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
“?!?! 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
“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?”
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