I sat in the waiting room of the clinic. My knees bounced; I was agitated and anxious. I crossed my legs in an act of desperation—I needed to pee. My ears were tuned for the sound of my name. The washroom sign on the door taunted me. I was practically bursting, but I couldn’t go. I was waiting to get ‘tested.’

STI (Sexually Transmittable Infection) tests require a urine test. I couldn’t go yet, not even a little bit. To get an accurate sample, they need the very beginning of the stream. So if I went now, I’d have to wait a whole hour before being allowed to pee in a cup.

Different nurses peeked their heads around the door, calling patients one after the other. It was past my appointment time, but they’re often behind. Finally, a nurse said, “Laurent Lemay.” I sprung out of my chair and followed her into an exam room, separated by a white curtain. It wasn’t clinically white anymore. She began prepping the vials to draw my blood.

I interrupted her. “Can I do the urine test first please? I really have to go.”

“Of course,” she said. I had to go so badly She asked me the standard questions: has it been more than one hour—yes. I need the first stream, fill it up to this line. She drew a line on the clear plastic container with a sharpie.

I know what I’m doing, thanks. I'd done this a few times already. I bolted to the bathroom and got started. I twisted off the yellow cap and set it on the toilet tank and, well, peed in the cup to the line as instructed. I washed my hands and brought the sample back to the nurse.

The liquid inside was one shade darker than I would have liked. I tried not to feel embarrassed. She must see tons of these every day. I thanked her for letting me do the blood test after.

I sat in the chair and relaxed. She wrapped the elastic band around my arm before sticking it with the needle.

Generally, I’m indifferent about needles; I’m not afraid to peek, but I don’t want to watch the whole procedure, either. The blood trickled down into the tube. A few vials later, I was good to go. She told me that no news is good news and I wouldn’t get a call. Two weeks later, no call.

Small-town clinics don’t always ask if I’m gay. In fact, they’ve assumed I was straight more times than not. I didn’t know how to advocate for the other tests I needed. I didn’t receive any swab tests. Later experiences taught me differently.

A few years later, I booked to get tested online in Montréal. The health portal listed different locations based on availability and pricing. I selected a nearby pharmacy I could get into the day of at no cost. When I arrived, I realized I had made a mistake in my booking.

My appointment wasn’t for a complete STI screening but for an HIV rapid test. We’ve all become familiar with take-home tests over the last few years, but I didn’t know they existed for HIV. I had to watch a five-minute video in the pharmacy office before I could take it home.

The pharmacist asked me if I knew what I would do if I got a positive result. I said I’d make an appointment with my doctor. He went on to say how you can live a long life with HIV, speaking to me as if I already had it. “You should say ‘I have HIV’ five times in the mirror and see how that feels,” he said. “It’s a lot easier to say it before you actually get it.”

I rejected his suggestion. I never said it out loud; I didn’t want to manifest getting it. I took the test home but decided to keep it for the future just in case. I still needed a full screening anyways, so I made an appointment at another clinic the following week.

In the new clinic, I followed the nurse, Mélanie, back to an exam room—one with a closed door for privacy. We had a sit-down conversation for about 15 minutes before even starting any tests.

Amongst many other things, she asked if I’ve had any sexual relations with other men. Then, about penetrative anal sex, insertive or receptive; giving or receiving? She took the time to ask me about my past sexual partners. How many, when, and if I used protection. I felt very comfortable sharing with her. She was polite and respectful, and I felt at ease. She took her time. I was her patient, not just a number on the list of a walk-in blood clinic.

Even some things that I knew already, she took the time to explain. STIs, such as gonorrhea and chlamydia, won’t show up on a test if they were contracted less than two weeks prior. She said that it can take up to three months for the body to create detectable antibodies for HIV, so it probably won’t show up on the blood test if I’d contracted it within the last three months.

Now, I get tested every three months. Sexual health is health. Taking preventative measures isn’t something I should be ashamed about. I have a friend (an infrequent hookup), and let’s just say they have sex more frequently than the average person. My ‘friend’ gets tested every two weeks. It may seem excessive, but there’s nothing wrong with staying on top of things (no pun intended).

It wasn’t long after the times I hooked up with them that they sent me their negative results. It’s peace of mind.

Mélanie and I talked about PrEP, which also requires testing every three months. PrEP, or pre-exposure prophylaxis, is a medication designed to prevent users from contracting HIV. Although not medically accurate, I compare PrEP to birth control. It’s preventative, taken at the same time each day, and is 99 percent effective when taken correctly.

