In 1973, I trained in a speciality that was then known as venereology. Because the port in Liverpool was busy, we would treat seafarers, not only for syphilis, but tropical sexually transmittable infections (STIs) too. They would be admitted to hospital and then go back to join their ship. As trade at the port decreased, so did the number of imported sexual infections, but nevertheless the number of local people needing treatment was still considerable.

One year that stands out is 1983; that is when cases of Aids started to be brought to the attention of physicians in the United States. In 1984, the HIV antibody test become available, and we started to test people. We didn't have the antiretroviral drugs that have since revolutionised treatment, so the best we could do was to treat people compassionately. It still takes a lot of courage to take the test, because the implications for someone who is positive are considerable, despite the fact there are exceptionally good therapies around today.

On Monday afternoons, I have a clinic. I greet each patient in the waiting room: people feel a bit vulnerable, so I try to be as friendly as I can. Over the years you get a feel for most problems people present you with, and while those problems are not new to you, they are unique to the individual in front of you.

We take a sexual history, relating potential symptoms to recent sexual exposures, and inquire about condom use, to try to find out if people have had risky sex. Then we decide on the sorts of investigations that are required, explaining carefully how they work and the reasons for carrying them out, before examining the patient and taking tests.

On Tuesdays, we have an appointments clinic for people who need ongoing treatment for a particular condition, such as genital warts. A more difficult area of our practice is assessing people who might have come into contact with HIV and are attending for a post-exposure prophylaxis (Pepse), following sexual intercourse. We use an algorithmic approach to work out what the risk might be, and whether they would benefit from being given the combination of three antiretroviral drugs to try to protect them from infection.

Last Tuesday, I saw one such person, which took quite a lot of time. Some people are very calm, but others, as you can imagine, are quite agitated. It is a team approach, with specialist nurses and health advisers involved as well as the doctor. Then I had a clinic where I see male patients with STIs or who requiring a screening. That was very much an average afternoon – seeing people with non-gonococcal urethritis (inflamation of the urethra not caused by gonorrhea) and one case of gonorrhea.

Wednesday morning is an HIV clinic. A lot of my work is dealing with HIV patients and gay men, so I don't see as many women as I used to. But the unit does deal with many women, some coming for the morning-after pill and the prescription of contraceptives. People always have a choice of the gender of the doctor who sees them.

First thing on Thursdays, we go up to the infectious diseases unit to discuss patients on the ward. Often there are some very sick patients with Aids. The Health Protection Agency estimates that in 2009 there were 86,500 people with HIV in the UK, and almost a quarter didn't know they had it.

On Friday, I took an HIV clinic first thing. There was a patient with a very low CD4 cell count (CD4 is a type of white blood cell) who needed to start treatment, but otherwise it was fairly straightforward, seeing people established on their medications.

Over time, you get to know your patients very well, which is unusual for a hospital consultant, so it's quite a special relationship. I have been looking after some people since the early 80s, and at that stage I never thought that they would be alive in 2010. So it is very rewarding, but emotionally it can get to you at times. It's very difficult for newly infected people to deal with having HIV. Despite the fact we have amazingly good medications now, people still feel stigmatised, and they need to discuss their problems with us because they might not have anybody else to talk to.

Peter Carey works at the Royal Liverpool University Hospital.