An afternoon at the GUM clinic

No one will assume that your trip to the dentist indicates bad dental hygiene, neither will asking a taxi driver to take you to the dentist result in a loaded silence.

Replace the dentist with the GUM clinic however, and the reaction is very different.

As sexually active young people we try our best to use protection at all times. We’re all familiar with the Welfare slogan “don’t be a fool, wrap your tool”, and thanks to the many current awareness appeals for STDs, we all know the importance of safe sex. However, even if you only forgot once, or the condom split, or even if you’ve never had unprotected sex, it seems sensible, if only for your own peace of mind, to get checked out.

At least, this is my opinion. Talking to my girl friends about it, we all came to the same conclusion. It was the responsible and mature thing to do, but it was something that we would prefer to do anonymously and discreetly.

Now, although I am somewhat biased, I would have to say that my friends and I are, collectively, rather nice clean girls. We take lots of showers, practice safe sex and always, always, brush our teeth. Why is it then that we would be so reluctant for others to know that we were off to the sexual health clinic for a check up?

Therefore, in the name of column research, and of taking mature responsible action, myself and a girl friend headed to the infamous GUM clinic. For those of you who don’t know, I can tell you that the clinic is located in Monkgate, and the drop-in time is between 1pm and 3pm on a Monday (try not to all rush at once!).

I was determined that as a result of my trip to the clinic I would quash all the traumatic rumours I had heard and be able to inform my friends that it was an entirely painless experience that they should get on with immediately. I’m sorry to inform you however that this is not the case…

Upon arrival you’re presented with a form that is to be filled out immediately. In addition to the regular address and current doctor details, the form also gives you a choice of examination options, in which the word ‘internal’ leaps out from the page. Realising that you may as well do things properly you attempt to shield your form from the 48 year old man sat next to you who is watching your pen with far too much interest, and tick box B. After handing in your form to the excessively chirpy receptionist you sheepishly return to your seat, and wait to be called.

And wait, and wait, and wait! Because this is waiting like no other. After two hours I had still not been seen and my frustration with the two year old Hello magazines had reached an all time high. Any attempts to converse with my friend were quickly culled as even a whisper reverberated around the waiting room.

For an activity embarked on out of choice, everyone looked as if they had been marched into the clinic in chains and been informed that their best chance of escape was to frown furiously for as long as possible. Finally, after I had decided that if I had to read about Jade Goody for another second I might explode, my name was called.

The walk through the waiting room is your definitive walk of shame, assisted only by the fact that your doctor marches so fast that as you run to keep up the rows of faces are successfully blurred. However, the waiting is over, and that in itself is a relief. Or so I thought…

After a general grilling in which I was asked when I had last had sex, whether it was with a man or a woman (!), whether this person had been from outside of the UK or not, and whether or not I had used a condom, I was told to go through into the next room, remove my bottom half and wait for her. Fear and alarm must have been clearly etched on my face because the doctor smiled and said, “Don’t worry, there is a paper towel to cover yourself with”!!

Entering the examination room I was filled with a sudden urge to turn and flee.

Entering the examination room I was filled with a sudden urge to turn and flee.

Standing in pride of place was what can only be described as an instrument of shame and torture – an enormous green chair with leg stirrups suspended widely on either side! As I took off my jeans I attempted to calm myself by remembering that I was probably the hundredth person she had seen that week and it was really nothing to worry about. Discovering that my ‘paper towel’ was ripped down the centre however did nothing to assist my distress!

Accompanying her loud entrance with the snapping of gloves, the doctor barked, “Shuffle your bottom to the end of the chair and spread your legs”. Resisting the urge to quip “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink first?”, I did as I was told. However, apparently my legs were not spread to her satisfaction, and in addition to winching my chair into the air until I was at eye level with her, she also insisted on swinging the stirrups as far out as they would go. I felt my levels of embarrassment had reached an all time high, but, once again, I was wrong.

I have heard that the internal male examination is a pretty unpleasant experience. I’m here to tell you however, that the female one is not exactly a trip to Disney Land either! After taking what can only be described as the world’s largest test tube, I feel it is sufficient to say that the words “lack of consent” are appropriate to describe what came next. As if that wasn’t enough, the doctor felt that now would be a great time to start discussing my degree! She seemed surprised that I found it hard to think of my favourite book at this time, and seemed almost offended by my lack of conversation!

As she snapped off the gloves and lowered my chair however, she was at least perceptive enough to note, “Why, you look rather pale. Perhaps you should take a few minutes before you get up. I’ll meet you in the next room!”.

It wasn’t pleasant. It wasn’t fun, enjoyable, sociable or relaxing. However, it was done! After saying yes to having my results ‘texted’ to me (I ask you, what will they think of next?!), I was free to leave the building. I can tell you now I don’t think I have ever moved so fast in all my life, so eager was I to put as much distance as possible between that glove-snapping doctor and myself!

And so, I can’t lie to you. I can’t pretend that it won’t be invasive and uncomfortable, because it will. But it is necessary. What I can promise you however is that it is not wrong or something to be ashamed of. Every type of person imaginable was in that waiting room, from suit to tracksuit, from teenage mother to sweet old man. As soon as you become sexually active it is your responsibility to yourself, and also to your partner, to ensure that you are taking care of your body. Everything has its ups and downs, and it would seem that the down side of that fantastic night of mind-blowing sex is a trip to the GUM clinic.

That reminds me, I need to see the dentist!

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