Normally, these days just pass me by without a notice. However, a few weeks back, I was "asked" to participate in a survey regarding LGBTQ Cancer Survivors.
I mean, you're getting pretty specific when you start whittling down homos or gender identify folks who just didn't have cancer, but survived it. You gotta figure that N is pretty small - and smaller yet, the folks who would actually be found and take the survey.
I took the survey.
It was longer than I expected, but for the most part the subject matters were a lot what I expected.
The survey touched a lot on respect and comfort with your healthcare provider, the nurses, the staff. I answered according to my perspective - or perceived perspective. Surgeons are surgeons and rarely known for their bedside manner, so it was hard to tell if he was dismissive of everyone, or just the gay me. The Fellow in the hospital and at my post-op appointment - while hot as hell, he was kind of dick to me while taking out my 37 surgical staples. I was a dick back, so I felt even.
None of this is (was) necessarily because I am (was?) gay. They did know it, but I don't know if that was the cause of their dickiness (it's a word!).
It covered one's support system outside of the medical treatment. Friends, families, resources one might have had or needed or wanted - and what helped, what didn't.
Taking the survey couldn't hurt. I figured if it helped anyone going through cancer treatments who are queer - then it was small potatoes on my time, for something that might be big ones for them.
Song by: twenty one pilots