Before embracing my naturally androgynous features, I tried to wax, contour, and push-up bra my way into feminization to avoid mean remarks from children and confused second glances from adults. It wasn’t until a recent doctor’s appointment shed new light on my situation, that I thought there was nothing more insulting than a waiter insisting, “Enjoy your meal, sir” or someone calling me a pervert for using the women’s restroom.
As a chronic migraine sufferer for most of my life, doctors have run a gamut of tests on me reserved for female patients, including, “Are you on your period” and “Have you tried losing weight?” Moments before I lost consciousness last year due to an abrupt cluster headache I even had one doctor tell me I would never know true pain until I was hit in the ball sac with a whiffle ball bat.
During my most recent visit to the ER, I was dumbfounded when the doctor recommended an MRI and complete neurological examination to treat my ongoing migraines. He even documented his findings with his pen instead of twirling it around his fingers like a little baton and checking his watch every 30 seconds. Since I’ve never left a doctor’s office with anything more than a handful of ibuprofen and the sneaking suspicion I was the victim of gendered medical malpractice, I was shocked until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
During my mad dash to the hospital to relieve the feeling my brain was trapped in a hydraulic press, I had forgotten to do my makeup or change out of my sweats. This accompanied by my new gender-neutral haircut gave me all the answers I needed. This doctor thought I was a man, and I was reaping the benefits of his error in judgment
I was almost tempted to give him the benefit of the doubt and attribute his professionalism to the medical oath he took so many years ago, but my initial assumptions were confirmed after he called me a “brave little man” and told me I would be “out playing football again with the guys in no time.”