Time to put him to the test

As propositions go, it’s hardly the sexiest – “Hey there gorgeous, fancy taking an HIV test with me?” Nope. Definitely not an irresistible offer – anything involving clinics, STI and the threat of mortality is hard to spin as a fun day out for two.

Nonetheless, it was a question I decided I needed to ask my current sexual partner James. Not that I had any reason to suspect that he might be bad for my health, but after an ‘incident’ involving a condom that made a bid for freedom, I figured it would be better to know. Beside which I’d just finished reading Elizabeth Pisani’s The Wisdom of Whores and HIV/Aids was very much on my mind.
Ireland is lucky in that the number of HIV infections here is still comparatively low. Having said that, infection rates are on the increase and in February this year the Health Protection Surveillance Centre (HPSC) reported that 204 new cases were diagnosed in the first half of 2007, compared with 337 cases during all of 2006.
In fairness, the numbers aren’t huge, so we are not likely to face an epidemic anytime soon. But consider this – as HIV has no symptoms, only people who get tested can be diagnosed, and as large swathes of the population never bother, who knows what the picture is really like?
Statistics? Blah blah blah. Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn. Me, I am paranoid about HIV, probably more than I should be. Years of living in South Africa, where the infection rate varies from between 20 to 50 per cent of the population for any given rural or urban area, will do that to a person.
To be completely honest, I am also a bit of a hypochondriac – bird flu, mad cow, or whatever you fancy, if it’s infectious, I’ll worry about it. I’ve been tested for chlamydia three times. Not for any particular reason – just for the craic, really. Hey, it has no symptoms! Better safe than sorry, that’s my motto. And for the avoidance of doubt, as legal eagles are inclined to say, there’s nary a bother on me! Far too healthy I am!
Many sex educators suggest that you ask your partners about their sexual history. The idea is that this will help you gauge the risk of contracting an STI from them. This seems rather stupid to me. Firstly, you’ve no way of knowing if they’re telling the truth – and even if they are, what good will it do? It’s hardly foolproof. Secondly, do you really want to hear it? (Well, there’s a time and place for getting him to tell you what various women did to him, but only if he makes it sexy enough!) And worse still, lay bare your sexual history as well? Probably not.
As far as I’m concerned a test is the only way to go. When I lived in South Africa, having an HIV test was part of the courtship ritual among my peers. At some point during the first few weeks, someone would suggest it and you’d trip off to the clinic hand in hand.
However, experience has taught me that the Irish are less enthusiastic about using STI screening services. Mention you’ve been for a test and people tend to assume you’re a walking biological disaster. Considering that according to the surveys, more than half of us will have sex without a condom sometime this year, this seems ridiculous, but there you go.
So how was I to ask James without making it sound like an insult?
I can request all manner of sexual high jinx without fear, so why did I find it so difficult to ask a man if he’d mind submitting a sample of blood? It’s not a big deal; it can be done easily, anonymously and free. Furthermore, if you’ve ever engaged in any unsafe sex practices, and that’s probably true of most of us, it’s good to know your status for sure. I told myself all these things, but still I dithered.
In the end I went with the classic method of approaching tricky topics – embarrassed mumbling. It worked, but I wouldn’t recommend it – I had to repeat myself twice before James understood what I was on about. Luckily he didn’t seem to mind. If I’d known it was going to be this easy, I would have saved myself a lot of stress.
What’s good for the goose is good for the gander and I’d promised to get tested as well. Normally I love talking about sex, but the subject is a lot less amusing, entertaining and edifying than usual when one person is wearing a white coat and taking notes.
Did I have sex with men? Women? Oral sex? Anal sex? Penetrative sex? It’s one thing to write about your sex life from the privacy of your own home, it’s another to discuss it in detail with a complete stranger. Not that I never do, but generally there is a little bit of give and take, alcohol and dim lighting involved. This was like Sexed Up – the Live Show. Damn! I should have been charging for it!
Sitting in an office which had been decorated in the approved HSE funded manner – grim and festooned with pamphlets – I couldn’t help but wish I’d been a dedicated celibate with an usually strong dislike of anything that involved sweat, saliva or semen. The feeling passed five minutes later as soon as I was out in the sunshine, but at that very moment, I would have happily swapped lives with a nun.
In fairness to the clinic, the staff asked the personal questions without passing any kind of moral judgments – no disapproving faces, no lectures. Furthermore, to encourage people to avail of their services, you don’t even have to use your real name.
Seven days of paranoid hypochondriac fantasies later, James and I met at a coffee shop around the corner from the clinic for a game of “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours” and swapped results. Had he been worried, I wanted to know, even just a little? No, he replied. He’d been tested before and always practiced safe sex. He’d done it to make me happy.
Isn’t that sweet? It was almost romantic. Weird. Who would have thought that an HIV test could give you such a strange result?