The FemmeFairyGodmother had a hysterectomy just more than a month ago.I’ve never been not out. My mama says I came out “with a vengeance.” I didn’t go so far as one of you did, however. When my darling friend KB went to college, she introduced herself, so I am told, by saying, “Hi! I’m KB and I’m a lesbian.” Which I think is adorable. Anyway, I have been out always, even with my doctors.

Last year, I wrote a grant for a nonprofit whose entire mission is to educate medical professionals about how cancer affects their LGBT patients in ways that differ from their heterosexual peers. The National LGBT Cancer Network is completely run by Liz Margolies and she does it as a volunteer right now. (Thus the grant. We were trying to get money so that she could be paid a salary and devote 100% of her time to the project. As of now, that hasn’t happened but I have every confidence that it will! Shameless plug: go donate money! Even if you aren’t in NYC, this work will affect you or someone you love eventually.) In any event, I was surprised to learn that medical professionals, in the 21st century, still don’t know a great deal about how LGBT life might differ. I also remember feeling sort of smug because I had never had a doctor who wasn’t fabulous about having a lesbian patient and I live in a small city in conservative West Michigan.

Then, I started having “woman issues.” My primary doc referred me to a gynecologist. I liked the gyno right away. She’s funny, she’s warm and she’s knowledgeable. Great bedside manner. We tried a few things, hoping to avoid a hysterectomy. Unfortunately, nothing alleviated my problems, so I had to have the surgery.

EVERY single time I went to the gyno’s office, they asked me 1) was I sexually active and then getting a positive response asked me 2) what kind of birth control I was using. The first time, I simply said, “I’m a lesbian.” It’s in my medical records, for pity’s sake. The second visit, I repeated that and asked that it be put in my chart so that they didn’t have to ask each time. The third visit I said, “Complete aversion to sperm.” You should have seen the confused look, given that I’d just told her I was sexually active. They never did get that put into my records – right up until my final after surgery visit, they were still asking me things that let me know they did not note that I’m a lesbian. I asked the nurse at one point and she told me that they hesitate to put that in medical records for privacy’s sake. I can, to some extent, understand that but there has to be some way that they could indicate that I’m a dyke without writing in large red letters “Patient is a Big Fat Dyke.”

As annoying as that was, it didn’t really compromise my care or the medical advice that I received. It doesn’t do much to make the queers feel welcome but I still got good care. What *could* have compromised my care was how little my gyno knew about lesbian sex. Now, cute as she is, I don’t think my doctor needs to *experience* lesbian sex to be a good doc to dykes. However, understanding some of the basic possibilities would be good.

Prior to the surgery, she told me no sex for at least a month after surgery. I asked her questions about that to be sure what she meant was “no orgasms” rather than “no intercourse.” Sadly, she meant no orgasms. (Though it was 2 weeks before I even *wanted* to have an orgasm! Can you say bruised? :shudders:)

A month later, I went for my follow up appointment. She did my exam and told me that I was healing well, all my external stitches were gone and my internal ones looked good and should be gone soon. She said I could have sex. Thankfully, I asked her more questions about what sex meant to her. What she meant was that oral sex was fine but any penetrative stuff might better wait a couple of more weeks. She assumed that because I’m a lesbian, there wasn’t any need for her to explain about the penetrative sex. Well, darlings, I’m all about the strap on, so I made sure to clarify.

Many years ago, I had a recurrent yeast infection. (No, not from whipped cream!) My doctor was not sure why it kept returning and, finally, at one point, asked me if my partner was being treated. I reminded her that I’m a lesbian and asked if was likely to be passed back and forth through oral sex. (This was before I discovered the joys of dildos.) She smacked herself on the forehead and said, “Oh, right! Well now it makes sense!” She told me that as unromantic as it might seem, I should get up and wash after sex. The yeast loves a warm, wet place and given that there is not only my own wetness, but the saliva of my partner, things were just getting out of hand, so to speak. I did and, sure enough, the yeast infection finally cleared up.

You are certainly not responsible for educating every medical professional you meet, but until doctors are more well-versed in lesbian sex and lesbian life in general – and how that can affect our health – it’s a good idea for you to ask questions. For some of us, talking about sex is really embarassing. Your doctor has heard damn near everything, chances are good you aren’t going to shock her.Speak up. Ask questions. Be informed. Take good care of you.