how to find & keep medical providers you actually like: the fat, queer disabled POC edition (part one)
or: why is it so hard to find to find a practitioner who baseline respects me?
i think a lot about the angst of being seventeen again, especially when i blast olivia rodrigo.
“god, it’s brutal out here.” - olivia rodrigo
living under late-stage capitalism and white supremacy, how am i supposed to find a practitioner that listens and gives a shit? furthermore, how am i supposed to navigate the complexities of a system that is meant to be a right, but often feels like a privilege— like i should be grateful to even have access to it— when i’m receiving care?
that’s why i’m here.
this is a multi-part series that will show you how to:
discern why it’s so difficult to find a practitioner
how to search for a practitioner(s) that you actually like utilising your insurance + any other resources
how to keep them in your care team, and how to approach appointments
…all while navigating your intersectional identities and limited spoons. for some of these posts, i’ll need to utilise video + audio for proper education. i will try my best to transcribe all of the media, but it may be delayed due to spoons.
if you find that some (or all) of this advice was helpful, why not utilise the following buttons to support my work? a paid subscription will give you access to all my archives, and support the work I do for others.
here are a couple of undeniable facts you can discern just by looking at me:
i’m fat: plain and simple. there’s no denying that.
i’m a person of colour: perhaps i’m racially ambiguous or mixed, but you can definitely tell i am decidedly not white.
i’m femme-coded/presenting: despite claiming my non-binary identity, i appear to be feminine presenting or female.
and here are some things you cannot tell just by looking at me:
how healthy i am: your biases can certainly assume that i’m unhealthy based off first appearances, but unless you’re one of my providers or loved ones who is privy to the intimate details— you don’t know shit about my health.
my genetic background: sure, i appear vaguely asian (shout out to my ex who referred to me as his “asian girlfriend,” and to someone who referred to me as “[the] hawaiian girlfriend.”) but does that mean you’re aware of my heritage? did you know that my family has genetic predispositions to certain diseases? no.
i’m non-binary & queer: again, a double-edged sword, even when it’s safe for me to “pass” as cisgender.
if you could detect aggression and rage within my words, it’s because all of these things contribute to poor medical care for myself and others. in society, i receive many awful comments on my body, so how do you think i feel when i subject myself to this treatment and judgment at my doctor’s office? i can only speak to the american healthcare system (though i’m certain that others still suffer from the same structural racism,) but unless you are a thin or fit cisgender, heterosexual white man— you probably find it challenging to navigate care due to your intersectional identities.
if you’re fat, you’ve been told that if you just lost weight, all of your issues would go away. doctors dismiss your symptoms just by looking at you and telling you that if you “lost 25 pounds, all your problems would go away.” some opt to offer you a referral to a medical weight management program or a surgeon. i’ve been there too, it’s hard.
if you have female reproductive organs, are gender non-conforming and receiving gender-affirming care, or are queer… you’ve probably found the lack of options with reproductive health to be stifling. or maybe your doctor won’t evaluate you for a medical transition. sometimes you ask for a test because you feel something’s off, but the physician denies you the care and testing you need. i see you.
if you are a person of colour, especially if you’re Black or brown, it is difficult to be taken seriously, have symptoms dismissed, and receive care. i cannot speak for anyone other than me, but as a Filipine person— it is difficult to exist and be taken seriously as a person of colour.
research has shown that these issues are institutional/structural at their core. of c o u r s e it would be difficult to find a provider who sees you as a human because society and medical education teaches everyone that we are not. belonging to any of these communities creates strife and blocks access to care— so how can one cope when a person has multiple intersectional identities that are marginalized?
if the answer to that question were simple, i wouldn’t be writing this. living under capitalism means reckoning with white supremacy. we must acknowledge that complete dismantling of the systems could lead to chaos. but that’s what we need. revolution is necessary. we understand that complex problems cannot be solved by a singular person (unless they have money, time, and power— usually, the latter comes from generational wealth.) and that’s why we band together, uniting so that we can come up with better solutions to what we grew up with.
if random strangers can treat us like shit for free, why should we subject ourselves to professionals to pretend they know anything about our bodies for money? as someone who is currently dealing with chronic and mystery health issues and navigated almost every single form of insurance (i’ve been on my parents’ private, my own through work, Medicaid, and now, my spouse’s insurance)— when you find a trustworthy doctor who listens to you? it’s all worth it.
in the meantime, i’ll share my wisdom about how to utilise your health insurance and other resources, and what to do once you’ve found a provider that you actually want to keep (while still advocating for yourself.)
if you enjoyed this, consider subscribing to this publication (either free or paid) and/or sharing this around! i’d love to know what your relationship. with health care providers is like (if you’re comfortable) and/or hear about your practices around self-care.