I approached the pharmacist’s drop-off counter. A rather stern lady stood there counting change. She looked up at me and gave me a smile.
“Hello,” I told her. “I was wondering if you knew anything about treatments for semen allergy and yeast infections. I believe I may have one of these conditions.”
She looked up at me, stunned. Her face turned red and she started shaking nervously. I kept on, indifferent to her neurotic reaction. I had expected a female pharmacist’s understanding about this matter.
“I can’t locate any of the products used to treat yeast infections. Is there anything available behind the counter for treatment? Also, what do you know about semen allergy?” I prodded inquisitively.
She looked down at the counter, still in shock over the topic matter. She seemed like the puritanical type, not someone to become a pharmacist. Surely, anyone in the medical establishment needs a strong stomach and a nonjudgmental ear. When I volunteered as a candy striper, I measured out urine and cleaned bedpans. The notion of nursing as a career repelled me. Still, I stomached my assignments and did the best I could. This woman was offended by the topic of sexuality, as if nobody had sex in this neo-Victorian age.
“I have never heard of yeast infections or semen allergies. I never came across such a question,” she insisted while frantically shaking her head.
“Well, you are a pharmacist, aren’t you? You must have studied that topic.” I pointed out.
“Well, yes, but I haven’t heard of it. What is a semen allergy? Who has that? Does it exist?” she demanded of me.
“It was on the Internet. Five percent of women have it, apparently. It comes up in research projects and statistics. Anyway, I won’t bother you anymore. Forget it. Goodbye,” I told her and left.
As I walked out the drug store, I felt a sense of disappointment. When I was in Vancouver, an East Indian pharmacist offered me kind, helpful and nonjudgmental advice about Plan B, a backup contraceptive. I wasn’t certain if morning-after pills were available here, since it was more conservative. Catholics and other religious sects spent their time by the hospital, circling the parking lot with signs demanding an end to legalized abortion for women. I had long ago accepted the right of women to make their own choices and considered illegal abortion dangerous, barbaric and backwards. Women would get abortions legally or illegally. While I wasn’t fond of the idea, I didn’t oppose the choice, either. I had better matters to worry about, like running my own life.
After taking the Plan B pills in a shopping mall washroom, I walked over to another pharmacy. A Chinese pharmacist informed me that one set of pills was enough to destroy the egg as I had hoped, so I could skip purchasing another set. I had no nostalgia over avoiding pregnancy as I didn’t want to carry his child in the first place, especially with his genes and family history. The man frightened me. I wanted no connection to him whatsoever. The short liaison was over.
A few weeks before I had left on vacation, I had met an attractive, warm, kind and interesting man from Rumania. He had immigrated in the late eighties. At the time, I hadn’t thought seriously of dating him as I was fascinated by another man at the recycling facility. After quickly realizing that the other man was gay, I decided to forget about him. As for the Rumanian man, he had insisted on driving me home that night. He had told me that I could leave my bicycle at the facility since I was returning. I had told him that my return was uncertain as the temp agency hadn’t confirmed a second shift. He thought I was being difficult but I couldn’t risk leaving my bike there overnight without knowing about my return or not.
Even if it was there in the morning, a second trip to pick it up would require two hours of my time. I decided for practicality’s sake to take my bike. He became upset and disappointed as he was concerned about my wellbeing. So my first impression of him left me wondering if he was a little protective. He seem like he didn’t like dissent from his expectations. I wasn’t certain. Still, he seemed a lot better than the guy I met while on vacation. I hadn’t gone out with either of them yet. After returning to town from Pender Island, I had considered taking shifts till I could find a decent second job as the sushi house I had once worked at relinquished my schedule to somebody else.
The sun basked the streets in sunlight. A sticky humidity clung to my skin. In a few hours, the sun would beat down on everyone, causing them to seek out shade. Few people walked the streets in mid-afternoon. Often, I went to a movie or the beach if I wasn’t working.
The paper carried advertisements for a movie titled ‘Wanted’. The storyline involved a hired assassin. Action movies sometimes appealed to me but not this one. The other films available for circulation were mostly films for adolescents. I decided to avoid the theatre for a few weeks.
A trip to the Anglican Church in Vancouver had calmed my nerves. Guilt now permeated my existence with every move and thought. I felt dirty. I could still feel the semen inside me so I took a few showers every day. Still, the feeling didn’t go away.
The Church was arguably the most beautiful and peaceful I had ever entered. Not a single Baptist Church I had sat in could compare to the beauty of the stained glass paintings and murals.



