It’s Lauren … Mrs. Tarr, If You’re Nasty
If you don’t get the reference, then first of all, we cannot be friends. Secondly, do yourself a favor and watch this — and then tell me how Paula Abdul, who choreographed the video, sat through the entire filming and didn’t join in! I may not have Janet Jackson’s moves, but I do share her sass.
After a lifetime of being a quiet “good girl” and doing what others want, I’m done. The older I get, the more I realize that my voice matters. My thoughts matter. My opinions matter. I matter. At 49 years old, I no longer care if I make waves, ruffle feathers, upset the apple cart, or whatever other silly term “polite society” says I’m supposed to concern myself with. As my grocery tote bag says, “I’m a grown-ass lady and I do what I want!” And what I want is respect.
As I’ve mentioned before in this blog, I struggle with PTSD. Consequently, two of my biggest triggers are not having control and not being seen or heard. That last one is a biggie!
I recently had a run in with my gynecologist. After experiencing some post-menopausal bleeding (Yes, I went through menopause really early. It’s called premature ovarian failure and it’s a somewhat common side-effect of Hashimoto’s disease), I called to make an emergency appointment because, well, BLEEDING AFTER NINE YEARS OF NOT BLEEDING! To my dismay, the office assistant wouldn’t book me for an emergency appointment and wouldn’t allow me to speak with the doctor. She was cold, unsympathetic, and unhelpful. I was frazzled, scared, and upset. I lost my temper and cursed. Not at her. But in general, when I screamed, “I need an appointment this week! I might have fucking ovarian cancer!” Not my best moment, but completely understandable.
Well, I didn’t get an appointment, but I did get a call back from my gynecologist, who was more concerned that I swore in front of her receptionist than the fact that I was bleeding nine years after going through menopause. She chastised and scolded me like a child. More than once. Despite being even more pissed at that moment, I apologized for my outburst — but that’s where my apology ended. I calmly explained the scenario, reminding her of my medical history since I only see her once a year for my annual pap and breast exam, and insisted on an appointment. She refused. I asked her to order blood work and an ultrasound, which she did, unwillingly, but then I had to track her down for the results (which I had also received directly from the lab, but it’s the doctor’s responsibility to review them with me). Now I need a biopsy. And a second opinion. And frankly, a new gynecologist because I’m done with her. [For those who live near me IRL, if you have recommendations for a new lady-parts doctor, please message me!]
So why am I telling you this? Two reasons: (1) Because I’m an oversharer and obviously TMI is my jam (it’s the basis of this blog, after all), and (2) because it’s a perfect example of how I no longer remain quiet when I don’t feel like I’m being listened to or heard. Sure, I shouldn’t have cursed. I own that, and I apologized for that. But I also wasn’t going to be talked down to like a child or ignored when I so clearly was experiencing a medical problem.
Here’s the thing: At nearly 50 years old, I stand up for myself, speak my mind, and set clear, loud boundaries about what I will and will not accept in terms of treatment towards me. And this isn’t just about healthcare. It’s about family, friendships, human equality, racism, sexism, and plain old common courtesy. When I believe strongly in something, especially if it’s about my truth (as I talked about in my sober truth post), I will stand up and speak out. I will no longer be the quiet good girl. That bullshit is over. And while I will always try to remain respectful and polite, if I piss a few people off along the way, so be it. In the words of Demi Lovato, #sorrynotsorry. Those aren’t my people anyway.
-LJDT
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