A ROUND OF APPLAUSE FOR MAN WHO THOUGHT HE HAD THE CLAP

23/24-09-2006

Ok, so it's not cool to admit that you could have caught a sexually transmitted infection, but if you think you are at riskit's better to face up to it, right? Right. And that's precisely what Stirrer columnist Edward Cameron did...

Readers of a nervous disposition be warned - what follows is a no-holds-barred, graphictestimony involving as many polite euphemisms for genitals as possible.

A few weeks ago I applied to take a sexually transmitted infection (STI) test after I found out, months after the end of a relationship, that an ex-girlfriend might have cheated on me.

I was concerned that due to the recently reported rise in chlamydia and other unpleasant infections I could be putting myself and my new girlfriend at risk, especially as in many cases there are no symptoms.

And yet I was afraid to take a test. Would it hurt? Would my family end up finding out? Would my GP know and give me a withering look every time I went in for my hay-fever prescription? Would it affect my life insurance?

I'm delighted to report that the answer to every question is ‘no'. And I hope that any other men considering the test will have the balls to read on despite the unpleasant subject matter.

I booked my appointment with the Genito-Urinary Medicine (GUM) clinic at Wolverhampton's New Cross Hospital. As I had no symptoms and had not been referred by my GP I was able to choose an evening appointment just over a week later. Had it been urgent I could have been seen within a few days.

Showing up at the hospital I filled out the forms and was assured that my GP would only be told if the test was positive and they couldn't contact me. No message would be left on voicemail, no post would be sent to my home and my name would never leave the clinic. Only my personal reference number would identify my specimens.

I was taken into an examination room to meet a polite and professional medical student. At the GUM clinic students conduct most of the interviews supervised by a fully trained doctor but you can insist the student not be there. Still, they have to learn somehow.

With the straightest face I have ever seen (I'd hate to play him at poker, no pun intended) he asked me all the personal questions: How many partners? Do I have oral sex? Ever had anal sex with a man or a woman etc etc. Most of the questions can be answered yes or no, which is a good thing because I'd gone bright red and my throat had seized up with embarrassment.

Next came the examination. Not since my dad bathed me as a toddler has any other man gone that close to my bits. As I was told to undress I even subconsciously removed my shoes, desperate to avoid getting to the inevitable.

Nonetheless the only pain was embarrassment, and that was self inflicted. The young doc remained the pillar of professionalism as, with a latex-gloved hand, he gently prodded and poked the old chap (me, not the senior doctor).

Next came the worst bit. With something slightly smaller than a cotton bud he took a swab of the inside of my you-know-what. It didn't hurt but it was bloody uncomfortable. It was like getting caught in the zip of your trousers and not being able to shift it for fear of getting arrested.

Next came a quick blood test, a tiny vial to send for the gonorrhea labs, and finally the urine sample.

Walking into the loo I was handed the thinnest, tiniest test tube to fill. Goodness knows why they can't give you a bigger jar. Just as I was about to start, a woman's head popped through a previously unseen hatch and told me to put the tube through when I was done. I said OK and started to unzip my fly at which point she hurriedly made a comment about letting her get away. I didn't care about exposure anymore. The junior doctor had used all my shame.

Doing the do was tough. Trying to aim into a centimetre hole is hard enough but when you've had a cotton bud up there it's a nightmare. After a hasty mop-up I was done. They said if I hadn't heard anything in ten days all was well.

As I got outside I started to feel a little sore. But there were two women coming the other way and so I had to walk, old Steptoe style, hunched and slowly until I could ‘readjust'.

But even though I didn't yet know the results the relief was immediate. I had faced my fear and taken steps to erase that past, turbulent and ill-fated relationship. The treachery of the past gone I'm free to make sure there are no unnecessary risks in my future.

And no news is good news. A fortnight later and no call means I'm all clear. I strongly urge every man who's ever had more than one partner to get themselves checked. You owe to the woman or man you love now.

New Cross's GUM clinic is at the Prestwood Road entrance and can be contacted on 01902 695503.