The Dr's Appt

I went to see a physician today, for the first time in almost two years.  Maybe more than that....  Anyhow, I'm usually pretty good with this whole medical establishment navigation.  One thing that really helps is that I know the language.  My mother was a medic in the military and I read medical textbooks for fun as a kid.  I was forced to watch Chicago Hope and ER from a young age and any other type of medical-related show.  Plastic surgery, Trauma: Life in the ER, Labor and Delivery, that was my version of cartoons.

I also learnt how to advocate fro myself.  When I was diagnosed with macular degeneration, I qualified for lifetime health coverage. I recently learnt it's a type of Medicare; I love my government-run health insurance.  >:}  The day I turnt 18, I made my first independent Dr's appointment and have been handling my own healthcare ever since.

Today was no big deal: I'd transferred my coverage to the Western region (finally!) and had found and set up an appt with a local physician.  I'd had my records faxed from my old Dr and even managed to remember the cash for my co-payment.  Things were going swimmingly... except my horrible case of nerves.

Why was I so nervous, even though the lobby was one of the most welcoming I'd ever waited in?  Well, I'd never gone to the Dr as a trans person before.  As if it isn't difficult enough being young, Black and female-bodied, add to the non-heterosexual, non-cisgendered identities and that's a recipe for the worst coffee stomach I'd had in months.  Well, maybe the black tea was to blame for the coffee stomach, but the nerves weren't helping the situation.  Even though I had specifically asked the receptionist if the Dr was trans-friendly, you never really know. People call themselves allies all the time and still manage to shove their feet--boots and all--into their mouths.  But I decided to give it a shot. The worst that could happen was being humiliated and making a formal complaint with my insurance company.  But what I got was completely unexpected.

Dr H is nice.  An older white woman (we are in Oly, but nearer to Lacey) and she takes a more homeopathic approach to medicine.  She took  notes, listened and :gasp: had a dialogue with me.  Totally got my co-payment's worth. But when we got to the topic of birth control, and she asked me the general heterosexist questions, I hit the Wall.  I deftly skirted around the issue but managed to answer all the questions completely.  But when she dropped the 'p' word (pregnancy), I couldn't repress the sneer.  It makes me laugh in retrospect.

Anyway fast forward to the pelvic exam, which came up completely out of the blue. I need ample prep for pelvic exams at the best of times; even years ago when I had to head tot he Dr's for the annual exam, I accidentally-on-purpose missed the bus and was late.  Like three years in a row.  The stirrups, the forceps those damned paper gowns--I still don't know how to put one on--I HATE THEM ALL!!  And worst of all, there was no nice nurse's hand to squeeze the feeling out of.  Jesus cristo.....  Dr H tried to make small talk and asked me what I planned to do after I left Evergreen.  O.o  Between the feeling like someone was assaulting my uterus, trying to remember how to breathe and wishing that it was all over, I managed to reply that I wanted to work with queer youth.  She then asked about my sexual orientation.  I was so...  out of it and angry/frustrated/hungry that I said through gritted teeth, "I'm only interested in female-identified people. I don't interact with penises. And I'm transgender!!"  Not the most PC answer in retrospect, but I'm going to cut myself some slack, given the special circumstances. I can only imagine what her expression was, because I was too busy wishing death upon the ceiling tiles.  I do remember that she apologised for asking those heterosexist question about birth control and pregnancy earlier.  I wanted to hiss a nasty reply about "the system" but I was concentrating on maintaining my breathing.  And then it was over, blue gloves in the garbage, and I was getting dressed.

Upon reflection, the situation is much more humourous than during the actual experience.  I've had some pretty horrible physician visits that have left me with questions or sobbing from lack of professionalism. I think I'll be going back to see Dr H again.  She may have fumbled, but at least she had the good grace to recognise her mistake and apologise for it.  I can respect that.