Blood, Sweat & Fears
By Raven Usher
A while back my son hurt his head while he was playing. It left a gash in his scalp that required four stainless steel staples to close. I had my fair share of stitches when I was a kid and I knew my son’s injury really was not all that serious. But still...
I walked into the ER carrying a disturbingly quiet child in my arms, his blood smeared across the front of my white shirt. As the triage nurse took his vitals, a fear struck me that few other parents would even fathom. What if they read me? Will my son’s quality of care suffer because of who his Maddy is? Will I have to deal with police because of this ER visit? Will the doctors call child protective services? What if an accidental cut on the head costs me my child?
I can honestly say that it was the most afraid I have been in my adult life. Considering I am an ex-marine who has known the sensation of being shot at, that is saying a lot. Fears like that can be compounded by outside influences. Mental images of maltreatment are easily induced by things like the knowledge that Michigan passed a state-wide ordinance in 2004 that allows doctors to refuse treatment to GLBT patients if they have moral or religious objections to providing treatment. It’s called the Conscientious Objector Act. Sometimes getting national news press releases sent directly to my home computer backfires.
The story I wrote on Theron McGriff in March of 2003 did not help either. In case you did not follow that story... An Idaho judge took away custody of McGriff’s children and gave them to his ex-wife after McGriff’s boyfriend moved into the house. McGriff’s case went all the way to the Idaho supreme court in 2004. Although the court proclaimed it to be unconstitutional to remove kids on the basis of sexual orientation, McGriff still did not regain custody of his children.
I fully understand that my fears were unfounded. I knew it even than. That hospital is one of the best in the state. Their reputation is unblemished and the quality of care that other members of my family have received there has been fantastic. But that did not stop the fear from creeping up my spine like some alien insect intent on burrowing into my brain.
All the ingredients for paranoia were there; examples of legalized medical maltreatment, judicial prejudice, lost child custody, and the fact that I knew it would be easy to read me. (I had rushed out of the house without any thought of taking time to check my own appearance.) Drop on top of that the guilt that wells up when a parent is looking at her injured child and the scenarios run rampant.
I am never in a hurry to go to the hospital. When I injured my hand it had to get so bad that I could not even pick up a pencil before I sought more than a home remedy. The problem is that I know all the statistics of maltreatment that transsexuals receive at the hands of medical services around the country. I would rather try to take care of myself before risking added complications from a prejudiced doctor not doing his job because he discovered my exam would not require stirrups.
The incident with my son was the first time that this concern bled over to involve another member of my family. Neither of my daughters have ever had to be taken to the ER and my wife is more familiar with hospitals than some doctors. I avoid hospitals religiously. Besides my misgivings connected to being transsexual, I have a minor phobia that requires all my self control to overcome just stepping across a hospital’s threshold, even when taking my child in for emergency care.
My son was just fine. In fact, he thought the staples were cool. He is five years old now and he has developed the tendency to lead with his head. Needless to say, this incident was not our last trip to the ER. His sisters have come to affectionately refer to him as “Thud-head.” Sometimes I think I should buy him a helmet.
Blessed Be.
By Raven Usher
A while back my son hurt his head while he was playing. It left a gash in his scalp that required four stainless steel staples to close. I had my fair share of stitches when I was a kid and I knew my son’s injury really was not all that serious. But still...
I walked into the ER carrying a disturbingly quiet child in my arms, his blood smeared across the front of my white shirt. As the triage nurse took his vitals, a fear struck me that few other parents would even fathom. What if they read me? Will my son’s quality of care suffer because of who his Maddy is? Will I have to deal with police because of this ER visit? Will the doctors call child protective services? What if an accidental cut on the head costs me my child?
I can honestly say that it was the most afraid I have been in my adult life. Considering I am an ex-marine who has known the sensation of being shot at, that is saying a lot. Fears like that can be compounded by outside influences. Mental images of maltreatment are easily induced by things like the knowledge that Michigan passed a state-wide ordinance in 2004 that allows doctors to refuse treatment to GLBT patients if they have moral or religious objections to providing treatment. It’s called the Conscientious Objector Act. Sometimes getting national news press releases sent directly to my home computer backfires.
The story I wrote on Theron McGriff in March of 2003 did not help either. In case you did not follow that story... An Idaho judge took away custody of McGriff’s children and gave them to his ex-wife after McGriff’s boyfriend moved into the house. McGriff’s case went all the way to the Idaho supreme court in 2004. Although the court proclaimed it to be unconstitutional to remove kids on the basis of sexual orientation, McGriff still did not regain custody of his children.
I fully understand that my fears were unfounded. I knew it even than. That hospital is one of the best in the state. Their reputation is unblemished and the quality of care that other members of my family have received there has been fantastic. But that did not stop the fear from creeping up my spine like some alien insect intent on burrowing into my brain.
All the ingredients for paranoia were there; examples of legalized medical maltreatment, judicial prejudice, lost child custody, and the fact that I knew it would be easy to read me. (I had rushed out of the house without any thought of taking time to check my own appearance.) Drop on top of that the guilt that wells up when a parent is looking at her injured child and the scenarios run rampant.
I am never in a hurry to go to the hospital. When I injured my hand it had to get so bad that I could not even pick up a pencil before I sought more than a home remedy. The problem is that I know all the statistics of maltreatment that transsexuals receive at the hands of medical services around the country. I would rather try to take care of myself before risking added complications from a prejudiced doctor not doing his job because he discovered my exam would not require stirrups.
The incident with my son was the first time that this concern bled over to involve another member of my family. Neither of my daughters have ever had to be taken to the ER and my wife is more familiar with hospitals than some doctors. I avoid hospitals religiously. Besides my misgivings connected to being transsexual, I have a minor phobia that requires all my self control to overcome just stepping across a hospital’s threshold, even when taking my child in for emergency care.
My son was just fine. In fact, he thought the staples were cool. He is five years old now and he has developed the tendency to lead with his head. Needless to say, this incident was not our last trip to the ER. His sisters have come to affectionately refer to him as “Thud-head.” Sometimes I think I should buy him a helmet.
Blessed Be.
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