I decided it was time to find a doctor in my new home town. I am rarely sick enough to need a doctor, but I am getting older and need to start thinking about being connected when things on my body start to break and breakdown.
It was a two hour wait. “No! This never happens. She is usually right on time,” They assured me. The nurse took me back and explained that there had been an emergency. He didn’t introduce himself, but was pleasant enough so I asked him his name.
“Scott. She’ll be right in to see you.”
After another fifteen minutes, she came in and was as sweet as pie. She was wearing a HUGE diamond cross around her neck, so I immediately felt a little reserved. I told her about S and that we have been together for more than 16 years. Then she noticed we have a son but I have never been pregnant, “Is he yours or did you adopt him?”
“Well. Both, actually. He is mine and I did adopt him because the archaic laws in this country make me have to take extra legal steps to prove my relationship to this being I helped create. Breathe. And, even if we had not created him together and he had grown in a stranger’s womb halfway around the world, he would still be mine,” I thought to myself in the nano-second following her gaffe.
It is always interesting how it is the little things people say, often well intentioned, that seem to trigger the deepest reactions in me. I don’t care about vocal opponents to marriage equality or about those stupid people who picket soldiers’ funerals. What hurts is opening yourself up just a little and having someone not really see you.
“He is ours,” I say. “My partner gave birth to him.”
“OH! That is so COOL!” she exclaimed as if the idea had never occurred to her.
A few awkward questions later (awkward for me, not her), we had moved on to other topics. She really was very nice and seemed to be trying really hard. I guess I just look forward to the day when people don’t have to try so hard.