I'm a gay man in London who finally got a monkeypox vaccine after weeks of trying. Here's how I did it — and why I was so determined.

The author shares everything he needed to do to finally get vaccinated against monkepox in London and says more vaccines are needed.

• I live in Australia but have been in London for the past four months. 
• I didn't want to get monkeypox nor did I want to bring it back home with me, so I got vaccinated. 
• I was determined to get an appointment, but it wasn't easy. 

In a small, windowless room in the heart of bustling London, I squinted briefly. I felt a tiny scratch on my arm. For the next three days, a dull ache postponed arms day at the gym.

These were but minuscule inconveniences. The main side effects of my recent inoculation were gratitude and relief.

Even though I'm aware I'm an early adopter, I feel like saying I've finally had my vaccine for monkeypox, a transmittable virus with unpleasant symptoms similar to, but less than severe than, smallpox, and a fatality rate of up to 6%. 

My exasperation is because of how tricky it was to get that needle in me. There were hoops, and I jumped. Post-COVID, I've realized I'm the antithesis of an anti-vaxxer. I'm vaccine obsessed. 

Most cases in Australia, where I've lived for the past 10 years, fulfill three consistent criteria: international travelers, people aged 21 to 40, and men who have sex with men, according to the NSW health website. 

All three categories describe me: I'm 39, gay, and, in September, will be returning to Sydney after a four-month stint in London. 

Not only did I not want to get infected myself, I didn't want to risk bringing the virus back to my community in Sydney. But getting the shot wasn't easy.

It's what everyone is talking about in London's gay scene

At clinics, Sharpie-scrawled signs saying "monkeypox vaccine" covered official National Health Service signs. Reports of four-hour waits and people getting turned away at walk-ins initially deterred me. 

Then it rapidly started looking more serious. In London's gay scene and in queer chat groups, it's all anyone's talking about. 

I struggled to find somewhere to get a vaccine — first, those walk-ins started becoming appointment-only, then all those appointments got snapped up.

A friend sent me a QR code for an NHS booking system: gold dust. When I hadn't heard back in 36 hours, panic set in. Friends stopped going out as much. The World Health Organization urged gay men to sleep with fewer men.

In the interim period before the NHS replied — 10 days later — I was frenzied, determined to get this vaccine after seeing that 98% of people with monkeypox are gay or bisexual men. 

I called 56 Dean Street, a well-known gay men's sexual-health clinic. A recorded voicemail said they were too overwhelmed to book new monkeypox-vaccine appointments. My concern grew.

Finally, I marched to the clinic myself. Staff sensed my desperation, and I got an appointment.

My community knows the urgency of getting vaccinated

Some travelers returning from European summer holidays — especially British dual citizens like me — will have tried to get their vaccine abroad. Some have looked to countries like the UK as if an effective, well-managed vaccine rollout is in full swing here.

The overstretched NHS cannot meet the huge demand from gay men who are, largely, taking the risk very seriously, acting early to protect themselves, and mobilizing to help others. AIDS taught us to prioritize health and community above everything. 

But we can't assume returned British travelers like me or tourists will have necessarily gotten the vaccine. 

I've read about money being poured into communications to the gay community on apps like Grindr. My community knows the urgency of protecting our health. Within an hour of posting I'd had my vaccine, DMs with questions started pouring in, and my Messenger inbox was full. 

Money's needed for vaccines, not awareness.

While I was frantically searching for a vaccine, I noticed something else: People who'd normally hug and kiss me hello have been more restrained in greeting me. Some blame COVID; I suspect that 98% statistic has a lot to do with it.

Another dangerous dual virus is spreading in London, one that, if we're not all responsible, could take hold in cities around the globe: panic and stigma.

Gary Nunn is a freelance journalist and author. Twitter: @garynunn1