No one wants to be here, but we all are, no matter our sexualities, gender identities, etc. Health concerns do not discriminate; eventually, we all end up here at some point in our lives — a collective human experience of fragility, vulnerability, and the need for care and compassion.

The air vent continues to blow, the rattling echoing through the room, as numerous straight couples check in together. I continue to wait; it will only be a little over two hours longer while I wait for my partner in the hospital waiting room after his procedure.

It’s 6:45 a.m., the medical waiting room seating area is open, and all four people, one by one as they walked in at different intervals, chose to sit across from my seating row rather than in it. Forming quite literally a gay seating row vs a straight row, and, out of the heterosexuals’ discomfort, not that of my own. In case you were wondering, you can actually sit by someone like me, and nothing bad will happen to you. I am gay and trans; those aren’t diseases that someone can catch. However, the seating strategy of heterosexuals in this very waiting room would make it appear as if that’s how they walk through the world — scared of gay trans people (so I must be hyper-terrifying because I’m both, right?). Still, in this medical waiting room, it seems that is the level of ignorance energetically directed at me. At the same time, I sit across from these people who are insecure about my presence, but I am not about theirs.

I don’t understand their unspoken discomfort, homophobia, and transphobia, because as a gay transgender man, I encounter heterosexual people daily, and I’m not at all afraid of you all.

Think about it, how often do you hear of any gay people going out of their way to exclude and/or offend heterosexual people? Not much because we don’t have that much hate and/or agenda about how to run the lives of others in us while we are living our lives over here. I’m not at all uncomfortable around heterosexual people because, simply put, we are all humans.

Even in the hospital waiting room, one of the most vulnerable of places, it seems homophobia lives because it thrives in society when there is anti-gay and anti-trans propaganda. The irony here is that in all waiting rooms, they play the gayest of music. Since I’ve been here waiting for my partner, I’ve heard quite a few of the gay greats, like George Michael and Luther Vandross. I could go on and on and on. Gay entertainment culture is actively integrated and welcomed in spaces such as hospital waiting rooms. Still, overall, it seems that the actual humanity of gay people is not.

When the waiting room begins to fill, and people have nowhere else to sit, they’ll sit by me in the “gay row.” I can feel the unease of their energy around me; that creepy energy I feel next to me is homophobia, it’s transphobia, which both translate to hate. Yes, I can pick up on the hateful energy that homophobes and transphobes try as hard as they may, butthey can not mask it in public.

My radar for hate is solid at this point. My figurative muscle of discernment is well-developed. If there’s one thing in this world a gay man knows, it’s to be hated and often made to feel unwelcome. I remain steadfast, waiting for my partner amongst the unease of my fellow waiting room occupants. I continue to write about this experience in real-time.

Strange occupants in the waiting room begin to hum and murmur alongside the soft rock playing on an oversized wall-mounted television. So now, no one really wants to be here even more. This, along with the tapping of feet in nervousness among those seated in the waiting room, tells me a lot about the people around me’s level of insecurity in this environment. I don’t blame them. We all have our own versions of stimming, and I think that’s what happens to everyone at some point in a situation of concern relating to their own and/or their partner’s health and future.

I feel the energy of the people here as supporters. Some are quite attentive and loving, while others, mostly, it appears the cis-het men are mentally and emotionally not fully present. I love the absolute fuck out of my partner. I can’t relate to that because I don’t know what it’s like not to be totally consumed by concern as I wait for my partner at this point.

The Medical Waiting Room Song Playlist

Here are a few I was able to write down during the latter part of my visit, with a few observations:

• “All By Myself” — I wouldn’t have picked this song because it’s a terrible selection for the moment.
• “My Endless Love” — Not the time nor the place.
• “Live to Tell the Tale” — Overtly a dramatic pick for a hospital waiting room.
• “That’s Just The Way It Is” — Depressing.
• “Piano Man” — Meh.
• “The First Cut is The Deepest” — Ew.
• “Secret Lovers” — Not waiting room appropriate.
• “She’s Gone” — Not cool at all.

With confidence, I say this waiting room playlist sucks. Think of where the fuck we are, people. Just think. When soft rock isn’t playing onscreen, it’s political ads. Even here in the hospital waiting room, we are force-fed political propaganda of identity politics in between the strange music selections. In this environment, no one cares about politics; it’s not the time or place. Until we get universal health care for all occupants of this country, I wish they’d just shut the damn TV off because none of those politicians care about these moments of health concern that my partner and I, along with the millions and millions of others in the country, face.

