More than an STD

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A man tells the story of his STD. An educational story on chancroid.

Submitted: June 17, 2009

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 17, 2009




“Wow,” her voice was no more than a whisper.

“I could go with you if you want,” it was all I could think of.

“That’s okay, I think I’ll go on my own,” I assumed she wouldn’t want me to.

“It’s not the end of the world,” and there it was.  The words that were said to me.  The words that ruined my life.  The words I had just used to destroy her life.  I just told her that I had given her chancroid, and it wasn’t the end of the world.  She probably didn’t believe me, and she had no right too. Of course it was the end of her world.  She now has an STD.


I had never cheated on Sara before Thursday.  I would like to blame the fact that I cheated on my drunkenness, but I can’t.  I think I did it because I fed up with her being so controlling.  She always told me what to do and when to do it.  That particular night we had an argument on the fact that I have been coming home later than usual.  I hated her suspicion and ended up slamming the door and hopping into my car.  I was thinking of our recent rough patch when I drove to that bar, and I was still thinking of it when I was driving to that girl’s house.  How pathetic is that?  Two years with Sara down the drain, and for some I have to refer to as ‘that girl’ because I don’t even remember her name.  I was planning on never having to know her name, because I never wanted to see her again.  My plan failed.  Apparently, in my drunken state I gave her my number.  She called me on Saturday, and I bet you can guess what she said. 

“I have chancroid, it’s not the end of the world,” is what she said.  At first I didn’t believe her.  For one thing, I never even heard of chancroid.  I used to think that as a 27 year old I know mostly everything about sex and std’s, but I was obviously proven wrong.  I immediately jumped on the computer and started googling this ‘Chancroid’ she spoke of.  It turns out that chancroid is real- painfully real.  The next thing I thought was that I could not possibly have it, since I had not symptoms and I didn’t see anything wrong with that girl.  Well, thanks to Google, I found out that symptoms don’t appear until three to seven days later, and she had been affected the day before she slept with me, leaving no visible symptoms.  It still didn’t sink in until the next morning.  That was when I began to have symptoms.

I first noticed my symptoms when I went to go to the bathroom.  I’m the type of person who likes to drink warm milk before I go to bed, and then get rid of it as soon as I wake up.  When I went to go pee I had the worst burning sensation I have ever had.  I could barely stand up, the sensation was so bad.  I had so many tears in my eyes; I barely noticed the red bumps starting to form on my penis.  I remembered reading about ulcers forming on the genitals and getting so big that they pop and pus pours out from them, in people who had chancroid.  That didn’t sound like it would be a pleasant experience, so I decided to go to the doctor.

My doctor told me that chancroid doesn’t normally spread in the United States, but there are occasionally outbreaks in places with high prostitution rates- despite the low occurrence rate.  Living in Las Vegas, I was unfortunately in the heart of a chancroid outbreak.  Hearing that I became disgusted at myself for sleeping with that girl; I threw away my relationship with Sara, to sleep with a girl, who sleeps with men that sleep with prostitutes. How stupid am I?

My doctor then went on to deliver me good news.  He was able to diagnose me by just looking at the sores, instead of giving me one of the painful tests in which they stick a tube where no tube should go.  He also told me that chancroid was easily treated with simple antibiotics that are used to treat other skin conditions.  He prescribed azithromycin, and told me to come back in seven days to see if it worked.  Since we had caught the chancroid so early, the chance that my ulcers would pop was very low.

My doctor also told me the one thing I was dreading most.  All sexual partners that I’ve had since sleeping with that girl had to be tested.  I’ve only had one: Sara.


“How can you say that?” Sara’s voice was beginning to grow stronger.

“It can be treated.  You might not even have it,” I tried to comfort her, but my voice came out defensive.

“My world revolves around you!  I cook for you, I go to work to raise money to help pay the bills for you, I eat with you, I drink with you, I sleep with you, you, you, you! Now you’re telling me that we get in one little fight and you cheat on me?  And, on top of that, you have the decency to give me an STD during make-up sex,” she was looking me in the eye, and it was killing me.  I saw the tears well in her eyes and begin to fall, but her voice would never suggest she was crying.  Watching her, I began to cry.

“I’m sorry.  I know I made a mistake- a big mistake- but I love you, Sara.  I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” I managed to spit out through tears.

“I love you too,” She said, still looking me in the eye.

“So will you forgive me?”

“No,” she stood up and walked through the door.  Thanks chancroid, you ended my world.

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