I don’t trust doctors. They’re only people, after all! And people can be stupid, no matter what level of education they’ve accomplished. Everyone has their off days. And each time I step foot in a doctors office I automatically assume that my doctor, nurse, or whoever, was the one that cheated through school or secretly hates women. I didn’t leave my pediatrician until I was twenty. I was finally tired of the fishtanks and the pastel paintings and the step stools. So I started going to my mother’s doctor, Dr. Cunningham. I came up with the nickname “Cuntingham” halfway through my first appointment. I made the brilliant choice of catching a dart in my hand right when I was due for a tetanus shot. So I was sitting in a cold, white room waiting to be poked when she first walked in. With the mask on, the first thing I noticed about her was her eyelashes–I immediately knew I couldn’t trust her. She had those chunky, spider leg type extensions that made it look exhausting to blink. Her mascara was clumped and gross. I didn’t trust her. But she still convinced me to get the series of HPV shots along with the tetanus because, well, I don’t know. I think I blacked out after she didn’t laugh at me saying I didn’t get my period the month of the election. I think I needed someone to tell me my autonomy doesn’t diminish the second I step into a doctor’s office. But no one did. So I drove back to that office every two months to get one of the most painful shots out there. And every time it hurt worse than the last.
Monday, Apr 6, 2026
