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.
Hamilton-based drag queen reveals the impact of the pandemic on drag shows and how she has kept her artistry alive
When the series of lockdowns began in Ontario last fall and all public gatherings were put on halt, live performers, including drag queens, were faced with the challenge of keeping the art and community alive from home. However, despite months of stay-at-home orders and cancelled shows, drag queens of Hamilton have proven their resilience and unfaltering devotion to their craft by employing creative digital ways of connecting with their audience.
Like many of us, Karma Kameleon, a Hamilton-based drag queen, didn’t initially know what to do with all the extra time or how to stay connected with her community. Kameleon started performing three years ago and was about to launch her full-time career in drag when the COVID-19 pandemic hit hard in March of last year, cancelling her shows in 10 cities across Ontario. It was devastating to have her long-awaited goal interrupted so suddenly without warning.
To cope with the loss of a physical stage, Kameleon and other drag queens turned to digital content creation. At first, most people remained hopeful that this would be a short-term solution and that live, in-person shows would be back on soon. However, as time went on and reliance on digital platforms became heavier and more important, more queens got creative with their online performances and experimented with various platforms, starting with livestreams.
One of the most memorable livestreams Kameleon did was for St. Patrick’s Day because everyone was still inexperienced in the digital drag era. It was filmed from her decorated basement and although she described it as a “disaster”, it was supported by a great audience. Besides the learning curve of online content creation, Kameleon said the biggest obstacle has been copyright infringements. As livestreams became more popular among drag queens, copyrights forced their videos to get taken down or blocked, pressuring them to get even more innovative with the types of content and move onto other digital outlets such as music videos, Instagram and TikTok.
Kameleon also took on a challenge to improve her makeup and sewing skills during the months in lockdown. She was more known for her comedy and stage performances than her looks. Having extra time for personal skill growth made her more proud, more confident and happier with her artistry.
Despite building a successful online presence during the pandemic and maintaining the art of drag digitally, Kameleon said ultimately, nothing could compensate for the lost experiences of in-house shows.
Kameleon desperately missed the experiences of being swept up by the atmosphere of a crowd, fighting with seven other drag queens for a mirror and being able to develop a higher level of human connection through real, in-person interactions. Every moment of normalcy she got back during the gaps between lockdowns made her realize how much she missed every aspect of performing live and a greater appreciation for the community of continuous supporters. When Ontario announced its reopening plans, she was beyond grateful to have in-person shows started up again.
Her favourite part about live performances is when only one or two people are paying attention to her song in the beginning but by the end, watching more and more people begin to put down their phones and get captivated by her eccentric performance. That’s the kind of human connection that she longed for the most.
Kemeleon’s first return to live shows was on June 18 at Absinthe Hamilton with the House of Adam and Steve. Her biggest worry during the pandemic was whether she would still have an audience when she could have live shows again.
But to her surprise, the response was overwhelming. The patio reached full capacity and a long line up crowded the streets.
“[During the pandemic], you could have an audience, but you couldn’t necessarily charge a price for there to be audience . . . But as we’ve kind of moved forward, I’m trying this brand-new thing of actually charging for my shows and I was terrified no one would show up. But the response has been phenomenal,” Kameleon said.
Especially in a city like Hamilton without an established queer scene or a dedicated queer space, the resilience of the arts in the city was heartwarming to observe.
Kameleon also missed working with other queens during the months spent doing at-home online shows. The sisterhood of being in a community of individuals with similar struggles, experiences and backstories is an important source of support for any drag queen.
As Ontario enters the next stage in the reopening plan, Kameleon is most excited to showcase her growth as an entertainer over the past year. She also hopes to help reshape the drag scene to ensure artists are treated with respect and compensated fairly for the work that they do.
“[As we are] talking to the people who are part of the [drag] scene in every city, there is this understanding of, ‘Now that we know what it’s like not to have it and now that we know what we miss about it, we also kind of know what we deserve,’” Kameleon said.
More importantly, she is looking forward to more diversity in the drag community and the reopening of the world through the lens of everything that has happened last year, especially regarding the Black Lives Matter movement, Stop Asian Hate movement and the treatment of Indigenous peoples in Canada. She hopes to see the world and the drag community in Hamilton move forward with a more open and inclusive mindset and more credit given to people of colour in the drag scene.
If you love drag or appreciation for any of the arts, Kameleon encourages the local community to provide any form of support. Even if you can’t financially support an artist, every like, comment, or reshare is a form of support that can help boost their online platform and help their art feel more validated after a difficult past year.