Queerness at the frontier of medicine
I remember the first time I went to the Student Wellness Centre to get tested for sexually transmitted infections. I took my best friend with me because I was nervous; I had this weird fear that somehow my tests would get shared with my family doctor and that my family doctor would tell my parents. My parents would not have been cool with that.
When the doctor asked me why I wanted to get tested, I shyly explained that I had sex with someone whom I didn’t know the status of and I just wanted to be safe. The doctor asked if I thought I might be pregnant. I paused and then said I had slept only with women. I waited, scanned the doctor’s face for a hint of disapproval, disgust or a scowl. It never came.
They were extremely nice and non-judgemental, reassuring me that no news would be good news and encouraged me to check out some of the pamphlets at the front of the office. When I left, I briefly scanned them, seeing some titled “Sex for Lesbians”. I remember looking away quickly, in case someone caught me and would know my secret.
The next time I was asked about my sexual activity, I told the doctor “yes, I was sexually active” and they asked me if I used protection. I said “no” and I got a look of mild disapproval. They went on to recommend that two forms of birth control should be used at all times. I nodded knowingly and then finally said, “I’m gay.” For a moment they looked a bit taken aback before saying, “Oh, okay” and the conversation continued.
These two encounters happened five years apart. During the first I was scared and nervous. I was waiting for judgement to come my way. In the second, I was a lot more confident in my sexuality and even though it was mildly annoying to have to correct the assumptions made about me, I wasn’t afraid to do it.
For some people who identify as 2SLGBTQIA+, these types of encounters can be nerve wracking. It sucks to have people assume who you’re sleeping with and what genitals your partner (or partners) may have. While healthcare providers are getting better at being non-assuming, disclosing sexuality and sexual preferences in these encounters can be terrifying, especially because you never really know how someone can react.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a doctor. I remember my grandma watching over me as I played doctor with my stuffed animals, preparing to listen to their heartbeats and sew them back together. Pretty cliché, I know. This past year, my childhood dreams came true as I started medical school at the Michael G. DeGroote School of Medicine here at McMaster University.
I’ll give McMaster some credit for making sure that we have some education around 2SLGBQIA+ health. We were taught to ask for pronouns in encounters, though no one really ever reinforces it. We had a session in our professional competencies class in which we talked about how to be more inclusive. There are efforts being made and I appreciate it. I hope that it means less people will have to feel as though heterosexuality is assumed when they go to the doctor’s office.
In medical school, we are encouraged to reflect on our privilege. Part of my reflection has been that to be the best doctor I want to be, it will include advocating for 2SLGBTQIA+ patients. I want to be a role model for students that want to become doctors as a queer person of colour. Just like the way my queerness guides the way I dress, it also guides where my passion for advocacy lies.
I want to demonstrate that asking for pronouns in medical encounters shouldn’t be awkward or weird. I want there to be more education on how to best talk to and treat 2SLGBTQIA+ patients. This isn’t just about who I am anymore, it’s about the future patients I and my colleagues will have.
In our session around 2SLGBTQIA+ health, I remember another student said that they’ve never thought about these topics before. I was baffled to hear that because thinking about these topics is a very common part of my life. Due to my own lived experiences, I could share with my classmates that feeling of apprehension about going to the doctor’s office. I shared that for me, the rainbow flags were important to see in an office, as it eased my mind a bit. For myself and others in the community, this is the reality of our world, but it’s not reality for others. I feel poised in my position to bridge those two worlds in an attempt to make medical visits less daunting for this community.
I’ve become more open about my sexuality over this past year. I’ve been trying to incorporate non-judgemental and non-assuming phrases into clinical history taking to avoid the heterosexuality norms that are taught in medical school. I still have a lot more to learn and more work to do, but I know that to live up to my full potential as a doctor, it will include highlighting the health of the 2SLGBTQIA+ community.
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I remember the first time I went to the Student Wellness Centre to get tested for STIs. I took my best friend with me because I was nervous; I had this weird fear that somehow my tests would get shared with my family doctor and that my family doctor would tell my parents. My parents would not have been cool with that.
