The Clinic part 2: Diagnosis Murder?

I was sitting in the waiting room, no form this time; one missed appointment and one attempted consultation with a Doctor had seen me sent straight back to the skin specialist I’d encountered on my first visit to the clinic. A perfect scenario for everyone in between who therefore didn’t have to deal with my problem, examining my genitals it seems was not the reason they chose a career in medicine over a fulfilling social life. Still this is the nature of their work, something they’re accustomed to surely? I searched possible reasons for shirking the duty; perhaps the current bureaucracy’s love of figures and fixed targets could have made tricky cases the scourge of the NHS system? Non-uniform growths and irritating rashes left to be passed around between departments, never settling anywhere long enough to be classified or to permanently scar anybodies figures. Looking around at the waiting room amongst my fellow infected I decided to pick up a magazine rather than make any attempt to share my witless irony.

The National Geographic in hand told me scientific tales of the revolutionary evolution of evolutionary theory. My mood was changing; from vaguely sarcastic I was becoming more suitably scared. Evolution, it seems, doesn’t have to progress slowly over thousands of years. I began to fret, perhaps my ailments are in fact evolution in reverse; something never to be cured, nature successfully removing me from the potential gene pool of the next generation by swathing my member with an arbitrary vague redness, a redness that terrifies the life out of both potential mates and target ticking hospital administrators everywhere. My face was growing long as I sat and worried, turning the page I tried to lift my mood by taking in the stupendous photography offered up by the magazine in question, the head of a North American mustang met my eyes.

The next eyes I looked up to see were those of a nurse I’d met the last time I was here, nice to see a familiar face, I begin to wonder what she must think of familiar faces at this clinic. Anyway she leads me through the corridors of the newly opened, barely completed building to the consultation room where the Doctor is waiting. Along with a third member of staff, she’s training, will be there to watch, to learn. Her first lesson concerns the layout of doctor’s surgeries and particularly examination tables as she turns round to face more of me than she might have hoped at this stage of proceedings.

                “Maybe the table needs to be in a different place” pipes up the doctor with her first moment of real insight into the whole situation. With this the three of them come closer to examine me whilst I try to imagine how the fresh new ceiling will look after a few more episodes in this particular room.

                “OK so you can see the reddened areas here, this is what we’re looking at, oh we could take some pictures!”

                “What? Pictures, really?”

                “Yes, they can be very useful for medical students. Its OK there’s a consent form you can sign to specify where you want them to be shown.”

                “Can you promise you won’t tag me in any?”

                “…”

                “Nurse do you know where the camera is? OK thank you, she’s just getting the camera.”

Obviously its great to have the doctor explain exactly what’s going on to you but I thought this was perhaps a little far. Until she went further.

                “OK, so what I’m going to do is point the camera at err, at it, and take some photos OK?”

                “Err, yeah I guess.”

                “OK I just need to turn the camera on, that’s it, OK now I need a special mode.”

                “Not the zoom I hope?”

It’s now becoming clear that it is the role of nurses to provide a little relief giving laughter, the good doctor remains focused on the task before her, a task which appears hugely challenging, even for a PHD graduate to whom I have entrusted the well being of this oh so delicate area of my body.

                “I need to find that little flower. Where’s the flower option?”

                “Macro mode? Blimey, detail.”

                “OK got it. Now I’m going to turn this light off because we don’t want it glaring at the camera do we?”

                “I’ll make it sure it isn’t.”

                “…”

The doctor’s getting snap happy, the trainee however has a far more interesting role. Namely ensuring my cock is presented in a variety of different poses, ‘Yes the artistic direction is superb, just look at this one Jennifer, it screams tired dejection yet the eye appears full of insight into a woman’s inner workings’.

                “OK and one more, make it face me, that’s it. Lovely.” Indeed. “OK get dressed and come and have a seat.”

Returning to my seat we discuss potential creams before settling on a bi-opsy. Which will involve a piece of my penis being plucked away.

                “OK so make an appointment on your way out and I’ll see you next week.”

                “Right. And what about those happy snaps you’ve just taken, who’ll see those?”

                “Oh yes the consent form. Now let me see, you said you be happy for them to be used for medical purposes yes? Good, I’ll just tick that. And for the general public you said no.”

