Patient
//
Patience
by Julie Christensen
I have no idea what it means to be patient.
Constricted only by my own goals, confined to hospital corridors.
Student doctor. Queer, yes. But “free.”
To her, patience meant living in chains.
Wrists, ankles, expression, contour — bound.
Patience meant waiting 39 years to be our patient.
She entered the endocrinology clinic, two cops as her pillars.
Constant presence of a system, an institution of “justice”
That denies her gender, neglects her being.
“Yes, I know how to be patient,” she replied.
She already knew the slow dose increases of estradiol:
2 then 4 then 6 milligrams. Then we’ll recheck your levels.
“We don’t want your hormones to get to toxic levels,”
the doctor recited, ignoring the toxicity of confining a human to a cage.
The doctors at the prison would not treat her trans body.
She swept long wavy hair from her face with a flick of the neck.
Her survival an act of divine feminine queer uprising.
By the gleam in her eye as she left with her prescription, I knew we saw each other.
Our patient. Taught me the meaning of patience.
Julie Christensen is a third year medical student at Sidney Kimmel Medical College of Thomas Jefferson University in Philadelphia, PA. She is originally from Minnetonka, Minnesota and received her BA in Medical Anthropology from Oberlin College. Throughout her career, Julie looks to cultivate wellness within queer and non-binary communities as well as amongst those experiencing incarceration. You can find her on Twitter.
