Part 2: Love Hurts
Next up were three teenage girls, Toni, Tori, and Teri, or something like that, all members of the girl gang that roamed the narrow streets of Portwenn like a pack of giggling feral dogs. He could never keep them straight, as they seemed to age out and be replaced by fresh tank-top-and-flip-flop-wearing girls on a regular basis.
The trio formed a mini-gang that barged into his office together. He made them go out and come in again one at a time, even though he could see they all had the same symptom – a bright red open lesion on the lip.
"Herpes labialis, also known as orolabial herpes, caused by herpes simplex virus 1," he told the first one. The girl, Teri probably, made a face. "Herpes!" she exclaimed. "I thought you got that… you know… in your fanny." She waved in a vague direction down under.
"It's just a common cold sore. Genital herpes is mostly caused by HSV 2, it's related but not identical. Ever had this before? Anyone in your family have it?" he said.
She shook her head.
"Been kissing anyone lately?"
"Just Dave Jackson. You know, he cleans up at the leisure centre. Got dreamy blue eyes."
Martin checked her temperature and her lymph glands. "No temperature or swelling. The lesion is at the most contagious stage right now, so avoid touching the area and wash your hands thoroughly if you do. It should start crusting over and healing up in a day or two. It's likely to recur every so often though. Avoid sharing drinks or cigarettes, kissing, or having any other contact with anyone until it's completely gone. In the meantime, I'll give you a prescription for a topical antiviral agent."
The other two had apparently also been keeping company with the dreamy Dave. He gave them all the same advice and prescription. "And stay away from Mr. Jackson, he's likely the source of your infection, unless you've been touching each other."
That got them giggling again. "If we were, you'd probably want to watch us, init Doc?" said Toni or Tori.
"Get out, all of you!" he snarled.
As they exited, Eddie Rix came in. This time around the scruffy fisherman had first degree burns and superficial abrasions to the inside of his thighs. Martin groaned to himself. There seemed to be a theme of sexual misadventure shaping up to the day.
"I know I can trust you to be discrete, Doc. You see…" Rix began, "my Gloria does this thing where she drips candle wax and then takes a knife, not too sharp mind you, and…"
"Mr. Rix!" Martin hastily cut him off, as he really didn't want to hear any more. It had taken too long to get the previous image of the hairy, overweight man done up in bondage straps out of his head. "I realize you and your wife enjoy adding some… er, spice… to your, um, marital relations, but you both really need to take some precautions to carry on with your activities in a safer manner."
He cast around in his mind for some sort of advice but nothing in his medical training had prepared him for this. "I suppose," he stammered, "for instance, if in the heat of the, uh, activities, you're prone to forgetting your… er, safe word… why not write it on a bit of cardboard ahead of time and tape it to the wall where you can, er, be reminded of it… as needed."
"Brilliant idea, Doc." Rix seemed genuinely pleased. "I can't afford to be not be going out on me boat any more. Still, you always hurt the one you love, eh Doc? Or get hurt by them. Looks like you might know something about that," he added, pointing at the welt on Martin's forehead.
"That has nothing to do with anything, never mind about my private business," Martin sputtered. "I've given you my advice, that's all I have to say."
You'll probably just carry on getting yourself beaten to a bloody pulp anyway since that's what seems to get you off, Martin thought as Rix departed.
"Dave Jackson," announced Pauline, as she handed him the next patient's notes.
Jackson was a pasty 19-year-old, with light brown hair falling into his eyes, a weak attempt at a moustache, a metal stud in his left eyebrow, and the sort of O-ring earrings favoured by today's youth for the stretched out earlobe look. So this was what passed for dreamy for the modern adolescent girl, Martin thought grimly.
"Hmm, no cold sore today, eh?" he said.
"Whuh? Naw, haven't had one of those in a few weeks," the youth replied.
"Well, when you do get one, you need to keep it to yourself until it's completely healed up. Rumour has it you've been spreading it amongst the dimmer sort of teenage girl all over Portwenn," Martin said. "Anything else you've been spreading around that I'll shortly be hearing about?"
