Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Genital Warts between Friends.
Genital warts: The mention of the subject gives me the chills, but last night I was faced with my demons head on. My friend sent me a text message at midnight that read, “Could you differentiate between razor burn and genital warts?” I was hoping that a simple yes would stop the conversation but I was not that lucky. Instead, I was asked to be a wart inspector. I have had my run-ins with cooter before, and I swore to myself that I would never find myself in the same situation again. Unfortunately, when you swear against something, the universe sends it your way at every possible chance.
My best friend in high school had an issue. She got a bit frisky after the Winter Formal, and in the act, the condom broke. He changed out condoms and went back to work, but the next day, my friend was complaining about some pelvic discomfort. Her parents didn’t know that she was sexually active, so of course she couldn’t ask them to take her to the doctor, so she came to me. “Well I think there might be a bit of condom still in there… but I can’t see it. You are my best friend and I only ask you because I can’t go to my doctor.” This would be my first time experiencing a vagina in all its terror.
I donned gloves and a face mask that I had kept in my dissection kit from the anatomy lab and came over with my dad’s Maglite that double as a weapon because of its size. “Okay, I’m just going to take a look. And I will tell you what I see.” I have never been the same since, but I found the shard of latex and we were able to get everything sorted out.
“You want me to tell you if you have genital warts?” That she did. I tried to diagnose through text message but that was not enough. “Am I going to get cancer if this is HPV? Can they get rid of the warts? It doesn’t look like a witch’s nose, but is that how you can tell?” I wouldn’t pick up the phone when she called because I could never talk to her about the subject. Text messages were the only method of communication I would use so that she could not ask me to come over and take a look because than I could not say no.
“Well I can’t really diagnose without a smear and a raft culture… maybe you should go see a doctor.” She pleaded, “No. That scares me!” So I had to do the mist unfriendly thing that I have done in my life. I turned off my phone and I have yet to turn it on. I am sure that when I turn my phone back on, my inbox will be filled with texts of hatred and woe. But I cannot face inspecting another friend’s cooter with a Maglite and a mask, and so I will keep my phone off.
My best friend in high school had an issue. She got a bit frisky after the Winter Formal, and in the act, the condom broke. He changed out condoms and went back to work, but the next day, my friend was complaining about some pelvic discomfort. Her parents didn’t know that she was sexually active, so of course she couldn’t ask them to take her to the doctor, so she came to me. “Well I think there might be a bit of condom still in there… but I can’t see it. You are my best friend and I only ask you because I can’t go to my doctor.” This would be my first time experiencing a vagina in all its terror.
I donned gloves and a face mask that I had kept in my dissection kit from the anatomy lab and came over with my dad’s Maglite that double as a weapon because of its size. “Okay, I’m just going to take a look. And I will tell you what I see.” I have never been the same since, but I found the shard of latex and we were able to get everything sorted out.
“You want me to tell you if you have genital warts?” That she did. I tried to diagnose through text message but that was not enough. “Am I going to get cancer if this is HPV? Can they get rid of the warts? It doesn’t look like a witch’s nose, but is that how you can tell?” I wouldn’t pick up the phone when she called because I could never talk to her about the subject. Text messages were the only method of communication I would use so that she could not ask me to come over and take a look because than I could not say no.
“Well I can’t really diagnose without a smear and a raft culture… maybe you should go see a doctor.” She pleaded, “No. That scares me!” So I had to do the mist unfriendly thing that I have done in my life. I turned off my phone and I have yet to turn it on. I am sure that when I turn my phone back on, my inbox will be filled with texts of hatred and woe. But I cannot face inspecting another friend’s cooter with a Maglite and a mask, and so I will keep my phone off.