Tag Archives: Health

Hurrah! I get the all clear

1 Nov

I don’t have an STD after all. After doing the pee-in-a-pot chlamydia self-test before work and then worrying through a busy day of meetings and Googling on my iPhone to find my nearest GUM clinic – all the while ignoring vitriolic text messages from Jealous Ex – he eventually confessed that he’d made the whole thing up. Although he didn’t exactly say “made up”. He gave the following explanation:

It turns out while I was on holiday he convinced himself that he’d caught something (just like he convinced himself I was cheating on him) and went to get tested, only he was too impatient to wait the two weeks for the results. So he got a friend to prescribe him antibiotics for chlamydia and gonorrhoea (I have no idea who he knows that has access to that kind of shit). His ‘symptoms’ cleared up soon afterwards and when his test results came back from the clinic they were negative. But that didn’t stop him from using his fictional STD as solid evidence that I’d been unfaithful and using it to justify a tirade of abuse against me the other night.

None of this actually matters anymore because right now all I can feel is relief. 1) That I don’t have an STD, and 2) That just at the point where I was starting to question whether breaking up with JE was for the best, he proved to me what an unhinged asshole he is. I texted him “Goodbye” before deleting his number for good and poured myself a large glass of wine to celebrate.

And besides, I have another date with T. to look forward to this weekend ;)


Oh shit. I think I have an STD.

30 Oct

I’m so angry I have to write this down. Today a package arrived from Jealous Ex, with the wallet I left in his car three months ago, before I knew that would be the last time I saw him because he would dump me over the phone the day after I got back from holiday.

(Actually the package was from my former flatmate in Bristol, who’d posted it after JE dropped it off at my old flat because he couldn’t be bothered to post it himself. This is probably not relevant though.)

Anyway I texted JE to say thanks for dropping it off finally. And because I was still feeling bad that we never got to say a proper goodbye and had been arguing a lot towards the end, mostly because he was obsessed with the idea I’d been cheating on him, I sent him what I thought was a nice lets-get-some-closure-now text. Notice how I apologise even though I did nothing wrong because I’m trying to offer an olive branch. The very same one I’d like to crack over his head at this moment.

“I’m sorry it ended so badly with us. I hope if our paths ever cross again at some point we can be friendly. After all, we had some good times too! Bye x”

What I received back can only be described as a barrage of abuse, beginning with the line: “You’re so proud and so stubborn. I loved you and would have done anything for you. But you still went ahead and fucked me around.”

There it is. He still thinks I cheated on him, even though I never did and there is nothing to suggest otherwise.

I text back: “No need to be mean. I did love you too & if you believe that you’ll know I never fucked you around because I’m not that kind of girl.”

And get this: “You are a compulsive liar! You gave me an STD you fucking lack wit!”

At which point three things flash into my head:
1) Shit. I might have an STD.
2) Which one?
3) If I didn’t cheat on him (and I definitely didn’t) that means he must have cheated on ME.

There’s only one explanation I can think of. When JE and I broke up briefly at the beginning of the year, because he made me cry on my birthday by being an utter arse, he then went and slept with someone else. So maybe she gave him an STD, which means he probably passed it to me. I don’t have any symptoms, although I know with chlamydia there sometimes aren’t any. I’ve never even had crabs before. I’m freaking out a bit right now.

Actually, there is another possible explanation. JE is making the whole thing up because freaking me out is exactly what he wants to do. This hypotheses is strengthened by the fact that he won’t tell me what the alleged STD is because “why should I tell you the truth when you have never offered me the same courtesy. You lie all the time!!! See where it gets you…? I know you cheated on me. I hope it was worth it…”

Luckily my sister just happens to be a sexual health advisor and has kitted me out with a free chlamydia test where you just pee in a bottle and stick in in the post (after putting it in a sealed envelope first, of course). Her opinion is that JE is a psychotic jealous liar, which I’m inclined to agree with, although I’m going to get tested at the GUM clinic after work just in case. I’m still seeing T. in London every other weekend or so and thank God we’re using condoms, apart from recently when one broke and I had to get the morning-after pill. I’m going to wait for the test result before I mention anything to him.

If JE discovered he had an STD and didn’t warn me to get checked out that’s so fucked up and irresponsible I can’t even comprehend it. And if he’s lying, that’s just as bad. I can’t believe he’s being so nasty.