She reminded me about the other method of taking PrEP medication: take two pills a minimum of two hours and up to 24 hours before intercourse, then one pill 24 hours after the first dose, and then again 24 hours after that.

I took PrEP for some time in BC before moving back to Montréal, so I asked Mélanie about the best way to get it in Québec. Going to a family doctor is best, but it isn’t covered by a healthcare program and is relatively expensive. I explained to her that it’s done differently in every province. The government of BC has a program where you can receive free PrEP, but it has to be picked up at St. Paul’s Hospital in Vancouver or shipped to your physician’s office. That’s useless to me now in Québec.

In Alberta, PrEP and DoxyPEP can be delivered to your door through Freddie. DoxyPEP is essentially the STI morning-after pill ideally taken within 24 hours but no later than 72 hours after having condomless intercourse. Doxycycline post-exposure prophylaxis or DoxyPEP pills reduce the risk of contracting syphilis, chlamydia and gonorrhea.

I’d consider taking DoxyPEP if it was easier to acquire for free or at a low cost. Though these programs are mostly created for gay men who have sex with men, these medications can be taken by anybody gay, straight, or otherwise. STIs don’t discriminate, and I don’t know anyone who has oral sex with a condom. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like the taste of latex.

Mélanie took note of my vaccinations, specifically the hepatitis human papillomavirus vaccine. Having had vaccinations between BC and Québec as well as having lost my vaccination card, I didn’t know for sure.

“I’ve had all of the ones offered in school, but I couldn’t say for certain,” I said.

She told me she’d test my blood to see if I had the antigens, which would tell us if I had received the vaccine. If I hadn’t, she would call to schedule an appointment with me.

I told her that I had received one or two doses of the HPV vaccine in Québec but moved back to BC and never got another dose. She looked me up in the system and confirmed I’ve had two doses. Since receiving my two doses, the dosage guidelines have changed. A third dose wasn’t necessary, so I was all set. I never would have known this if it wasn’t for her. Nurse Mélanie went above and beyond compared to appointments I’ve had in the past.

She took a swab test for my throat, then sent me off to the bathroom to do a urine test and anal swab test. They can help you do the second swab test if you’d like, but I’m capable of doing it myself and I prefer the privacy.

Once in the bathroom, I proceeded with the standard urine test (I had to pee, but not as urgently as some previous times). The container was a translucent orange, a much more discreet way of concealing the urine’s yellow colour. I do drink a lot of water, so it’s usually pretty clear. We all pee, so why is that embarrassing?

I unwrapped the swab stick swathed in plastic. The cotton swab tip was attached to a long plastic wand. I bent down as I inserted it into my behind. The anal sphincter can be quite stretchy, but nothing has made me feel tighter than squeezing in a dry cotton swap and rotating it for 30 seconds. Thankfully it doesn’t have to go too deep (only one to two centimeters, Mélanie explained). I placed the tip into a test tube, broke off the plastic end at the precut incision, and closed the lid.

This bathroom had a test tube holder, which is very practical. Some places, all that’s available is a sink edge for the cylinder test tube to lay on. The runaway test tube would often make a break for the edge of the counter, headed for the floor. It still had the lid on, though, so it didn’t matter.

I told all my friends about how great my experience was with Mélanie. I couldn’t wait to go back. The best part is that she would call me to confirm everything whether or not it was a negative result. A week or so later I got the call: the test results came back negative (everything was all good), and as an added bonus, confirmed I already had the hepatitis antibodies.

Going to get tested can be intimidating, but you don’t have to go alone. I’ve gone with my friends a few times to get tested together, and other times just for fun or as moral support. Talking about it and experiencing these things together helps break down the stigma.

I once went with a friend to a paid clinic. She justifies the price with the simplicity of the appointment and not having to book way ahead of time. When we arrived at the clinic, she entered the door code and was the only one in the waiting room. It was a quick and more discrete process. She received her results online faster than if she had attended a public clinic. For those who get tested, they know the anxiety of waiting and not knowing, even if they have nothing to worry about.

Another time, I went with a different friend (yes, it really was a friend—it wasn’t me) who dropped the cotton swab on the ground after taking the sample. I wonder how the contaminants affected the accuracy of the test, or if it didn’t matter.

I’m due to get tested again. I’ll make an appointment for next week. I last took PrEP at the end of December. With a four-month deferral period, I’ll be eligible to donate blood on April 30. That is, if I don’t have any new sexual partners between now and then. I still don’t know if I’m ready to donate, but I might just do it.