When the doctor asked me why I wanted to get tested, I shyly explained that I had sex with someone whom I didn’t know the status of and I just wanted to be safe. The doctor asked if I thought I might be pregnant. I paused and then said I had slept only with women. I waited, scanned the doctor’s face for a hint of disapproval, disgust or a scowl. It never came. They were extremely nice and non-judgemental, reassuring me that no news would be good news and encouraged me to check out some of the pamphlets at the front of the office. When I left, I briefly scanned them, seeing some titled “Sex for Lesbians”. I remember looking away quickly, in case someone caught me and would know my secret.
The next time I was asked about my sexual activity, I told the doctor yes, I was sexually active and they asked me if I used protection. I said no and I got a look of mild disapproval. They went on to recommend that two forms of birth control should be used at all times. I nodded knowingly and then finally said, “I’m gay.” For a moment they looked a bit taken aback before saying, “Oh, okay” and the conversation continued.
These two encounters happened five years apart. During the first I was scared and nervous. I was waiting for judgement to come my way. In the second, I was a lot more confident in my sexuality and even though it was mildly annoying to have to correct the assumptions made about me, I wasn’t afraid to do it.
However, for some people who identify as 2SLGBTQIA+, these types of encounters can be nerve wracking. It sucks to have people assume who you’re sleeping with and what genitals your partner (or partners) may have. While healthcare providers are getting better at being non-assuming, disclosing sexuality and sexual preferences in these encounters can be terrifying, especially because you never really know how someone can react.
Now, for as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a doctor. I remember my grandma watching over me as I played doctor with my stuffed animals, preparing to listen to their heartbeats and sew them back together. Pretty cliché, I know. This past year, my childhood dreams came true as I started medical school at the Michael G. DeGroote School of Medicine here at McMaster University.
I grew up in a religious household in a pretty conservative town. Unsurprisingly, a family member told me not tell people I was gay for fear of what harm may fall on me. I know they were just trying to look out for me in their own way, but it was disheartening to hear. I pushed that aside because I had more pressing matters like figuring out my career, not failing medical school and trying to learn anatomy without the chance to go to an anatomy lab (thank you, COVID). Having been in the closet for much of my life, coming out to people still stresses me out and will probably stress me out for the rest of my life.
I’ll give McMaster some credit for making sure that we have some education around 2SLGBQIA+ health. We were taught to ask for pronouns in encounters, though no one really ever reinforces it. We had a session in our professional competencies class in which we talked about how to be more inclusive. There are efforts being made and I appreciate it. I hope that it means less people will have to feel as though heterosexuality is assumed when they go to the doctor’s office.
I came out in my last year of high school to my best friends and since then, I’m pretty open around the people I meet. I’ve been meaning to come out publicly for a while but there was never any timeline I had in mind. That was until I started medical school.
It is not lost on me the privilege that I have as a soon-to-be doctor. I remember how easy it was for me to get a loan from the bank, just based on the fact that I’ll make money someday. Doctors are held in high regard in our society and while that is probably warranted most of the time given their role as healers and helpers, I am also acutely aware that the medical profession has hurt a number of communities. Healthcare for marginalized individuals is not always so amazing and for some, there is mistrust in the healthcare field. People can get left on the sidelines when they don’t fit the mold of the average patient.
In medical school, we are encouraged to reflect on our privilege. Part of my reflection has been that to be the best doctor I want to be, it will include advocating for 2SLGBTQIA+ patients. I want to be a role model for students that want to become doctors as a queer person of colour. Just like the way my queerness guides the way I dress, it also guides where my passion for advocacy lies. I want to demonstrate that asking for pronouns in medical encounters shouldn’t be awkward or weird. I want there to be more education on how to best talk to and treat 2SLGBTQIA+ patients. This isn’t just about who I am anymore, it’s about the future patients I and my colleagues will have.
In our session around 2SLGBTQIA+ health, I remember another student saying that they’ve, “never thought of these topics before”. I was baffled to hear that, because thinking about these topics is a very common part of my life. Because of my own lived experiences, I could share with my classmates that feeling of apprehension about going to the doctor’s office. I shared that for me, the rainbow flags were important to see in an office, as it eased my mind a bit. For myself and others in the community, this is the reality of our world, but it’s not reality for others. I feel poised in my position to bridge those two worlds in an attempt to make medical visits less daunting for this community.