But really, it’s time for a reality check. Step away from the rose-tinted glasses. He was like this for pretty much our whole realtionship.

The last text I sent him read: “Thanks for being such a dick. I was actually starting to miss you.”

Be gone, pesky rash – don’t you know I’m a master of disguise?

31 Dec

Well the big day is finally here – the North, a new boy and a minbreak awaits – and while the rash (I dislike the word psoriasis) is not yet gone it is much improved; less red and angry-looking. I have taken the doctor’s advice to r.e.l.a.x a bit more, which has mostly involved dozing in bed with a book (the sublime When God was a Rabbit by Sarah Winman) and the occasional stroll, in between drinking a lot of water and eating my own body weight in chocolate.

I’ve also spaffed a lot of money on new underwear, including a selection of gorgeous semi-sheer camisoles, which hide the rash while still looking pretty damn sexy. And I picked up a new faux fur scarf and bottle of Moet for tonight – if all else fails I can just get him blind drunk, or perhaps blindfold him.

Skincare-wise, I have been bathing for 20 minutes before bed in a warm tub with a dash of Oilatum before slathering myself in E45 cream and liberally applying the Dovobet gel prescribed by the doctor, which has done a nifty job of ‘drying things up’. I’ve also swapped my usual showergel for Sanex, which I use every other day on a warm damp flannel to gently buff away any flaky bits (apologies if too much information).

I’m heading oop North to Lancashire later today where Tom is dog-sitting for friends in a 600-year-old house. Tonight – New Year’s Eve – it’s just the two of us (plus three poodles), some good food and a bottle of champagne. Then on January 2nd we fly out to Amsterdam for three nights. My first real minibreak with a boy! How exciting!! T. has a list of architecture he wants to sketch for his course but I’ve told him we must see the Van Gogh museum, Anne Franke’s house and a good Argentinian steakhouse while we’re there. And Mellow Yellow. Natch.

So while I’m glad the rash is retreating right now I have more urgent matters on my mind, like how I’m going to fit a week’s worth of clothes into a hand-luggage-sized suitcase…

A rash of inconvenience

26 Dec

There are many good places to be on Boxing Day, but the waiting room of the NHS walk-in centre in Dudley is not one of them. However, I have to get this rash sorted before my New Year Amsterdam shagfest with Tom, the architecture student I met in a bar three weeks ago. Yes, he’s a student and at 25 he’s three years younger than me but he also makes me laugh, has great taste in music and is gorgeous in a dark-haired, slightly-bearded Northern sort of way.

The rash reared its ugly head(s) shortly before Christmas and at first I simply shrugged it off and hoped it would go away, as I do with most things I dislike – there not being enough time to even consider a doctor’s appointment in the December rush at work anyway. But then the crop of small, red, slightly raised blotches started to spread across my torso and back and boobs and thighs, causing me to think it might be impetigo. A friend had this once and it spread all up his neck to his face, which turned scaly and blistered like something off Star Trek. So of course I panicked, and shoved all my clothes and underwear and towels and bed sheets into a hot wash before showering every inch of myself and covering the rash with sticking plasters (two boxes of them).

But when I arrived home for Christmas my mum told me it most definitely wasn’t impetigo and my sister said it looked very similar to something she had a couple of years ago, which turned out to be a form of psoriasis (temporary, although it did last for three months). And so it is that I find myself in a crowded room surrounded by women in velour tracksuits clutching screaming babies with names like Tyler and Skye while Punjabi men frown at their hands folded solemnly in the laps of their kurtas. The two-hour wait stretches before of me like an extended special of Jeremy Kyle.

Unexplained skin irritations aside, there’s much to be done in preparation for said mini-break. As well as the usual money to change, airport transfers etc. etc. there’s new underwear to buy, a Christmas belly to vamoose! and – last but not least – the battle of keeping body hair under control for a full week. Sadly the IPL I’ve been having on my underarms and bikini line hasn’t worked its magic yet – must book wax.

An hour and a half later, after I’d bared my splotchy belly at him, the really-quite-cute doctor confirmed it was probably a mild form of psoriasis, probably triggered by stress.
“Do you ever suffer from stress?” he asked.
“Er, work has been pretty busy recently,” I told him, trying to remember the last time I took a day off.
He prescribed me a steroid gel to be used daily and recommended I try to relax more.
Relax? I’m editor of a daily news website. Stress is part of my job description.

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