That Time I Thought I Had Chlamydia and My Mom Found Out.

The first few months of dating someone are never easy.  It’s the time in the relationship when you’ve already laid pipe, yet still know absolutely nothing about one another.  As perfect as this may seem, there are many other complicating factors.  You have to ease away from the person you’ve been pretending to be, while slowly allowing them to realize you are not actually the kind of guy that opens a gal’s car door – “Yes…I did that to get to your goods.”  Another complicating situation we’re all familiar with comes at the point when you’ve slept together once or twice and your penis starts to excrete that green slime.

Now I know what you’re all thinking, “Eddy, we’ve all been there… is this even worth blogging about?”  Of course. There will always be some slutta-free blog-browser that’s yet to experience this phenomenon and it’s better they learn from my experience than from some half-assed, fear-of-god-spreading High School health video.  So on to the story at hand, titled: “That Time I Thought I Had Chlamydia and My Mom Found Out.”

As stated, I had just started seeing this chick.  We’d been going at it like dogs in heat because she was one of those Christians that just realized sex exists and could literally not get enough d***.  Anyways, I wake up one morning, walk to the bathroom for my morning wee and find the task unbelievably painful.  After little investigation I discover the inside of my briefs has a sickly green-yellow residue where the tip of my stick meets cloth.  “That’s probably not a great sign,” I thought out loud.

At this point I’m thinking “I should give it a bit of time…see if it runs it’s course naturally.  Until then I’ll make up excuses not to engage in adult relations with this new chick.”  This is tougher than it probably seems.  You can’t exactly tell a chick who’s on the pill “You know what we should try? Condoms.” She’ll get suspicious.

So I told this chick we should try condoms and she bought it.  Meanwhile, it’s about a week in and no noticeable improvement.  I’d been looking online for free STD testing clinics and was largely unsuccessful in the endeavor.  I called my sister for advice; she told me I shouldn’t have had sex in the first place. I thanked her for the insight.

Fortunately, I had previously scheduled a physical with my doctor and it was now mere days away.  I knew if I could hold out I could ask my doctor to give me the test.

The physical finally arrives and I find myself sitting shirtless as the doctor concludes his inspection.
“You’re completely healthy.” He says, “Is there anything else I can look at for you?”  It was now or never.

“Actually, there is this one thing, Doc.” I said, “I think I’ve got Chlamydia.  I’ve had the drip for over a week now… it’s clearing up a bit but I figured I might as well get it checked while I’m here.  Also, WebMD told me it was probably AIDS, so…”

Silence.

Then, “Eddy, I’m very glad you feel comfortable sharing this.  This next part is not going to be pleasant.”  The doctor walks to the cabinets and grabs a 10-inch q-tip. I’d like to tell you that having that 10-inch q-tip shoved down your goods isn’t as bad as it sounds… I really would.  Furthermore, I’d like to tell you that it wasn’t embarrassingly cold in the room.  The unfortunate truth is that it hurts in a way I can’t describe and that my doctor actually had to “massage” the cold away.

So… there’s that.

After the test had been completed, the doctor asked how I wanted to receive the results.  I was living with my parents at the time and the doctor knew this.  He asked if I’d prefer it if he called my cell phone with the results.  I absolutely did prefer.

He told me that he’d have the test results in a few days.  So I waited.  And waited.  And waited.  After a week I was sure I really did have the Clap and he had to retest to confirm.  Why else would it take so long?  After two weeks I was convinced WebMD was, for once, correct and that I had full-blown AIDS.
Two and half weeks pass and I’m petrified.  I couldn’t sleep, eat, ‘bate… nothing.  Finally, I get the results.

18 days after taking the STD test, I wake up to my mom bustling awkwardly towards my bedside.  In my sleepy haze I hear her blurt out nervously, and in one word, without a breath, “Here-are-the-test-results-from-the-doctor-and-I-promise-I-didn’t-look-at-them.” Then she quickly scampers away. Hmm… what happened to a phone call?

I look at the envelope she’s handed me and it is in bad shape to say the least.  It’s been torn open then taped back together.  “Well,” I thought, “my mom has clearly opened this letter.”  My only hope was that the results were nondescript.  Just a bunch of stats and numbers with a simple answer.  Fortunately, the letter was absolutely nondescript.  In fact, there was no way anyone could read that letter and know that it was an STD test’s results.

Unfortunately, handwritten across the results, in 2-inch tall letters, with a bold red sharpie marker, my doctor had inscribed the following:

Eddy,

Congratulations!!  No Chlamydia!!!!!!!!!!!!

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