Update!
Please pass this on to my insurance company:
It’s a girl!
Well, that is to say, “I am a girl.” A female, a
woman, and even once in a while, when it serves my purposes, a lady. You can
call me a chick, too; I really love that one.
Nearly half a century ago, the nurses handed Mr.
and Mrs. Magee their little pink bundle.
And, I’ve always been okay with that, despite some of the physical,
emotional and societal discomforts. There are two genders, and the one I got
has always been fine with me. Just by following my own bliss, I’ve perpetuated
more than my fair share of girly stereotypes, from dolls, to ballet lessons, to
the purple stingray bike with the metallic purple banana seat and the white
wicker flowered basket on the front.
Even now, most of the things I own are either pink
or purple. I wear lipstick and skirts,
and drink fruity, girly-girl drinks and belong to a ladies only gym.
Yes, I’ve lived it up being a girl.
So imagine my surprise when I received a request
from a medical provider in the mail (don’t
even get me started on how much I hate mail – that’s another post
entirely!) to “update [my] gender”.
Update. My. Gender. Excuse me?
I know people who would rant about insurance
companies running our lives and randomly assigning male parts to powder puffs
like me. And, Dad, I’m sorry, but that’s
not the issue I’m taking here.
Here’s the thing that bothers me the most about
this: the hair-splitting Virgo in me is put off by the diction. I was asked to “update” my gender. Update?
My gender does not need an update; it hasn’t changed over time, nor has
it gone out of style. Someone made a
clerical error that needs to be corrected. That’s it right there: The error needs to be corrected; my gender is
the same as it ever was. Thank you all so very much.
Now, I am aware that there are individuals who endure no
end of pain, suffering, exploitation and humiliation over gender issues. My
heart goes out to anyone who has experienced misfortune in this all too
sensitive area about all too sensitive areas.
Indeed, one chromosome can make all the difference. And so can one alphanumeric character. On some claim forms, the difference between
an M and an F is the difference between payment and denial.
Did I mention I sound like a girl too? I thought that would work for me when I
called my insurance company to correct their files, because……,
Me: Hey, guess what? I’m not the man you think I am.
BS: What do you mean, Ms. Hanson?
Me: One of
my doctors isn’t getting paid because you all have me down as male.
BS: Yes,
that’s right.
Me: No,
it’s not right. I’m female.
BS: Yes, I
know, but we have you down in our records as male.
Me: Yes, I
know. That’s why I’m calling, so you can fix your records.
BS: Well,
Ms. Hanson, it’s not that simple. We
can’t just change our records without verification.
Me: Yes,
I’m calling to verify that I’m a girl.
BS: I hear
that, but we need to hear it from {my former employer}.
Me: Um,
well, you all paid a claim last fall for {an exclusively female exam}. You won’t take my doctor’s word for it? I mean, they’ve seen the goods all up close
and quite personal, which was the point of that visit. Thanks, by the way.
BS: Sorry,
Ms. Hanson. You’ll have to contact
{former employer} and have them contact us.
So, BS won’t take my word for it; they won’t take
my doctor’s word for it. They won’t even
take their own word for it. They won’t connect whatever dots might be a tad
remote from one another with my traditionally feminine name, which, through the
auspices of creative young parents, happens to be spelled non-traditionally.
It’s been a while, and I’m still hearing from
doctors who won’t get paid until my gender is “updated”, even though I have
contacted my former employer, who has in turn contacted the insurance
company. If I were Kim, or Paris, or
even Pamela, there would be viral videos that could sort it all out for
BS. But I don’t need that kind of
attention. I’m just a girl who wants to
get rid of some imaginary junk.
Maybe I should make a house call to BS. I just wish I still had my purple stingray
for transportation.
