QX’s Deputy Editor Lee Dalloway gives a personal account of going on PEP…
Picture it. London. 2012. Two young(ish) gay guys who have been getting to know each other decide to celebrate their attraction, and the fact they both got the ‘all clear’ on their STI tests that day, with some GBL and bareback sex. Although not everything went according to plan…
Being a gay man who’s not only been sexually active for about thirteen years but also around the proverbial block more than once when it comes to matters of the heart, trusting someone doesn’t exactly come easy to me. So, I was surprised more than anyone that I ended up in this situation.
Of course, GBL (or GHB if you like to kick it old skool) helps with lowering those pesky inhibitions. Believe me when I say that I’m also not someone who constantly knocks back the stuff, far from it, but I had two friends bizarrely give me bottles of it for my birthday this year. People used to say it with flowers, now it seems alloy cleaner will do the trick.
You see, my sexual partner neglected to tell me that he starred in a bareback porn film just a couple of weeks before we had sex – too soon for any new infections to show up on an HIV test. So after much deliberation, I went to A&E, as most STD clinics aren’t open at weekends – the time when people probably need them most! “But the other porn star told me he was negative” my partner said to me. Yes, dear, and look, there’s Santa Claus riding a unicorn.
I firmly believe that being a cynical old hoof now and again can be beneficial, and the information I’ve picked up on sexual health from being Deputy Editor of QX has been invaluable. I take for granted that this is an area I have more knowledge and awareness of than a number of gayers about town. Still didn’t stop me though, did it? However, some people, like my partner, simply don’t know all the facts about HIV transmission, or choose to be ignorant about it. I say choose to, because in an age of information on absolutely everything at our fingertips, ignorance really is a choice.
I got myself to A&E around 11 hours after sexual activity – after 72 hours, PEP won’t work anymore. Waiting in A&E with sick babies and people with broken limbs made me feel like I was seriously wasting the time, money and resources of the NHS; I considered myself beneath even the weekend drunkards vomiting into a bowl. The cost of a month’s dose of PEP for each person is around £600 to the taxpayer, which is still considerably less than a lifetime’s supply of HIV medication, but clearly more than a pack of condoms. A number of people who receive PEP are, quite possibly, not at risk of infection, but when faced with a situation where there’s a chance you could develop a lifetime illness, you’re going to choose taking the medication that can help prevent it.
So, after years of avoiding membership, I was finally in the PEP club for the next 28 days, and received a free ‘goody bag’ to celebrate, chock full of elephant sized tablets, five to be taken everyday, anti nausea pills and diarrhoea pills so strong they could plug the Thames never mind my digestive system.
It was at this moment that the reality of the situation dawned on me. What if this treatment doesn’t work? How will I feel knowing that I may have to take pills like these every day for the rest of my life? That I could have adverse health problems until the day I die thanks to one foolish night? Would I tell my friends? My family?
You may think that’s over the top, but you’re a fool if you think the gay community, specifically gay men, aren’t the worst when it comes to stigmatising HIV and the people who have it, despite having the highest number of instances of it than any other social group in the UK – but that’s another article entirely…
After a few days, it was clear that my body didn’t like the toxic substances I was putting into it (ironic, after all the toxic substances I’ve previously put into it), and trying to edit a magazine and learn lines for a part in a demanding drama production with horrendous nausea and diarrhoea soon began to take its toll. I’m a person with plenty of energy, but the lethargy was probably the biggest jar. I was missing work due to waking up at 11am and was absolutely exhausted by 11pm, yet still unable to sleep some nights because I felt so sick. They tell you all this in the ‘welcome pack’ but living it is another thing entirely.
I’ll be honest; I have enough trouble meeting deadlines, co-ordinating meetings and generally organising a hectic life without having to remember to take a barrel full of pills at set intervals. By a few weeks in, I had separate doses of medication in every bag, pocket and place I needed to be, like some deranged pill hoarder. I was constantly worried about missing a dose – which I did, twice – or wondering if HIV was currently taking over every cell in my body. Lest I forget the wonderful night I accidentally took an extra two of the more powerful tablets and spent the night hugging the toilet bowl, like a teenager who’d overdone it on cider at the under 18’s disco.
I can honestly say the medical professionals were absolutely wonderful throughout this process. If I ever hear anyone whinge about our NHS, I will defend it fiercely for many reasons, but this experience cemented my loyalty. I was offered someone to talk to, my emotional and physical wellbeing was monitored throughout the whole process and I was never treated with anything less than respect. I’m also lucky enough to have a group of amazing friends who not only convinced me going on PEP was the right thing to do but helped me deal with the entire situation (John, Watson, Kris, Matt – thank you).
On the plus side, the experience has genuinely made me more aware about what situations I get myself into and also to have more respect for myself and my body; basically, I never want to go through this again. I know HIV isn’t a death sentence, but I still don’t want it, and in my eyes I got lucky that I don’t have it. If you too choose to play the sexual roulette, you just have to ask yourself whether ten, fifteen, thirty, sixty minutes of bareback pleasure is worth a lifetime on medication with a potentially debilitating disease. For me personally, it really isn’t.
