In making the appointment, the person on the phone hesitated audibly, palpably even, before asking me my sex. I did not give a one-word answer. (Hell, it was more than one sentence.) After hearing me out, they replied, "I'm okay with that."
Sure, I'd rather have them okay with it than not okay with it. But it's not like they offered their opinion about my birth date or phone number. Still, it was easier than sitting alone with a clipboard staring down two check boxes.
Poem Partially Explaining Why I Sometimes Avoid Healthcare
Is okay with my gender.
|It's so much simpler at Radio Shack.|