say this to and I know you won’t feel offended by it. This really has nothing to do with you but I have to tell you.”

I turned towards him and looked at him as he continued. “You see me lying here in this hammock. Rose, I really believe this is a giant waste of time. When I think of all the things I could be doing this just feels like wasting time.”

I had half expected him to say that, and laughed inside. “Well, you are going to waste time for the next two days, and you are going to enjoy wasting time, today and tomorrow.”

He reached over to me, an apologetic expression on his face. He held on to my hand and gently squeezed it. Locking his eyes on mine, he said, “I know, Rose, I know.”

The whirl of emotions continued. Carl’s brother Leroy and his family vacationed in Jamaica every year around this time. They live in Ottawa, Canada, and also own a house, ‘Rivera’, in Mammee Bay along the north coast of Jamaica. We were expected to visit ‘Rivera’ and spend some time with the family.

Carl and I talked about going on January 2nd, but Carl said he didn’t feel he could make it, he felt tired. I wondered if tiredness was the real reason or he just wanted to delay the inevitable visit with his family. Even though he looked forward to this time with his family, he was always reluctant to disrupt his work schedule.

As it turned out, Carl really was not feeling well. I had to drive to Mammee Bay on January 3rd. Carl looked ill. The loss of weight that seemed so attractive to me on New Year’s Eve on the dance floor now looked ominous. Carl’s mother, Flossie, was distressed when she saw her son, as were Leroy and his wife Susan. I told them about the doctor’s appointment the next day and reassured them that we were going to try our best to get to the bottom of Carl’s problem. Carl spent the day lying on a large lounge chair, frequently dozing off, sometimes conversing with Leroy or trying to answer his mother’s many questions about his health.

I drove Carl and the children back to Kingston that evening from Mammee Bay with a sense that tomorrow, and the doctor’s appointment, could not come quickly enough. Carl was quiet and withdrawn, smiling only in order not to frighten the children. He explained to them that he was going to the doctor the next day and that the doctor would help him to feel better.

By the time we reached Dr Errol, Carl was in bad shape. We went into the doctor’s office together as pre-arranged. The doctor asked questions and Carl answered, but I decided that the answers were not full enough, nor were they giving us all the pertinent information.

At one point I tried to say something, but Carl interjected: “Remember Rose, I am the one who is ill.” I took a deep breath, wondering if Carl and I were going to have a quarrel right there in front of the doctor.

This certainly was a possibility, because I was going to make sure that the doctor had all the details and specifically all the information on what brought us to his office. Dr Errol read the situation well, however, and his handling of it prevented a quarrel. He listened intently while Carl gave him answers. When he was finished with Carl, he turned to me. “Mrs Stone, do you have anything to add to this?”

I was so grateful to find a sensible doctor, and so I told him what I thought, most of which Carl had thought was insignificant and left out. He told the doctor that he had tonsillitis and that he had fainted at the Third World concert. He did not mention the frequency of his bouts with tonsillitis or how often he had slipped in and out of consciousness at the concert.

After Dr Errol had examined Carl, he told us he did not like a lot of the indicators but that he had to do more tests before he could give us a definitive diagnosis.

He also told us that he was almost sure Carl did not have diabetes, that something else had caused Carl to look and feel as he did. Carl had to undergo several blood tests and we were to come back for the results.

He was given a prescription, which included medication for high blood pressure – something he had not taken for over 10 years – and antibiotics because he had a fever. The doctor advised him that he was to rest as much as possible and predicted that he would begin to feel better in a couple of days.

As I left the doctor’s office that day I was beginning to see what my friend Lisa had noticed and commented on a couple of months earlier when she thought Carl’s weight loss looked more serious than what one would expect in a person coming off sugar. And to add to my worry, the doctor’s reaction had given me the subtle impression that Carl’s symptoms indicated he was very ill, and might have been sick for a long time.

“Rose,” said Carl on our drive to Dr Errol a few days later, “as we are getting closer to the doctor’s office I am starting to get more and more worried. I just can’t imagine what he is going to say to us.”

“The only way to explain how I feel is that my whole body is a heart beat and it is pulsating so rapidly that I can hardly breathe or walk,” I replied.

“We have to try to quiet our thoughts and believe that anything Dr Errol tells us, we can get through.”

“You know, Carl, how I have to think about this is that hundreds of people have gone through, and are going through, this kind of challenge – and if they could do it so can we.”

When we arrived, we parked and walked into the waiting area. In a few minutes Carl’s name was called and we entered Dr Errol’s office. As we shook hands and greeted each other, the doctor spoke directly to Carl.

“Professor, the test results are alarming but let me ask this. How long do you think you have been unwell?”

“To be truthful, not very long,” said Carl. “I think I started to feel a little tired when I came off my fruits and cut out sugars. But I was able to do all my exercises every morning. When I felt tired, I rested and felt completely normal afterwards.”

“Have you given any further thoughts to lessening your work load, if even for a while?”

“I have been thinking about that very seriously but I will attend to that as the need arises.”

“What about your drinking – do you have that under control? The last time we met, you mentioned that you had stopped drinking for a while. Most of the medication that you will have to take prohibits drinking.”

“I can stop drinking now if I have to. The only person that thinks my drinking is out of control is Rose, but even she has to admit that I stopped drinking for over three months when I got the diabetes scare.”

I had been unable to find my voice until now.

“Carl, if you stop drinking altogether, how will you get your information to write?”

“Doc, Rose is very sceptical when I tell her that I feel comfortable and at ease in bars not only because of the camaraderie and liquor, but because I get my best material for my columns right there in the ‘belly of the beast’. But I would change that immediately if my health is at risk.”

“Carl, how are you feeling today? Did the medication help in any way?”

“Yes Doc, my throat is feeling better, so I suspect the temperature is gone. My achy and woozy head, I don’t have any more. The dizziness I still get from time to time. Probably the blood pressure is a little more under control. I still feel unusually tired, but I believe that as soon as I can exercise again, that will help.”

“I am so sorry to have to tell you this but my findings from the test results suggest that you might have myeloma, which, as you know, is cancer of the bone marrow. This is not conclusive – further tests need to be done. I am going to send your notes off to Dr Grace who works out of Medical Associates. She is an excellent doctor for diseases such as these and I believe she will be a good fit for you. I am expecting a call from a colleague who I asked to consult with me on this matter just to see if my diagnosis is on the right track.”

Just then, the phone rang. “This might be him now, so excuse me.”

Next Sunday: I feel Carl is going to die soon