Snow White and the Seven Hands: A Chlamydia Tale

Hi, my name is Blanche, I am 28 years old, and I recently had chlamydia. Nice to meet you!

Now that it’s written in black and white, I feel a little less panicky.

You should know, dear readers, that I always thought of myself as being above all that… Above chlamydia and its STBBI buddies.

Because, apart from my first (and only) boyfriend with whom I had sex at 16 with a condom, I haven’t had any sex that involves a penis.

At that age, society simply assumed I was straight, but I felt like my sex and love life was incomplete, without really understanding why.

It’s not that Mathieu was a mistake, but, in my fairy tale book of preferences, when you get to his page, let’s just say it profoundly clashes with all the others that are filled with breasts of all sizes and semi-hairy pussies.

No hard feelings, Mathieu. You know you’re my favourite (only) straight experience. The only frog I’ve frenched to turn into Prince Charming before I started kissing princesses.

Alright, I digress. Let’s get back to the topic at hand.

As you’ve surely guessed, I’m a lesbian. I’ve always had a thing for girls and slept with girls (except Matty). In my noggin, I also always thought that girl-on-girl sex was the cleanest thing on Earth (ok, maybe not exactly, but you understand what I mean). For me, sex between people with vulvas was muuuuuch less risky in terms of contracting an STBBI. Case closed.

So, on a nice sunny Tuesday in May, when I started feeling a bit of pain during my beautiful yellow morning stream, I didn’t panic. I told myself that it must be a urinary tract infection and that everything would be resolved quickly with antibiotics.

So, I called in sick to go to the walk-in clinic near my house.

The first question the doctor asked me after noting my symptoms was: “Blanche, have you had unprotected sex?”

I told her yes, but that I only slept with women. She looked at me for a long time before explaining to me that lesbian women can also contract STBBIs.

I didn’t believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. Sorry, Monique, but unless you play on my team, your ten years of medical school don’t impress me much. Even then, in my mind, lesbian STBBIs were the stuff of fiction.

I know… Naïve much?

Without wanting to make a bad pun with my name, my STBBI track record was snow-white, and I was sure it would stay that way.

Ok, you got me! Where are the hidden cameras?

I was therefore really surprised when, three days later, Dr. Monique’s kind nurse called to tell me that my urine analysis indicated that I had chlamydia.

Upon hearing these words, I felt the ground open up under my feet. I fell into a whirlwind of questions and WTFs that called into question all my sexual knowledge.

Could I have been that uninformed? Apparently, yes.

(Today, a brief exchange with my friends made me realize that I wasn’t the only one. STBBIs don’t jump on anything that moves, but no one is impervious either. Not even the most seasoned lesbian).

I started hyperventilating. I imagined the worst: losing my friends, my sex life, my sight, my mind…

How could I have gotten my twat cursed? Could I have passed on the infection to someone?

Still on the phone, though only listening to a fraction of what the nurse was saying, I gathered that symptoms can take up to six weeks to appear.

Before I hung up, she added that a prescription for antibiotics would be waiting for me at my neighbourhood pharmacy.

Taking my responsibilities by the horns

After coming back from Jean Coutu, medication and chocolate ice cream in hand (I needed it), I popped a pill of antibiotics and crashed on the couch.

I tried really hard to figure out how I caught this thing that turned my pee into liquid fire. I counted the people I had slept with in the last six weeks: 1-2-3-4…5-6….7!

In the last month and a half, seven pairs of hands have wandered between my legs:

• Mia;
• Gabrielle, my spin instructor;
• Véro, my ex (let the one who has never made their way back to an ex’s warm and familiar bed cast the first stone);
• Justine;
• Maude, the girl at the bar (or was her name Jade?);
• Laurence;
• Erika, the barmaid.

Should I write to them? No, that would be weird.

Or actually responsible?

I will write to them. Not only do I wonder who gave me this clam chowder, but the COVID pandemic made me a bit wiser and gave me the knee-jerk reaction to want to warn them so that they could get tested too. That’s a good thing, right?

So, I texted them (each individually, of course! Don’t you imagine me sending a big awkward group message):

• “Hi! Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, but I have a question… The thing is that I just learned that I have the clam… I know, I’m sorry, it’s a bummer. I don’t know when I caught it exactly, and I don’t know who I got it from… Do you know if you got it too? Otherwise, I mostly just wanted to inform you so that you could get tested. Thanks, bye.”

The replies come in one after the other, and they all sound the same:

• “No, I have nothing at all.”

• “Nope.”

• “Oh no, poor you… It’s not from me, sorry 🤪”

• “Who is this? I don’t have your number in my cell… But whatever, I don’t have the clam.”

• “No, but thanks for letting me know.”

• “You’re the only girl I’ve had sex with in my life AND it’s the only unprotected sex I’ve had. So, no. P.S. Stop texting me, my new boyfriend might see.”

• “Hi 🙂 no 🙂”

The more you know…

Judging by these seven replies, you’d think chlamydia wears an invisibility cloak. I mean, I clearly didn’t catch it by screaming “abracadabra”!

Instead of going into ice cream and panic mode, I decided to consult the Internet to reassure myself.

Calm down, Blanche. An STBBI is not the thing that will drive you to madness.

In less than thirty seconds, I find all the info I need to help me calm down.

First, 40–70% of chlamydia cases are asymptomatic. So, that explains it. My last seven partners therefore sincerely believe that they have nothing. Ouch. Some of us have a hard knowledge pill to swallow.

Secondly, when detected in time, chlamydia can be treated in just one week with antibiotics.

Well, would you look at that! I almost freaked out for nothing.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who went to bed smarter

Thursday. Six days after the announcement.

I don’t know if it’s the ice cream that I devour every day (I guess, I always need ice cream, STBBI or no STBBI) or the fact that I befriended my buddy the clam (knowing that it wasn’t here to stay thanks to antibiotics) but my anxiety disappeared.

Even though I thought I was protected from STBBIs, I always believed that this term evoked “a serious illness,” but boy, was I wrong!

Hi, my name is Blanche, I’m 28 years old, and I’ve learned a lot of stuff in the last week:

• Sex between people with pussies also carries risks.
• Chlamydia goes away if you don’t ignore it.
• Even when you think you’re STBBI free, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get tested (just ask Mia, Véro, and the others).