Sexual Healing
Even in my xanax-ed state last night, I managed to remember to set my alarm for 6:30 AM this morning, giving myself ample time to press snooze a few times before doing the bare minimum in preparation for heading out to the free clinic in Brooklyn and arriving around 8:00. I figured I'd have had enough sleep, what with being passed out in a drugged stupor on the plane from Wisconsin, where I'd spent a long weekend, and then subsequently passed out on Airtrain, NJ Transit and the New York subway before hitting my bed, and thus this would be a perfect morning to undergo the full battery of STD testing. I'd heard that one should arrive at the clinic before 8:00, even though it doesn't open until 8:30, to avoid the long lines and long wait-time, if one would like to get to one's 9:30 AM scheduled work-time only slightly late.
When I arrived at the building, there were already 3 people in front of me in line, whcih didn't seem too bad- except the rain was driving everybody out of the appointed unsheltered line. More people began showing up and I grew concerned about keeping leibensraum on my 4th-place-in-line status, a concern that proved justified when a taciturn woman finally opened the doors at 8:40 and a mad rush forced me into the #8 spot. Infuriating.
I was given a card to fill out (with '#8' written on it), asking if I had sores, cuts, blisters, discharge, or had been refered by a previous sexual partner. I checked 'Other' and waited my turn. And waited. And waited.
My number was called into the reception area around 9:20, and an extremely agitated woman took my card, and- looking at me seriously- pracitcally shouted 'HAVE YOU CHECKED **ALL** BOXES THAT APPLY, SIR?!!'. I assented that yes, I had, and started to continue when she cut me off by screaming 'REALLY?! ***ALLLLLLL*** BOXES?!!!!'. I said I was merely here to get the full battery of STD tests for my own peace of mind when she cut me off by saying 'WE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO *HAVE* THIS CONVERSATION, YOU TALK ABOUT DISEASES WITH THE DOCTOR!!! THAT'S WHY YOU NEED TO MAKE SURE TO CHECK ***ALLLLLLLLLLLL*** BOXES THAT APPLY!!!!!'. I said I had.
"WELL, THEN, WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR TODAY?!!!"
Confused, because I thought that this was the very conversation that we weren't supposed to be having, I said "I had an HIV test last week; I'd like to get tested for everything else."
"YOU WANT AN HIV TEST?!! HAVE YOU BEEN EXPOSED?!??"
No, I said, I'd just HAD an HIV test. I wanted the other tests now. For free.
"WE USUALLY DO HIV TESTS!!! HAVE YOU BEEN EXPOSED TO ANYTHING ELSE?!! THAT'S WHY WE USUALLY DO TESTS FOR OTHER DISEASES!!!!"
Feeling that this was some subtle code for 'claim you've been exposed or else you won't get any treatment', I said "yes, I think I've been exposed to, uh, everything," and held myself back from inventing a sexual partner who had just tested positive for syphillis, gonnorea, chlamydia, herpes, HPV, and hep A, B & C. 'And he never told me!' I imagined myself saying.
I went back to the waiting room imagining everybody was looking at me after that very loud exchange when I noticed a beyond-adorable and definitely gay guy around my age sitting across the aisle. We exchanged a few glances, both imagining what the other was in for, when he was called into registration and the answer became mortifyingly clear.
'DO NOT TELL ME HOW MANY PARTNERS YOU HAVE HAD UNPROTECTED SEX WITH!!!!!!' bellowed the receptionist's voice from the next room. 'THAT IS CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION FOR YOU TO SHARE WITH YOUR DOCTOR!!!!! IS THERE STILL DISCHARGE?!!!!!'.
I avoided his gaze when he returned to the room, instead choosing to watch the instructional video- insultingly geared towards an 'urban' market- that had just started playing in the office.
--"There is some risk of HIV", said the woman doctor in the video.
--------"HIVE?!!" said the comical black man. "What you mean by HIVE?!?"
Around 10:30, the doctor finally called me in. I immediately tried to be charming and bashful, as well as to display my vast knowledge of sexual health, culled from a few years in college as a sexual health counselor. She cut me off-
"So, you want an HIV test."
I explained that no, I wanted the tests for everything else, because-
"You know, you should really get an HIV test while you're at it, I understand it's difficult, but it could save your life."
But I just HAD an HIV test last week, and it came out negative-
She was suddenly suspicious. "Well why didn't you get tested for everything else, while you were at it? Did you FORGET everything else that's running around out there?!"
"No," I said. "I went to a place that had next-day results, but it cost a lot of money, and I-"
"Next day results?" she barked. "Did you have reason to worry?"
I explained that I had recently broken up with my long-time boyfriend, and had a few sexual partners since then, and was just getting the first test for a long time- and would prefer not to wait and agonize over the results. The word 'boyfriend' seemed to set in her mind.