                “Right.”

                “So that’s OK?”

                “No!”

                “Oh right, but in text books yes? On medical display boards, yes? On the internet?”

                “Will there be any in National Geographic?”

                “...OK I’ve put yes, just sign here.”

I duly sign. Feeling I’ve somehow lost round two. The doctor is less timid, less judgemental than on my last visit, yet she’s still unable to communicate effectively. I leave thinking that this is perhaps all an act, an elaborate ploy. After all, I’ve signed myself up to bi-opsy that I know very little about and may in fact only help her own research and teaching rather than my ailing member, and sold the photographic rights for, well, for nothing. I resolve to discover more on my next visit. Which piece exactly will she remove? How will she accomplish such a feat without causing me immense pain? Will I be able to enjoy sex again any time soon? And, merely as a simple after thought, is she actually any closer to a diagnosis?!

The Clinic

Generally a visit to the GUM clinic can be a nerve racking experience, particularly if you have reason to expect bad news of some kind. A routine check-up however, can be a much more casual affair, assuming of course, that the doctor will take his or her work, and indeed, your genitals, in their stride. Presumably it is safe to assume that they do this work regularly. They work in a GUM clinic, in a small town in the North West of England. There’s not a lot else to do here.

Waiting room, nothing unusual, receptionist is comfortable, if anything slightly flirtatious (I guess I’m at least getting whatever it is checked out..?!). I tick the no symptoms box, a minor lie. Long term symptoms hardly seem worth mentioning right? Into the Nurse, she’s young, not unattractive, but this is the GUM clinic, her questions are straight forward. Then I mention the long term symptoms which have actually been diagnosed previously. It’ll need examining again, there’s no examination area in here so I’ll have to go next door to see the Doctor. OK fine, I await the Doctor.

The Doctor is another woman, slightly older, probably for the best. She’ll be calmer. She takes my urine sample off me and gets the nurse sitting in there with us to take a blood sample for HIV and syphilis. Which she felt the need to ask me if I thought I should have. Yes please.

Then she starts to whisper.

            “Do you erm…check yourself regularly?”

            “Check myself you say? My balls you mean? Yes.”

            “…ok. And when was the last time you had sexual intercourse.”

            “Erm, probably ten days ago”

            “Right. Was that with your regular partner? Or something more casual.”

            “Erm, that’s complicated! Ha!”

            “……”

            “Erm, an ex.”

            “So long term? OK I’ll just write that down.”

            “Well, no not since a few years ago. Put casual”

She looks at me, from the corner of her eye only, before explaining to me that she won’t be able to look directly at me whilst asking the questions. I thought this due to irrational fear produced by the ‘re-branding’ of STDs to STeyes, put she suggests its actually because she needs to input the data onto the computer in front of her.

“Ok. And have you slept with anyone else in the last three months?”

            “Yes…”

            “And the last one, was that vaginal sex?”

            “Er yes.”

            “And…erm.. oral?”

            “Err, not for me! Ha”

            “So no then.”

            “Well hang on, I think I gave…”

            “Oh….err….ok..”

            “And what about anal?”

            “Errr yes.”

            “Right. So have you slept with anyone in the last three months who was gay or bisexual, who would have slept with anyone who may have slept with someone of the same sex in the last three months?” At this stage I warm to it. I consider tailoring my responses to further embarrass her, before remembering it is my safety, or indeed the potential non-existence of my future children that we’re discussing.

            “Yes”

            “..Oh ok. So did you do anal?”

            “Yes”

            “Giving and receiving?”

            “Oh hang on. No. It was a girl.”

            “Oh! OK. Erm. So you didn’t do erm, anal.”

            “No I said we did.”

As we go on to repeat the process for any partners over the last three months, I become increasingly aware that the poor Doctor had lead a massively under privileged life when it comes to the bedroom. Lots of studying for medical exams I guess.

            “Oh! Ok. And what about in the last six months.”

            “Six?! Oh blimey, erm.”

            “OK never mind. Have you slept with anyone from outside of the UK?”

            “Yes. Australia, Argentina..”

            “Argentina? Ok, but they’re all white there aren’t they?”

