The last few times I went with my girlfriend to UConn's Women's Clinic for her quarterly depo provera shot, I was somewhat unsettled to find out that I was some sort of dangerous creature. See, I always thought that the nurses at the Women's Clinic would appreciate the fact that I always accompanied my girlfriend when she got her shot. I saw it as an indication that I cared for her well-being, and I thought they'd be gratified that at least she was getting the shot while seeing one person, and not just getting the shot so she could have sex whenever she wants. Now that's not a judgment call, but I know people in health care are acutely aware of the teenage/early adult libido and its problems, and often discourage promiscuity.

I thought they'd be pleased.

"Evil man." "Vile creature." "Carrier of disease." Each set of eyes that passed me in the hallway as I waited for my girlfriend seemed to silently weigh me on some cosmic scale of nursing, and found me sorely lacking. You'd think I was personally responsible for every girl that had a problem that they'd ever seen. It couldn't ever be the girl of course. I could almost hear them saying, shouting, that if she came out with a problem, it would be my fault. Somehow. That's all that mattered. They weren't sure how, but they invariably knew, in their unshakable seat of wisdom, that it would be All My Fault.

The complete irony of it is that I got something from her. It was small, harmless, and easily treated, but that made it even more irksome when I had to endure their stares. Any attempt at a smile or greeting on my part was always met with a cold look, or maybe a condescending half smile. Who knows...maybe it was a bad day for them all...maybe they've been working together for so long, that their periods are now in sync, and I was in on a really bad day...maybe, maybe, maybe....maybe I haven't done anything wrong, and in fact got something from one of your innocent girls, and when I came back to you for treatment, I had to go back five more times because you apparently had trouble treating the most common STD out there. And yet you still manage to look down on me. Because now you know I have something, and though you don't know anything about me and my partner, you still silently gloat about it, as if you could possible know who gave it to who...oh...that's doesn't matter to you, because somehow you already know, and you could never be wrong...