"Have you had unprotected anal sex?" she asked me. Well, yes, with the boyfriend, after we had been together for 6 months and had the full battery of tests and-
"NEVER HAVE UNPROTECTED ANAL SEX!!!!" she squeeled. "The rectum is really, really dirty! Do you know how easy it is to get a bladder infection? I mean, there is still SHIT right in the RECTUM! and, and," she was really worked up now, "You just CAN'T have unprotected anal sex! I don't care if you're faithful for the rest of your lives! USE CONDOMS!"
I explained that for five years, neither of us had ever had a bladder infection, and besides- bladder infections? Acceptable risk. Totally acceptable risk. I wasn't going to back down-- no, I would NEVER have unprotected sex with somebody I hadn't been with for a good chunk of time, and hadn't gotten tested with, but after that? Free-sailing all the way. She moved on.
"Do you know about syphillis?" she asked me. "It is REALLY rampant among gay men right now," and she had that tone in her voice that was more than just gently chastizing- it was accusing me of being just another irresponsible child, creating all this mess that she'd have to clean up. I insisted that yes, I knew all about syphillis, this was why I was here, and-
"Let me show you some pictures," she said, pulling out a book and opening up. "This is the long term of effect of syphillis!"
Well, OK, let's just get me tested, then-
"And Gonorrea, and Chlamydia- all of these are really on the rise in the gay community!"
This again.
It's crazy the way I forget why many gays choose to go to gay health centers. The only two places still rampant with culturally-sanctioned homophobia these days seem to be morning radio and the medical profession. Norm doctors tend to treat you as if you spend all of your recreation time oscillating between wild bareback orgies and snorkeling in raw sewage, you repulsive, filthy creature. If you're not swallowing load after load of jizz while getting your ass double-penetrated, you're letting 4 guys shit in your mouth and making snow-angels in mounds of discarded IV needles and smoking crack. I remember going to the hospital once, extremely feverish, when the doctor caught one glimpse of my erstwhile boyfriend holding my hand and decided to screen me for every single STD known to man before informing me he thought it might be AIDS.
Who knows? Maybe it's just me.
The doctor finally got around to drawing blood, swabbing a throat culture, and grumbling her way to a rectal swab. Then it came time for the urethral culture, and I balked.
"You know what? I think I'll skip the herpes/HPV test. I mean, there's nothing I can really do about them if I have them....", and the doctor was livid, failing entirely to understand what freaked me out about getting a q-tip stuck up my urethra.
"Besides," I added unwisely. "I already have some random Valtrex at home".
Wrong move.
The doctor started on another harangue, assuming I'd already had herpes, and began to 'educate' me on the fact that herpes aren't curable; I interrupted her and explained to her the story.
"No, you see, it's because my Dad is paranoid, and he thought there might be a bio-terrorism related outbreak of smallpox, and thought maybe Valtrex would help. I also have a store of cipro, levaquin, tamiflu and a whole stack of surgical masks. I haven't ever had a herpes outbreak", but she wasn't buying a word of this (very true) story, and I realized that her harrangue would not end until I consented.
It fucking killed like nothing else-- "ow ow ow!" I screamed, involuntarily, and the doctor just sort of rolled her eyes, like "Well, it serves you right, you nasty thing".
She gave me a jar for a urine sample, and told me to go to the bathroom to fill it. Where is the bathroom? Why, right out the door and through the waiting room! Fuck privacy!
I put the jar/baggie combination in my pocket and ventured through the room, as bored patients-in-waiting all looked up at me. When I entered the men's room, there was the hot guy from earlier, modestly trying to hide his own half-full jar of urine from me. We exchanged shame-ridden smiles, and I proceeded into the stall, did my business, and suddenly faced a dilemma. While I had been able to hide the jar in my pocket before, there was no way in hell I was going to stick a vial full of urine back into there, even wrapped in a zip-lock bag, and even when the urine it contained was mine. So I tried to disguise it in my palm, and headed back into the waiting room, urine in hand, to be stared at by the waiting clients. When I returned back to the examination room, the doctor fumed "Put it in the box outside the door!" as if she had been telling me to do that for years, and I had never taken notice.
Unsure what she meant, I retreated back to the hall, where some searching unearthed a cardboard box, covered with wrapping paper, with 'Urine' written on the front, in marker. There was already one vial in there, and I wondered how they would tell the difference, when I noticed that my name was written on the label.
"Hmmmm," I thought to myself, looking at the other jar. "That hot gay guy must be named Scott A_______."
I returned to the room to be given one last dressing-down from the doctor, who told me I really should be more careful in the future and to call in two weeks time for the results of everything, and in the meantime not to have sex. I thought she might be done, but she stared at me for a good long while, full of righteous anger, and said "I mean, REALLY, you have to be CAREFUL," as if I had just told her I enjoyed dipping my dick in buckets of AIDS-infected blood.