            “?!?! Erm, no!! But she was.”

            “Good that’s OK then”

I’m assuming this is due to average numbers of people of different ethnic backgrounds having certain STIs rather than anything to do with Doctor Patek’s personal opinions, but I stick with my assumption rather than asking.

“If you’d like to get behind the screen and we’ll have a look at the symptoms you spoke about. When did they first appear?”

            “..Around two and a half years ago”

At this stage she looks me in the eye for the first time. Before realising her mistake and quickly removing her shocked and disgusted face from view.

I stand up and walk around the other side of the screen, all potential embarrassment washed away by the Doctor’s timid and trembling questioning. The nurse gives me a paper towel to ‘cover myself’ with and asks me to slip my trousers down. The very thing, of course, that had gotten me into this situation in the first place. The Doctor appears, gloves on;

            “So you’ve been in South America? Where did you go exactly?”

I can’t help but think it’s an odd moment for this sort of chit chat. Surely you should be asking me about my reddened penis?

            “Err Peru, Colombia, and a few other places.”

            “Right…” Now mumbling she removes the paper towels and gingerly takes hold of my forlorn member.

“Peru. I see. There must be erm… a lot of….caves, in Peru.”

Caves!?! Why is it that caves have come to her mind when she’s looking at my penis? Has it shrivelled with this experience so much that it has become concave in shape?! Peru isn’t even famous for caves! Something the nurse was obviously aware of too, at least I assume that’s the reason she’s burst out laughing from the other side of the screen. After probably 3 seconds the Doctor has decided she’s had enough and is already walking away.

            “Hang on. Whilst you’re here can you have a look at this as well please?”

Being so focused on not having to actually spend anytime examining a penis the Doctor manages to block out my question. Thankfully the nurse intervenes, probably for her own amusement as much as concern for my sexual health. It took another 3 seconds to examine the second issue and we’re done.

On returning to her desk the good Doctor loaded me up with creams.

            “Use them all. Thoroughly, you must be very thorough. It says to use it for a week, OK? If after a week the problem persists, use them for another week. That way you won’t have to come back here and see me again.”

            “Right. That’s a relief, eh?” 

Male On Sunday

            -Tea Dear?

-Shouldn’t say no.

-Have you got your mug out there dear?

-I gave it to you half hour ago.

-Oh yes, so you did dear. Cake dear?

-Has it got that coconut in it?

-Only a little.

-I won’t bother then. Thanks.

I don’t know why she always has to slip a bit o’ bloody coconut in there. What’s wrong with ordinary bloody fruit cake? Coconut, she’s been reading those bloody Asian cookin’ ideas books our Charlotte got for her birthday. Knew it spelt trouble soon as she un-wrapped the bloody thing. Didn’t say anything, Charlotte would-a-been straight onto me if I had. Just kept my nose in the paper. Good job I did an all, that’s the same day I saw the first warning signs. Charlotte told me not to worry. Worry? It’s them that’s gonna be bloody worried if they try that shit with me I told her.

            -Here you are dear, that enough milk?

            -…

Last few months since then have been different along the water-ways. Atmosphere’s changed; more guarded. People say this part ‘o the world has been on the up, up the shitter more like. Used to be that people would stop to have a chat, at least say hello as they passed. These days they keep their heads down, straight at the ground, lookin’ out for dog shit. If only they’d notice the real bloody shite before their eyes, ha. I’ve seen ‘em all come past here over the years, all types. They all admired the boat, asked about her name, asked about the life. Nosey buggers. Still, I didn’t mind it; we could stay moored in the same spot for weeks. Beautiful it was. I miss it, but still, good job I was reading that bloody paper on her birthday is all I’m sayin’.

***

            -I thought we could perhaps stop off somewhere for a sandwich at lunch time dear?

Look at her, clueless. Has she no idea of what’s going on? She’s losing it I swear; a sandwich?!

            -Why would we want to do that? Have we got no bread on board? There’ll be some of that potted meat left from yesterday an all.

            -I just thought it might be nice dear, help you relax. There’s a wide berth down by the King’s Head, lots of space, you needn’t worry about strangers wanting to come aboard there.