"No Doc, that's what I'm here about. You see, when I, uh, get pumped up, it hurts. Not normal, init.
"What d'you mean it hurts?"
"I mean, it hurts! Like an elastic band wrapped around my todger."
"All right, let me have a look." Martin's professional manner concealed his distaste as he set up the screen by the examination table and motioned for the youth to drop his trousers and pants and demonstrate just at what stage of erection the discomfort began. Turned out to be just as he suspected, young Jackson had a tight foreskin that wasn't retracting properly. It certainly did look painful, even Eddie Rix couldn't possibly enjoy that sort of situation, Martin thought.
"You have a condition called phimosis, possibly pathological," he said, snapping off his latex gloves after the examination. "I'm going to refer you to a urologist in Truro. There are various treatment options, but the most likely course of action is circumcision."
"What! They're gonna cut me down there!?" Young Jackson turned even paler than his normally pasty hue."
"It's effective in removing the source of, er, discomfort. Also some studies have shown it may confer secondary benefits in helping reduce the incidence of certain, um, sexually transmitted infections. And it's hardly worse than the sort of procedures you've apparently volunteered to have done to yourself, no doubt carried out by unwashed strangers in some dingy piercing shop," Martin added with scorn.
How much more of this could he take? Next up was Einar Robinson, a 40-year-old farmer from just outside the village. Martin wrinkled his nose at the faint odour of manure the man carried about him.
"I've got no luck when it comes to women, Doc," the farmer started out.
Oh God, what now, Martin thought.
"Us old bachelors, we're not getting any younger," Robinson said, in a tone of shared intimacy that Martin resented. "I need to get a wife and bunch of kids to help carry on with the farming, to leave a legacy to after I'm gone. I had my eye on Liz Savoury, a tasty little thing just like her name says, from over Hillcrest Farm, near where your aunt lives. I got her to dance with me at the Portwenn Players Ball, but at the end of the night I could tell she was waiting for me to kiss her and I couldn't do it, Doc. I've never been partial to kissing and such and I just couldn't bring myself to do it. She lunged at me and I put her off by starting up talking about my dairy cows. She went off mad and hasn't talked to me since. I don't know what's wrong with me, Doc."
"Am I to understand you have… never… engaged in kissing, or, um, any other form of sexual contact?"
Robinson nodded. "It's not normal, is it Doc? My old Dad always said I wasn't normal but it's not that I don't have the interest. It's sort of a case of the flesh is willing but the spirit is weak."
"You may have a form of erotophobia. It's a general term that encompasses a range of specific phobias related to sexual contact and fear of engulfment, or alternately abandonment. Left untreated it could cause sufferers to avoid romantic relationships and other forms of intimacy. Some examples are genophobia, for instance, the fear of sexual intercourse. Or haphephobia, the fear of being touched, even in passing. Or philemaphobia, fear of kissing, which could be related to worries over germs or even, um… bad breath."
"I think you're onto something, Doc. I've always been sensitive to smells and I can't abide the thought of other people's breath or body odour. People think I'm just an old farmer, born with manure on my boots, but truth be told Doc I never liked it. It's a filthy business working with cows and such and I never would have chosen it for myself but my Dad forced me into following in his footsteps. He was a right bully he was, making me take over for him, and my Mum never cared enough to say a word about it…"
By now Martin could barely hear anything the man said, the pounding in his head was starting up again.
"I'm afraid this is beyond my expertise. I can refer you to a therapist in Wadebridge," he said, desperate not to hear any more about the man's dysfunctional personal life.
Finally, old white-haired Ella Thomas was the only one left in reception. She shuffled into his office and showed him a bright red open lesion on her lower lip.
"Never had a cold sore before, Doc. Can't imagine where I could have picked it up," she insisted.
"I don't suppose you're acquainted with Dave Jackson?" he muttered.
"Dave who?"
"Never mind," Martin said. He gave her the same instructions and prescription he'd given the teenage girls and let her go. He didn't care to probe any deeper into the situation. He'd had enough of the villagers and their sordid relationships. It was enough to put anyone off physical or emotional entanglements altogether.
To be continued...