She then, out of nowhere, handed me a flyer about crystal meth abuse, and bid me good day.
I got to work 2 hours late, where I immediately found Scott A______ on Friendster.
"Hello," I wrote. "We met a few hours ago at the STD clinic. I found your name on a jar of your urine. You are cute."
I wonder if he'll write back.
When I arrived at the building, there were already 3 people in front of me in line, whcih didn't seem too bad- except the rain was driving everybody out of the appointed unsheltered line. More people began showing up and I grew concerned about keeping leibensraum on my 4th-place-in-line status, a concern that proved justified when a taciturn woman finally opened the doors at 8:40 and a mad rush forced me into the #8 spot. Infuriating.
I was given a card to fill out (with '#8' written on it), asking if I had sores, cuts, blisters, discharge, or had been refered by a previous sexual partner. I checked 'Other' and waited my turn. And waited. And waited.
My number was called into the reception area around 9:20, and an extremely agitated woman took my card, and- looking at me seriously- pracitcally shouted 'HAVE YOU CHECKED **ALL** BOXES THAT APPLY, SIR?!!'. I assented that yes, I had, and started to continue when she cut me off by screaming 'REALLY?! ***ALLLLLLL*** BOXES?!!!!'. I said I was merely here to get the full battery of STD tests for my own peace of mind when she cut me off by saying 'WE ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO *HAVE* THIS CONVERSATION, YOU TALK ABOUT DISEASES WITH THE DOCTOR!!! THAT'S WHY YOU NEED TO MAKE SURE TO CHECK ***ALLLLLLLLLLLL*** BOXES THAT APPLY!!!!!'. I said I had.
"WELL, THEN, WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING FOR TODAY?!!!"
Confused, because I thought that this was the very conversation that we weren't supposed to be having, I said "I had an HIV test last week; I'd like to get tested for everything else."
"YOU WANT AN HIV TEST?!! HAVE YOU BEEN EXPOSED?!??"
No, I said, I'd just HAD an HIV test. I wanted the other tests now. For free.
"WE USUALLY DO HIV TESTS!!! HAVE YOU BEEN EXPOSED TO ANYTHING ELSE?!! THAT'S WHY WE USUALLY DO TESTS FOR OTHER DISEASES!!!!"
Feeling that this was some subtle code for 'claim you've been exposed or else you won't get any treatment', I said "yes, I think I've been exposed to, uh, everything," and held myself back from inventing a sexual partner who had just tested positive for syphillis, gonnorea, chlamydia, herpes, HPV, and hep A, B & C. 'And he never told me!' I imagined myself saying.
I went back to the waiting room imagining everybody was looking at me after that very loud exchange when I noticed a beyond-adorable and definitely gay guy around my age sitting across the aisle. We exchanged a few glances, both imagining what the other was in for, when he was called into registration and the answer became mortifyingly clear.
'DO NOT TELL ME HOW MANY PARTNERS YOU HAVE HAD UNPROTECTED SEX WITH!!!!!!' bellowed the receptionist's voice from the next room. 'THAT IS CONFIDENTIAL INFORMATION FOR YOU TO SHARE WITH YOUR DOCTOR!!!!! IS THERE STILL DISCHARGE?!!!!!'.
I avoided his gaze when he returned to the room, instead choosing to watch the instructional video- insultingly geared towards an 'urban' market- that had just started playing in the office.
--"There is some risk of HIV", said the woman doctor in the video.
--------"HIVE?!!" said the comical black man. "What you mean by HIVE?!?"
Around 10:30, the doctor finally called me in. I immediately tried to be charming and bashful, as well as to display my vast knowledge of sexual health, culled from a few years in college as a sexual health counselor. She cut me off-
"So, you want an HIV test."
I explained that no, I wanted the tests for everything else, because-
"You know, you should really get an HIV test while you're at it, I understand it's difficult, but it could save your life."
But I just HAD an HIV test last week, and it came out negative-
She was suddenly suspicious. "Well why didn't you get tested for everything else, while you were at it? Did you FORGET everything else that's running around out there?!"
"No," I said. "I went to a place that had next-day results, but it cost a lot of money, and I-"
"Next day results?" she barked. "Did you have reason to worry?"
I explained that I had recently broken up with my long-time boyfriend, and had a few sexual partners since then, and was just getting the first test for a long time- and would prefer not to wait and agonize over the results. The word 'boyfriend' seemed to set in her mind.
"Have you had unprotected anal sex?" she asked me. Well, yes, with the boyfriend, after we had been together for 6 months and had the full battery of tests and-
"NEVER HAVE UNPROTECTED ANAL SEX!!!!" she squeeled. "The rectum is really, really dirty! Do you know how easy it is to get a bladder infection? I mean, there is still SHIT right in the RECTUM! and, and," she was really worked up now, "You just CAN'T have unprotected anal sex! I don't care if you're faithful for the rest of your lives! USE CONDOMS!"