Has she not heard that it’s spreading? Not just the narrow channels where it’s not safe. Reports of hostages being taken all over the shop now, only yesterday they took twelve Germans; must have been tourists. How many do they have to get before someone acts? People don’t like to stare at the shit that confronts them round here; they’d rather step round it. Bollocks to that; stamp on it, stamp it right out then deal with the consequences I say, scrape it off later. I’ve tried to help, tried to share what I know, point out the bleeding obvious. What’s the point though with these numptys? Local radio cut me off when I tried to warn them on air, do they not read the nationals? They’ll be coming over snake-pass guns blazin’ screaming blue bloody murder by the time them soddin’ White Nancy worshippin’ liberals sit-up and take notice. We’ll never be able to rest-up again, constantly be on the move, constantly in fear of them catching us and making their demands, squeezing every inch of life out what we’ve got left. They're not gonna catch us though, oh no. No-one knows these waters like I do, no bloody idiot has got a clue. Aye, they won’t catch me, filthy fuckers.

            -Dear…?

-Keeping moving keeps me relaxed, you know that.

            -OK dear, I’m just not sure we can do it for much longer.

            -We’ll do it for as long as we have to, and right now, we most certainly have to

-...OK dear.

So long as there’s a threat, so long as there’s other boats getting court, other ransom’s being demanded. Pirates they are, nothing but soddin’ pirates.

***

            -Morning skipper, how’s things? Still keeping moving?

Great, just what I need, a conversation with Jonny B. Good.

            -No sense keeping still in these times mate. Not seen the papers again this morning?

            -Not worrying about that still are you?

Worried! I keep tellin’ ‘em; not me that should be worried. So long as I keep moving, they’ll never catch me. Besides, I’m protected and ready to protect if need be.

            -Well I don’t suppose them Germans were worried much either, you seen what happened to them?

            -Well I…

            -Jumped aboard they did. Russian bloody assault rifles and grenade launchers at the ready. Made all sorts of demands.

            -I think there’s were slightly different circumstances.

            -Maybe so, but you obviously haven’t been reading the latest, extending beyond their original hunting grounds it says, they’ll be here soon, you mark my words son. The preparation’s started; they’re expecting attacks on passenger ships anytime now. Thank God for our Royal Navy I say, but you can never be too sure, that’s why I’ve got my own protection. And if they come near me, well I wouldn’t like to say what might happen. But I’ll tell you what’ll happen, there’ll be some sorry lookin’ pirates I’m telling you son. I’ll show how we soddin’ well do things in our waters, proud sea-faring nation that we are. Sir Francis Drake wouldn’t have stood for any of these soddin’ pirates that’s for sure.

            -OK well you take care of yourself now Jim.

            -Oh I will, don’t you worry about me son, don’t you worry.

Lilly-livered idiot. Just sits by his boat thinking these things can’t happen to him, bloody Guardian types, won’t see the dangers before it’s too late, before they’ve got him, before they’ve got us all. Someone’s going to have to take the lead, someone’s going to have to do something.

***

            -So how many are you expecting dear?

            -Hard to say, so many of these boating types are wet-behind-the-ears. Won’t see the danger. Anyone who wants to save their skins against these bloody pirates will turn up though. We’re gonna need a concerted effort from as many as possible, a plan of action for when they get here, a concrete defence for when it starts.

            -…….

            -…….

            -Where did you put the posters up dear? Do you think enough people saw them?

            -Course they did, there’s one on every bridge between the 43^rd at Lyme Green and the 16^th way over in Sandbach. People will come, if they understand the dangers, they have to come.

That’s the problem though, no-one understands. They will eventually, I’ll bloody highjack their boats myself if I have to. Just to shock ‘em, just to give the ignorant twits a warning, show how easy it’ll be for the pirates once they get here.

-Hullo. Is this the canal resident’s special meeting?

Ha, I knew they’d come. Knew I wasn’t alone in all this.

-That’s right Brian, come in, sit down. This is my wife Susan.

-Hullo Susan.

-Hello dear, would you like a cup of tea?

Christ woman, always with the tea. This is a serious meeting; the members have no time for cups of soddin' tea.

-Ooh go on then, 2 sugars.

-What about you dear?

