Heiko Jessen was experiencing a newfound fame in Germany. His patient load increased substantially. Everywhere he went, he was recognized. Simply walking down the street in his quiet neighborhood in Berlin, he was stopped by patients, friends, and admirers. His social life changed as well. Now when Jessen went out to bars and clubs at night, he found himself widely recognized. In some ways, it was great fun; the club bouncers shooed him in immediately, no cover charge, no lines. In other ways, it was uncomfortable, especially if he found himself surrounded by patients. This, of course, is the way of the family doctor. They are part of their communities and see their patients everywhere they go. What was different for Jessen was the new element of fame. He was no longer simply the sympathetic family doctor who treated gay men; he was now the famous researcher who could cure AIDS. Jessen had, in his words, “four excellent years.” He had much success and for the first time, after going into considerable debt to start his practice, plenty of money. But Jessen’s good fortune was about to change.
The tabloid B.Z. printed the Berlin patient’s story under the headline AIDS DIE ERSTE HEILUNG? translated to English, “The First AIDS Cure?” Jessen had been careful to avoid the word cure in all media interviews. The effect was immediate. Hostility grew in his small medical community. In the wake of the sensationalized headline, numerous police reports were filed against Jessen. The claims were damning: They accused Jessen of cheating health insurance companies and income taxes, and receiving pharmaceutical and pharmacy money illegally. They claimed that Jessen was falsifying HIV diagnoses in an effort to increase his income, since he was paid more by insurance companies for HIV-positive patients.
In response, the police raided his clinic. They seized his medical records. They identified two hundred of his HIV-positive patients and invited them for HIV retesting. They went through his collaborators and medical colleagues to ensure that each record of additional testing, each extra exam, was real.
As the police sieved through his medical practice, they found a few errors that, in comparison to the larger charges, seem inconsequential. The largest of these mistakes was that Jessen was distributing methadone in his clinic to patients with drug addictions. Methadone is a dangerous drug given to help addicts wean themselves off heroin. The drug is as addictive as heroin itself, and regulation of it therefore must be tightly controlled. Physicians in Berlin can’t simply prescribe methadone to patients who need it; they must have a special license for opioid addiction. The requirement for specialized training to prescribe methadone is not uniform: Some European countries allow generalist physicians to prescribe the drug and others require special licensing.
Jessen’s case went to court. He was terrified; he could lose his license. Luckily, the sentence was minimal: a short probation and a fine for his oversight. The financial consequence on its own was small but was magnified by a poor investment Jessen had made in a housing development in the former East Berlin. The victim of an exploitive developer, Jessen found himself in a dire financial situation, and he went bankrupt. With the help of his brother, Arne, also a physician in Jessen’s practice, he struggled through. He describes practicing medicine as a “sanctuary” during that time.
To make matters worse, Jessen’s health was faltering. He noticed an odd pattern of red spots on his legs. He was having strange abdominal pain. After going to Charité hospital, he was diagnosed with an exceedingly rare disease: pneumatosis cystoides intestinalis. Gas had built up in his bowel wall. The disease was rare but could be fatal. It was 2002 and it seemed that everything in Jessen’s life was working against him. As he received therapy at Charité, he decided he needed to take whatever small savings he had left and leave Berlin. He needed a long break from the city that seemed intent on punishing him.
Once Jessen learned he wouldn’t die, he traveled. He spent two weeks in Sri Lanka, before leaving for a week in Singapore and then on to Dubai. It was just the escape he was looking for. After Andrew had left him, Jessen had been lonely. There was no one else out there quite like Andrew and he missed him. In Dubai he left behind old regrets and began dating someone new. And his new boyfriend wasn’t just anyone; he was a prince in Dubai. The romance was like a fairy tale to Jessen. His lover rode on a white horse, they spent their time together in his palace, and wherever he went, people were bowing to Jessen simply because they knew he was with the prince.
It was a life-affirming idyll. Jessen returned to Berlin rejuvenated, ready to dive into work and his research.