Next up, the audacity. A white cis-het man walks in and states that they have a cold. Get the fuck outta here, you dumb fuck. Right before all of these people’s procedures and around all of us caregivers?! How fucking inconsiderate of the health and well-being of others. When you, yourself, are in a waiting room like this, as in any other room in life, just be fucking aware, be considerate and respectful, and stay the fuck home if you have a cold, because that’s being a good ally to everyone.

But let’s dive deeper into the behavior of cis-het in this room near me. There’s the manspreading of the immature man seated next to me in what seems to be a poor attempt to assert dominance. We are in a medical room. This power trip of yours is unnecessary here and elsewhere. It’s nice if you can refrain from deliberately encroaching on my space by staying within your own chair. It’s the fragile cis-het male egos on full display when you’re visibly gay in the waiting room. I digress.

Another observation, I see the cis-het straight men, when called in for their appointments, do not acknowledge, kiss, hug, or say bye to their partners before walking away with a nurse. Those small, intimate communications that don’t occur in this environment communicate something larger to me. As an AFAB person, I sense the disappointment of their partners not receiving affection and feeling disconnected. I can feel the loneliness they feel in their relationships at that moment. It is heartbreaking; those ladies deserve better.

My partner and I are not married, so when we go into a medical facility, we avoid pda to avoid any potential discrimination preemptively. We shouldn’t have to feel that we should have to live this way. The sad thing is that straight couples don’t actually have to live that way, but your men choose that for you? Your cis-het male partners could absolutely provide some form of affection, and you all would not have to fear being discriminated against for it. Still, they fail to do so, and maybe because it’s not in their heart truly, or maybe because they’ve just been so damned spoiled and privileged their entire lives that they think women will tolerate less and less from them in terms of emotional awareness. To me, that’s actually way sadder than how my partner and I have been made to feel that we should have to act to avoid drama, hate, and/or discrimination in the waiting room. We’d actually like to hold hands, to hug and kiss each other openly, and not have one of us feel that it is safer for us to be introduced solely as “the driver”. Being cis-het, not incurring homophobia, and then not making any affectionate gesture before going into a procedure, I am not impressed with how I see many cis-het men treat their partners.

Then it’s back to the political ads that return to the waiting room video screen. More people enter the waiting room as attendee numbers fluctuate throughout the morning. I’ve got about another 30 mins to wait. I think more and more. Maybe the waiting room is a metaphor for life, maybe Earth is our waiting room for something better. It has to get better than this, right?

Again, the woman in the corner starts to murmur along with the soft rock as I remain in the fresh hell of what it is to be gay and transgender in the waiting room.

Professional Courtesies Only Extended to Cis-Het Couples

Throughout my morning here in the medical waiting room, I notice a pattern of differential treatment: the straight partners/”drivers” are asked to confirm their phone numbers verbally. I guess that’s a professional courtesy extended only to male/female couples, as no one from the administrative team at that office spoke to me about quality assurance. Equal treatment in healthcare would be nice; however, that’s something I’d have to have a conversation with those cis-het couples about because, as one half of a gay couple, that’s not been my lived experience when being in the waiting room waiting for my partner.

We are almost at the home stretch here, when an occurrence I found heartbreaking happened. A nurse led a patient out of the medical office and into the waiting room after her procedure. The patient then asked where her daughter was. She informed the nurse that her daughter said she would pick her up, but the daughter did not show up. The nurse reassured the patient that she had spoken with the daughter and that the daughter was coming. The nurse helped her to her seat and then went right back into the doctor’s office, leaving the patient seated, waiting for her caregiver. The thing is, the daughter wasn’t there when her Mom needed and expected her to be. The disappointment in the Mom’s voice when speaking with the nurse broke my heart. The daughter showed up about ten minutes later, and they left. The difference here is that my word is my bond. I told my partner I would be there, so when he opened the door, I positioned myself strategically so I was literally the first person he saw, because I didn’t want him to experience that kind of emotional disappointment and confusion. As my partner, he never will. It was sad to see that on display. My heart goes out to that lady.

I then received a phone call from a nurse saying my partner would be out in about fifteen minutes.

Nearing the end of the experience, a couple of minutes before my partner was free to leave, a new straight couple checked in. There were not enough seats together, but one off to the side in the back. As the woman sat down next to me, I looked up, smiled, and told her partner, “You can sit here.” He said thank you, appearing very shocked that anyone would do that, and that right there makes me sad for a few reasons. I’ve learned what I often consider common sense in etiquette, but others may not. We are all living and functioning on our own levels of awareness. I hope one day, should any of my fellow waiting room occupants find themselves in a situation where a gay couple would like to sit next to each other to support one another, that this gesture is extended to them as well.