-I’d rather get down to business; we’ve no time for trivialities. Though I suppose if you’re making one anyway, and you’d better bring us those digestives an all.

-Not a very big turn out Jim?

-Not important, if it’s only us that wants to save our skins then so be it. Small group will be easier to protect any-how.

-So you’re familiar with the problem Brian?

-Which problem’s that Jim?

-These bloody pirates, Christ alive does no-one read the bloody news anymore. Anyway, they’re expanding their areas of patrol, got what they’re calling mother ships, floating mother ships. All they’ve gotta do is park one up round here and they can launch attacks from it. Got a boat full of Germans just the other day.

-Wasn’t that near that Somaland?

-Not important, all water-folks are in this together, One Nation, we’re all in danger. If they’re doing it over there it won’t be long before it spreads. With all these immigrants over here, all it’ll take is one of these pirates to come over on holiday, maybe see a family member who’s already snuck in, an NHS tourist most bloody likely, they’ll see our lack of security on the canal and BANG. We’ll be had, held to ransom, ransacked, and pillaged and, dare I say it, our woman, Susan cover your ears...

-What dear?

-Never mind. I’m sure you understand what I’m getting at Brian?

-Well, I was more worried about the increase in mooring charges to be honest.

-Look these people are criminals, as yet there’s no mandate to shoot to kill, force has to be proportional they’re saying, but we can’t leave ourselves open. You understand?

-Erm, is that thing real Jim?

-Course it is; was my Grandfather’s, both barrels loaded and ready.

-Right...

-Right, exactly, that’s sorted then. Tomorrow we sail together, in convoy. We’ll head out first, we’ve got seven feet on you and we might need that room up front if things get hairy.

-Do you mind if I bring my puzzle book?

            -Here’s your tea gentlemen, ooh look Jim, your mug’s got a skull-and-cross bones on it, how nice.

***

            -You alright up front still Jim?

            -You worry about your end Brian, I’ll man the controls. You keep watch at the rear.

            -Yep, OK, though I have got a question Jim.

            -Go on.

            -Six down, ‘delusional fear’, it’s got eight letters, first letter ‘P’, any ideas?

            -……

It’s unnerving this; everything seems a bit too peaceful. Too many empty moorings, too few people out in their gardens. We did hear the usual gaggle of scruffy secondary students this morning under snake pass, passing cigarettes around between their spotty faces. We judged them to be a minor threat at best; they haven’t got the intelligence to work with these pirates. Something’s in the wind though, even the cows on Weaver’s Field seemed agitated, staring at us as we passed, as if wanting to warn us of something imminent.

            -Special alert Brian, we’ll be approaching the marina in two bridges’ time.

            -Will we stop for a chat Jim?

            -No no Brian, can’t be too sure about anyone round there, apparently these pirates harbour bases on land. Got a whole network of local villagers assisting their activities. We won’t be stopping to chat. Can you pass me that telescopic sight Susan? It’ll come in handy once the pass straightens out through the next bridge.

            -Hear you are dear.

Blimey, there’s an awful lot of activity up at the marina. Hope Brian’s going to be able to handle it if things’ get rough. He’s a good sort but I get the feeling he’s not ready for action. He’s not been building for this like I have, been awaiting a cause, awaiting a time and a reason to utilise my knowledge and talents. Natural leader of men they said and they knew a thing or two about that, those civil war reconstruction types. What the hell is goin’ on up there?

            -Anything going Jim?

            -Just stay low for now Brian. There’s an awful lot of people about, I can see a few fluorescent bibs an all.

Who the hell are those radioactive types? I knew something was up. Hang on; he’s just skipped between boats. Bugger me! It’s starting!

            -Brian, it’s them!

            -Who?

            -Them in the fluorescent jackets, they’re skippin' between boats! I knew they weren’t real boat men! What business have they got on other people's vessels?!

            -Couldn’t they be from the water trust dear?

            -Stay inside Susan, you’ll be safer there. In fact, tell Brian to get closer and skip across onto his barge. This is going to get ugly.

            -I don’t think that’ll be necessary dear.

            -Just do it Susan, no time to disobey orders, quickly!

