Couple’s Couch: Tainted
When is a good time to tell a sex partner that you have a sexually transmitted infection (STI)? Good sex etiquette dictates revealing one’s status at the first possible opportunity. The reasoning for this seems clear enough, to give everyone involved ample notice to consider their options and safety considerations should their partner potentially put them at risk. It gives us a window of opportunity to tuck our cocks back into our trousers and high-tail it out of an potential sex situation should we decide that getting it on with so-and-so isn’t such a good idea. Fair is fair in activities involving mucus membranes.
I wonder how many people actually tell their partners about their sexually transmitted infections on the first date. I’ve never done it, that’s for sure.
Admission time: I’m HPV positive. I, along with some other 20-40 million American women, have the Human Papilloma Virus swimming around my darling little cervix throwing get-togethers with whatever else I may have contracted in my years of (mostly) safer-sex contact. I’ve never had symptoms of my virus other than one irregular pap a few years ago. Had I not asked to be tested for HPV, I would likely never know that I have it. I bring up my HPV+ status in this column because I am no longer ashamed of having it. But, to be sure, this was not always the case.
I’ve yet to come across sex-ed literature that advocates for not telling a potential sex partner about ones STI status. And yet, as a sex educator myself, I’ve slept with gobs of people without ever an acronym crossing our lips. What with the rate of syphilis and HIV still on the rise, I’d wager a guess that most other sexually active adults aren’t talking about it with one another either. What about giving consent to the potential risks of rubbing goodies with someone and putting yourself at risk? What happened to the ask-and-tell policy that we all know and few adhere to?
We are all quick to blame bad timing for our negligence in broaching the STI conversation. I’ve found that the “right time” seldom occurs in my real world. Even if there was a good time, I still lose my nerve and fail to reveal my secret infection from time to time.
I’ve always admired those folks who, over coffee on a first date, out themselves and their infection status before the Splenda has time to dissolve in their lattes. Kudos to them, but I’m not sure a full-disclosure policy from the very beginning will work for everyone so I can’t rightfully advocate for it.
Discussing when and how to talk about STIs is good and necessary. Before we leap all the way to the where’s and when’s and how’s of sharing information, I believe we need to think beyond the wording to what lies beneath our fears of telling another person about our ailments. I’m speaking about the stigma associated with STIs.
“Sexually Transmitted Infection” is a nasty phrase. It feels dirty to say it out loud, let alone to have one. Because our value-laden society places blame upon those who contract infections on or near their genitals, being diagnosed with one of these travesties is, for some, like being branded with a scarlet letter of impending doom.
When someone contracts and STI, along with whatever annoying/painful/confusing symptoms appear we frequently experience some amount of shame as well. We are told that preventing STIs is a simple endeavor and that if we had used a condom like an intelligent person knows they should, this would not have happened to us in the first place. In short, if we have an STI, it is our fault.
Can you image what our lives would be like if we treated all infections this way? If we blushed and averted our eyes when our bosses called in sick with the flu? In most other cases, exposure to viruses and pestilence is never the fault of the infected. We sympathize with them, bring them flowers and soup, and wish them well. I didn’t get so much as a bottle of ginger ale when my pap smear came back from the gynecologist as irregular.
Instead, I got a label, a permanent label. I am “infected.”
For the rest of my life, or until modern medicine catches up, I am forced to own my infection and the potential of doling it out to others. I am never not infected. Whoever I sleep with from here on out, I am responsible for telling them that I have this virus and that, by engaging in passionate and potentially loving acts with me, they must willingly put their own bodies at risk. I am tainted.
I now understand now why so many people resist getting tested; they don’t want to know. In knowing, we are forced to own up to our behaviors and to the reality that we are responsible for the health of our future lovers. Knowledge can be a weight, and a big one at that.
I look at close friends who have been infected with HIV for many years. In many cases, they find their lovers on websites that publicly display each person’s HIV status so when their meet their dates face to face for the first time, there is no need for disclosure. This seems like a wonderful tool to me! We should all walk around with labels on our shirt collars clearly outlining our self-doubts and hidden truths. “Has a tendency to get attached too quickly,” mine would read. “Doesn’t always wash hands after peeing.” “HPV positive but never had an outbreak of genital warts.” “Likes cuddling.” I find this an ingenious sorting technique.
But seeing as we aren’t liking to turn into walking personal ads any time soon, we need to develop a way of coming to terms with our infections as well as a language for discussing them with others.
If you have contracted something undesirable from sexual activity, this does not make you undesirable. Most sexually transmitted infections can be treated these days, either to make their symptoms less frequent and less bothersome or to lower the chances of spreading them to others. Additionally, there are plenty of ways to have low-risk, mind-blowing sex with minimal effort on your part. I want to go on a mission de-demonizing sexual infections. I strongly believe that if we all were able to come to terms with our afflictions, knew how to treat them and were reasonably at peace with their existence in/on our bodies, the conversation we need to have with our lovers would suddenly look a lot less daunting.
This entry was posted on Friday, 16 November 2007 at 12:00 am and is filed under Advice. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
on Friday, 16 November 2007 at 2:57 pm Misty wrote:
This article really hit home with me. After reading it, I felt very ashamed of myself and it brought me to tears.
I had an abnormal pap several months ago and tested positive for HPV. I’ve never had an outbreak of genital warts, either, and I am really diligent about condom use, so I was really surprised to learn that I was carrying around this STI. In my reading, I learned how easy this one is spread and how many people carry it without even knowing it. This research both helped me come to terms with it and realize that it’s no big deal, and gave me the impression that almost everyone has it which I stupidly used as an excuse not to tell my partners in the months since I found out. Now I’ve had several partners with whom I’ve always used condoms but have never revealed this important piece of information. These are dear friends of mine that I care for very much, but my selfish desire to sleep with them and my stupid rationalizations (”they’ve already got it, anyway, and just don’t know it) have caused me to act in a way that I’m very ashamed of. I’ve made an important choice FOR them, and that’s not something a real friend does. I have to figure out a way to tell them, and get over the shame. Not the shame for having the virus, but the shame of how I’ve behaved since finding out. I am building up the courage, and I hope that they can forgive me, but I’ll understand if this puts a strain on our friendships. I don’t think any of them will blame me for having the virus, but I’m sure they’ll be upset to learn that I withheld this piece of information and didn’t let them make their own choice about whether to risk exposure.
I guess the moral of the story is that, if you care about the people you sleep with, you’ll tell them before the first time you end up in bed. If they care about you as much as you care about them, there’s a good chance it won’t affect their decision to be physical with you. And if it does, at least they’ll appreciate that you were a good enough friend or lover to let them make that choice with all the information. But if you wait until after the fact, you’re risking a lot more than one lost night of intimate fun.