At first, the doctor doesn't want to play along with the thorough check against sexually transmitted infections. But then he warms up.
Truism: It's not always easy to get what you want.
I already knew that this applies to sex. The fact that it also applies to tests for infections that you can get during sex (if you have the opportunity) is relatively new to me. Because you don't just want them, they are also recommended.
I already knew that the health insurance only pays if it itches or burns or if there are other good reasons that you can motivate the doctor to recognise. But the fact that you even have to persuade doctors who specialise in such tests to carry them out was news to me.
I don't want to give too much away at this point. Let's put it this way: a chronic skin condition in a sensitive area of the body - a family heirloom, sometimes more, sometimes less annoying - had prompted me to consult a specialist in skin and sexually transmitted diseases. He was also a proctologist, i.e. responsible for the arse.
As the German AIDS organisation recommends that gay men get checked regularly for sexually transmitted infections, I thought I might as well take the opportunity to do so. I hadn't done it for a while.
The Recommendationsg is: Swab the back in any case, swab the front only if there are symptoms, as these can be unpleasant. Also get tested for syphilis. Also for hepatitis C if there is a corresponding risk. You should be vaccinated against hepatitis A and B.
The smear test at the back is not a problem. But then. "In the front too, please," I say. If it's all the same. I want to know today!
"Oh no, right?" the doctor for skin and sexually transmitted diseases grumbles.
"Yes."
'All right,' he relents. He inserts a stick into my urethra, which has a small brush at the front that feels like barbs. He moves the stick back and forth. "Oh no," I think briefly, but it's not that bad after all.
"I'd like to have a blood test for syphilis," I say.
The doctor raises his head and eyelashes. "But then you have everything, yes?"
"I think so," I reply a little flippantly and retreat to the changing room. A nurse is then supposed to take my blood in another room. I'm just slipping into my jeans when there's a knock on the cubicle door.
"Have you been vaccinated against hepatitis A and B?" the doctor asks through the door. Either I've done him an honour or he now classifies me as someone who needs a thorough check-up. "We could check whether your immunisation is still sufficient."
I happily agreed. The doctor explained that he would now fill out the lab order, that I should collect it from him straight away and then take it to the receptionist, who would then take my blood.
When I enter his treatment room shortly afterwards, he is beaming and waving a yellow slip of paper. "I've added hepatitis C to the list!"
"Thank you!"
"What about HIV?"
"No need at the moment."
He nods. "Well then! Call me on Wednesday for the results."
I did that. It was a good conversation. Then again next year. Then he'll already know me.
Max Mohnwitz
The author actually has a different name and is an AIDS service organisation employee