I explained that for five years, neither of us had ever had a bladder infection, and besides- bladder infections? Acceptable risk. Totally acceptable risk. I wasn't going to back down-- no, I would NEVER have unprotected sex with somebody I hadn't been with for a good chunk of time, and hadn't gotten tested with, but after that? Free-sailing all the way. She moved on.
"Do you know about syphillis?" she asked me. "It is REALLY rampant among gay men right now," and she had that tone in her voice that was more than just gently chastizing- it was accusing me of being just another irresponsible child, creating all this mess that she'd have to clean up. I insisted that yes, I knew all about syphillis, this was why I was here, and-
"Let me show you some pictures," she said, pulling out a book and opening up. "This is the long term of effect of syphillis!"
Well, OK, let's just get me tested, then-
"And Gonorrea, and Chlamydia- all of these are really on the rise in the gay community!"
This again.
It's crazy the way I forget why many gays choose to go to gay health centers. The only two places still rampant with culturally-sanctioned homophobia these days seem to be morning radio and the medical profession. Norm doctors tend to treat you as if you spend all of your recreation time oscillating between wild bareback orgies and snorkeling in raw sewage, you repulsive, filthy creature. If you're not swallowing load after load of jizz while getting your ass double-penetrated, you're letting 4 guys shit in your mouth and making snow-angels in mounds of discarded IV needles and smoking crack. I remember going to the hospital once, extremely feverish, when the doctor caught one glimpse of my erstwhile boyfriend holding my hand and decided to screen me for every single STD known to man before informing me he thought it might be AIDS.
Who knows? Maybe it's just me.
The doctor finally got around to drawing blood, swabbing a throat culture, and grumbling her way to a rectal swab. Then it came time for the urethral culture, and I balked.
"You know what? I think I'll skip the herpes/HPV test. I mean, there's nothing I can really do about them if I have them....", and the doctor was livid, failing entirely to understand what freaked me out about getting a q-tip stuck up my urethra.
"Besides," I added unwisely. "I already have some random Valtrex at home".
Wrong move.
The doctor started on another harangue, assuming I'd already had herpes, and began to 'educate' me on the fact that herpes aren't curable; I interrupted her and explained to her the story.
"No, you see, it's because my Dad is paranoid, and he thought there might be a bio-terrorism related outbreak of smallpox, and thought maybe Valtrex would help. I also have a store of cipro, levaquin, tamiflu and a whole stack of surgical masks. I haven't ever had a herpes outbreak", but she wasn't buying a word of this (very true) story, and I realized that her harrangue would not end until I consented.
It fucking killed like nothing else-- "ow ow ow!" I screamed, involuntarily, and the doctor just sort of rolled her eyes, like "Well, it serves you right, you nasty thing".
She gave me a jar for a urine sample, and told me to go to the bathroom to fill it. Where is the bathroom? Why, right out the door and through the waiting room! Fuck privacy!
I put the jar/baggie combination in my pocket and ventured through the room, as bored patients-in-waiting all looked up at me. When I entered the men's room, there was the hot guy from earlier, modestly trying to hide his own half-full jar of urine from me. We exchanged shame-ridden smiles, and I proceeded into the stall, did my business, and suddenly faced a dilemma. While I had been able to hide the jar in my pocket before, there was no way in hell I was going to stick a vial full of urine back into there, even wrapped in a zip-lock bag, and even when the urine it contained was mine. So I tried to disguise it in my palm, and headed back into the waiting room, urine in hand, to be stared at by the waiting clients. When I returned back to the examination room, the doctor fumed "Put it in the box outside the door!" as if she had been telling me to do that for years, and I had never taken notice.
Unsure what she meant, I retreated back to the hall, where some searching unearthed a cardboard box, covered with wrapping paper, with 'Urine' written on the front, in marker. There was already one vial in there, and I wondered how they would tell the difference, when I noticed that my name was written on the label.
"Hmmmm," I thought to myself, looking at the other jar. "That hot gay guy must be named Scott A_______."
I returned to the room to be given one last dressing-down from the doctor, who told me I really should be more careful in the future and to call in two weeks time for the results of everything, and in the meantime not to have sex. I thought she might be done, but she stared at me for a good long while, full of righteous anger, and said "I mean, REALLY, you have to be CAREFUL," as if I had just told her I enjoyed dipping my dick in buckets of AIDS-infected blood.
She then, out of nowhere, handed me a flyer about crystal meth abuse, and bid me good day.
I got to work 2 hours late, where I immediately found Scott A______ on Friendster.
"Hello," I wrote. "We met a few hours ago at the STD clinic. I found your name on a jar of your urine. You are cute."
I wonder if he'll write back.