Just Passing

13. Urgent Care

I've been healthy all summer, but of course, the weekend before students return I wake up feeling off. And to make matters worse, it's something down there.

It could be from the stress of the last couple of weeks. Or, I've been taking too many long sweaty walks and not enough cleansing showers. And I probably don't drink enough water. But the constant pressure on my bladder and the burning sensation when I go to the bathroom can only mean one thing. A urinary tract infection.

Maybe it's all in my head and it will just go away. Clear up on its own. I do have an amazing immune system.

Is drinking cranberry juice a real cure or just an old wive's tale? I can never remember.

By the time lunch rolls around and I've excused myself to go to the bathroom for the hundredth time, Tiffany is annoyed.

"Xander, is there something on Facebook that you keep needing to check, or are you sick?"

"I just drank too much coffee this morning." Why am I lying?

"Is it your stomach?" She's outside the door now, listening in.

"No. Just sit with the kids. I'll be fine." I grimace. I am not fine.

"You are an awful liar." She walks away and goes back to Nora and Spencer.

I wash my hands. Again. And then shuffle over to the kitchen table. "I think I need to go to urgent care."

She looks at me, concerned. "Are you sure? What's going on?"

I tell her.

"Couldn't you just send a message to your doctor? I think you can buy a test at Walgreens. Maybe he'd order you antibiotics if it comes back positive."

"It's Saturday. My doctor's office is closed. And you know well and good that he'd never order antibiotics without having me pee in a cup there on site." I still go into the city once a year to get my testosterone prescription refilled at the LGBT health clinic. Traffic is always a disaster. Parking is expensive. It's a real pain in the neck. But I only feel comfortable seeing a doctor who has other trans patients.

I've gone to the local urgent care for other things over the years. Flu. Strep throat. That sort of thing. But Tiffany and I both know that this is different. I'm going to have to disclose.

Disclosing to doctors isn't always easy. I remember one time in grad school when I went to the drop-in clinic on campus. I was presenting and passing as male and my name was Xander, but in pre-Obamacare days I had been told to keep my insurance as female in order to maintain coverage for my female organs. A male insurance policy would not cover me if, God forbid, I got cervical cancer or some shit. So, here I was, a strapping young man sitting on the exam room table when some frat-boy-looking resident comes strutting into the room holding my chart, does a double-take, and says, "Dude, why does this paper I have here say that you're female?" He laughs like it's some silly typo.

When I tell him it's because I'm trans his classy response is, "Ha! No way."

And then after a pause, "Really? I'd have no idea. You look just like a normal guy." Guess I was lucky he didn't react violently or refuse to treat me. But it was embarrassing. And I hate the word "normal".

So, I'm not thrilled about the idea of having to go through that again.

I wait until after the kids are asleep and then I head over. There are no cars in the parking lot and I walk into the spotless reception area and immediately get called over to be checked in. My leg won't stay still and I can't make eye contact as I say I'm there to be tested for a UTI. I just feel lucky that there are no other patients to overhear me.

In the exam room a medical assistant takes my vitals - all great - and again asks me why I am there. I re-explain my symptoms and gratefully take the sterile container and practically run to the bathroom. I guess it's good that I'll have nearly 72 hours on antibiotics before having to be with students.

Back in the exam room I wait for my results. I text Tiffany to give her an update. She asks if I disclosed that I was trans. I tell her that I haven't.

Soon, there's a knock on the door and in walks an incredibly well-built doctor. I think his arms are as thick as my thighs. He is the epitome of masculinity and looks like a professionally dressed and groomed Mr. T.

He takes a seat facing me and crosses his arms. "So, what brings you in?"

"Um, I already peed in the cup. Did the results come back?"

"Fever? Nausea?" He continues unperturbed.

"No, just constant pressure. Some burning."

"Did you notice any puss before you urinate?"

I feel like I'm being drilled. "Not that I noticed ... Did the results come back?"

"What made you think 'urinary tract infection'? Have you had one before?"

"Yeah, once. A while ago." Shit. I know where this is going.

"Your culture did come back with elevated white blood cell counts, which indicate that something is going on. But it's very rare for a healthy young man like yourself to get a urinary tract infection."

Middle-aged man, I think. "Well," I swallow, "I'm trans, so my, uh, plumbing is a bit different." God, my fucking lip is trembling. What's wrong with me?

He doesn't even blink. "Oh, well, that would explain it. Yup, you've definitely got a UTI, man." And he pops up, problem solved. He takes out his stethoscope and places it on my lower back. Is he listening to my kidney? "The good news is that antibiotics will clear this right up. And I'll prescribe something to help with your symptoms in the meantime."

Holy shit. No reaction.

It hits me that this is the first time I've uttered the words "I'm trans" out loud in a really long time. And ... it didn't go so bad.