Jesus they’ve spotted us, fifty feet……….forty-eight feet. We’re getting closer. Shit, where’s that shot gun. Best keep it close to hand.

           

***

            -Morning mate. Any reason you’re travelling in convoy? It’s not normally permitted to tie two barges together you know?

Oh yeah, trying to put the frighteners on, who do they think I am? Convoy’s aren’t normally permitted he’s right. But this is a time of crisis, can’t fall into his trap       

-I know your game.

-Excuse me?!

He doesn’t realise I’ve got him sussed. Probably thought his white skin would protect him, I’m not that bloody stupid. Got all sorts workin’ for ‘em it seems, even our own countrymen. False patriots, disgusts me, I’ll get him sent out to bloody Somalia if I get through this alive.

            -Sorry mate, I’m from the water trust, we’re out here talking to people today about any issues with the increased mooring charges.

            -Oh right yes I’ve a few questions actually.

            -Quiet Brian; stay back on your own barge. Water-trust my eye, there’s no trust here, I know what’s going on.

            -Sorry mate, I think you’re misunderstanding me, can I just jump aboard and we’ll have a chat, I can jump off again at the end of the marina.

That’s it, look straight into my eyes, and see what I’m about. You any idea what you’re getting into? I’ve read all about your types, claiming to be doing good for the water-ways around here, claiming it somehow benefits the local community.

            -Look mate, I’ve got to speak to everyone who passes through here this morning, if I could just come aboard for five minutes.

            -Oh let him on Jim, I’ll get Brian's kettle on.

            -Thanks misses, very kind.

            -What? No. What the hell have you said Susan. Back-off man, back right off. I’m warning you. This is my vessel, twenty-two years I’ve sailed down this canal, there’s no way your taking it off me you filthy bloody pirate, working for them foreign agents, you free-loader, pushing up my living costs, forcing me to live in fear. Get the hell off my barge!

            -Look mate, calm yourself.

Where’s that bloody shotgun.

            -I’ll show you bloody calm.

            -Whoa now Sir there’s no need for that, please! # Pete, we’ve got a situation down in the mariner, call the police. Repeat call the police immediately. #

Call the police! Dam right, be you they’ll be arresting though son. What have I done wrong, my castle might be a floater but I’ll still defend it like all Englishmen would their own.

            -Stay back. Brian, get up close. I might have to skip across to your vessel if he gets violent.

            -Look Sir, I’m certainly not going to get violent, like I said, we just need a chat.

            -A chat, ransom demands are not chats my son.

            -What?! Look, they’ll be police up ahead on the next bridge; I suggest you help yourself by putting that gun down.

Jesus he’s right, there’s half a dozen of ‘em, finally they’re taking me seriously. I knew it’d take an attempted bloody highjack before anyone listened to me.

            -You’re done-for now son, police round here won’t mess about like over in Somali-bloody-what’s-it. Have you straight in a cell.

            -Ok mate, whatever you say, just please, put that gun down.

            -Would the gentlemen on the boat please drop the weapon, repeat drop your weapon and no-one will be hurt.

What they on about? He’s not even brandished his weapon, unless there’s one behind his back.

            -Jim, put it down dear, the police don’t look too happy.

            -Its not me they’re talking to love.

            -Sir, put down the weapon and no-one will get hurt.

What and leave this guy to run amok on my barge?

            -Not with this scum aboard!

            -Sir we will have no choice but to lower police Special Forces onto your barge unless you drop the weapon.

Blood and sand, they’re in league with the bloody pirates, part of the highjack! I can’t believe it! Inspector bloody knacker infiltrated by Somalians, Jesus the papers were bloody right.

            -Brian quick, I’m getting aboard yours, fire her up, mine will be over-run in seconds with these bent coppers.

            -Are you sure this is the right thing to do Jim?

            -There’s no time to debate Brian, I’ve told you, I’ve waited my life for this moment, I know exactly what to do. Susan, raise the flag, I’ll cut the rope to set us free, Brian turn her round and let's get out of here!

            -Charlie Tango, this is Charlie Tango. Calling all officers in the area we have suspected pirates on Macclesfield canal heading west towards Sutton. Pirates are armed, repeat, the pirates are armed, approach with extreme caution until the armed response unit arrives. Over.