I had the worst experience I've ever had at a doctor's office earlier this week.
Worse than when a provider at a Planned Parenthood pinched me with a speculum, then got the string of the iud she was placing caught in the duck lips, and then ripped it out through my cervix - all at six weeks after birthing the lil' baby squid.
Worse than when a doctor misdiagnosed an infection in one of my mammary glands and blamed my pain and fever on my being "too young to have sex."
I don't think it is a coincidence that all of my worst experiences with doctors have involved my sexuality/reproduction. Heck, there are congressional hearings on birth control. This isn't exactly the time and place to be a woman and/or female bodied. Especially if you are a young, poor, sex positive mama. Especially if you are that same young mama all grown up and queer.
Now that I am working for the city, I have all kinds of benefits. Like health insurance, woah! I'd been seeing the Smith providers while I was in school and paying out of pocket to see
the folks I love here anytime I was in town. They are the same office I interned at two summers ago and they are fabulous. But I figured, since I have insurance now, I should start using it. I looked on the insurance website, picked a name that told me I'd be seeing a woman, checked her yelp reviews out and everything seemed fine.
Oh, I was so wrong.
I should have taken it as a sign when the person who called to confirm my appointment was not very nice.
I should have taken it as a sign when I felt nervous about going.
I should have taken it as a sign when it took me half an hour from when I parked in a parking garage to when I found the office I was looking for and no one answered the phones as I wandered around frantically.
But I didn't. I walked into the office and filled out the new patient forms, chuckled at the lines for number of lifetime partners (plenty), number of current partners (one) and what I do for contraception (nothing). I thought about following the nothing with some joke about being gay for contraception, but left it at that.
Then I went into the exam room and the provider came in. We went through the regular check-up things. It took a million tries to get my blood pressure because it was ridiculously low. Those electric pumps haven't been able to catch me lately so it's time after time of painful squeeze and release until someone gives up and uses the manual cuff. 85/53. I am totally a toddler.
Then came the questions.
Dr. V: Why aren't you using any contraception?
Charlie: Oh! My partner is female.
Dr V: Have you always been a homosexual?
Charlie: Ummm...
Dr V: How did you have a child?
Charlie: Oh, well I have male and female partners.
Dr. V: So you are a bisexual?
Charlie: Umm, actually, I identify as queer.
Dr V: What does that mean?
Charlie: (I eek out something incoherent about gender spectrum and dating folks of all different genders)
Dr. V: So you're confused?
Charlie: No.
Dr V: When did this all start?
Charlie: Ummm.
Dr. V: Were you sexually abused as a child? Were you? Were you?
Charlie: (Lying) No. (Laugh to hide your growing rage)
Dr V: And your son, (looks at family history) he has ADD. Do you think it is because you're gay?
Charlie: No. (Explains the squid's neurological profile)
Dr. V: Because, it can be really confusing for kids. Sometimes they just write that off as ADD
Charlie: (Almost too uncomfortable to talk and giggling nervously.)
Dr V: So do you need a pap smear? You need to get tested for Hepatitis.
Charlie: I'm not at risk for Hepatitis C.
Dr. V: No. For A and B.
Charlie: I'm vaccinated.
Dr V: Well you need to get tested for Hepatitis C.
Charlie: I don't meet any of the risk factors for that.
Dr. V: But you have a tattoo.
Charlie: It was professionally done.
Dr V: You could still have hepatitis C.
Charlie: Umm, I'm not going to get tested for that.
Dr. V: I don't do pap smears on the first visit. Can you come back in two weeks?
Charlie: Uhhhh.... (This is so not how you get me naked, lady)
Dr V: What day works for you? When can you come? What's the problem?
Charlie: I think I want to do the pap smear with my other provider.
Dr. V: Okay. Tell her you have a heart murmur. And if you are ever in an accident and they are worried about your blood pressure, just tell them that that is your normal blood pressure.
At this point I'm shuffled down the hall to have the phlebotomist jam a needle into my arm and then ushered out the door. The person billing asks me if I'm okay. I say I am then make it out the front door before I burst into tears.
I wish I had been brave enough to yell at her. I wish I'd had the words to tell her that she is the reason 13 year old kids commit suicide and queer/trans folks of all ages don't get the care they need.
But something about it sent me spiraling into a position of being powerless. Maybe it was having someone treat me like who and how I love is a disease. Maybe it was being reminded that Austin isn't as safe as I think it is. Maybe it was because she threw my childhood sexual assault in my face as an accusation. And if I had spoken the truth she would have had me "all figured out". Maybe it's because she used the power of mama guilt to try and turn my kid's disabilities into something my fault. Maybe it is because she is in a position of power, with her degree and knowledge of my heart - knowing what the sounds and movements of it do or don't mean.
I know she must think that everything bad that has ever happened to me has made me gay. And that everything bad that's happened since is because I'm gay.
On the drive home I felt dizzy. I needed to throw up. I felt so so sad. And then my lady took me out for pancakes and let me collapse in her bed crying until it was time to go to work. Dear friends called to check on me. And slowly I began to be able to tell jokes about it.
I'm a bad driver because I'm gay.
My shoes have holes in them because I'm gay.
I broke my favorite mug because I'm gay.
I have a heart murmur because I'm gay.
I kiss my girlfriend because I'm gay.
I wrote this
Yelp review because I'm gay.
And I'm blogging because I'm gay.
Because sharing the story helps change things.
And someday I'm gonna be a doctor.
And I'll be a great one
not because I'm gay
but because I have an effing heart.
