Queer in Healthcare

What Pandemic?

I’m no stranger to trauma. I don’t think anyone is really. The first notable instance of acute trauma in my life was when I lost my dad to alcoholism when I was 20 years old. He was 2 years older than I am now. Although it took awhile, I have become incredibly thankful for my father giving me the gift of sobriety. He showed me what a life of drinking would lead to. His death gave me a beautiful life.

It did take until I was 31 to get sober and, honestly, the beauty, freedom, and authenticity I am living today, came only after three years of a rapid-fire succession of traumatic events. Every time I thought I had hit bottom, it fell out from under me and I descended further. Until… I started rising above it all, while still dropping bits and pieces here and there.

It started in 2020, when most of the world was experiencing the trauma of a pandemic, accompanied by lockdowns, isolation, panic, and economic challenges. I was operating a rapidly growing psychotherapy private practice and work was only getting busier. I felt like I was listening to the pandemic happen through stories of  others. In November, I took my first hit. I woke up for work and checked my phone and noticed the “request” to receive a message from a woman whose name I didn’t recognize. I opened it to find an admission that she had been seeing the same man I was for the duration of my relationship. I had been living with him for 4 years. This woman revealed to me an entire second life he had been living. I took my 2 children to a hotel for the next week while I tried to sort out my feelings.

Having been in recovery for 9 years at that point, I was easily able to find “my part” in resentments I have. I listened to his reasoning and put in the thought & writing necessary to determine my part in this: I was too much while at the same time not being enough. Ok, that must be a character defect of mine I need to work on.

While diving back into the relationship, I became closer to my best friend by the day. She expressed thinking it was a bad idea to go back, but supported me. While she tried to convince me that this hadn’t been on behalf of any part of MY character, I was too confused to know what to believe. This all felt like the scene toward the end of The Truman Show, when Truman Burbank’s boat hits the wall and his entire reality is revealed as a facade.

During the 6 months that I remained in the relationship, I was marked as the reason for the affair. In that time, I was also diagnosed with ADHD and correctly medicated. Reasoning behind a lot of things in my life began to surface and I was starting to learn who I actually am. I started listening to my best friend.

In May of 2021, she said she’d get a place with me and my kids, so I wouldn’t have to do it alone. I was so grateful. She joked about how different she was to live with than be friends with, quoting a line from the play My Fair Lady, with herself as the mysogonistic, narcissist Henry Higgins and me as the poorly-educated, low class, and overly sensitive Eliza Doolittle. We had a place by June first! Pro tip: if someone compares you and them to two characters, at least google the damn characters.

In November of 2021, one year to the week, later, I was hunkered down with my kids in another hotel room, dirtier and cheaper, right across the street from the last. This time, after four & a half months, of watching someone I had known for years, turn into a monster before my eyes. Things had gotten physical and she’d trap me in the bathroom so l was unable to leave for work. I was eventually “let go”, even when I was honest & begged for help. That had left me financially dependent too. I was terrified. 

I have an album on my phone labeled, “digital abuse.” it’s filled with screenshots of the awful texts she’d send me: (trigger warning?)

• ”No one likes you and it’s not their fault anymore. Not even your mom likes you.” 
• “I’M COMING BACK TO FIGHT  IF YOU WANT TO FIGHT  LETS JUST FUCKING DO IT”
• “You destroy everything around you. Including me.”
• “Thanks for making my life a living hell with zero chance of reprieve.”
• “Good luck finding anyone who wants to be with you.”
• “Anything to avoid more of you.” 
• “You’re such a piece of shit.”

On the day I thought for sure she’d kill me, I called my mom. She heard the background noise of grotesque insults being hurled at me. I was crying and scared. “Call the police,” my mom demanded. I knew if I did, she’d go to jail. She was on probation for a violent felony, which she had explained away as having defended her mother in an airport.

I went outside and sat next to my driveway, trembling & crying, waiting for the police. I had recorded everything on my phone. I showed them when they arrived; 6 of them. The only female officer asked, “well, what did you do to deserve that?” “I feel like I’m going insane…” I muttered and was asked to repeat myself. I was smart enough not to.

The four days we spent in that hotel room, I feverishly searched for a job. If you’re wondering about how we were staying in a hotel, yet had no money to live on, here’s the thing: I don’t remember how I did it. I also made a video that night of me talking about my escape plan. I have no recollection of making it and the voice coming from my mouth isn’t mine. I wasn’t ok. I pretended to hold it together for my kids and at some point when we were back home, I reentered my body.

That job search, however, led me to the posting for, what appeared to be, my dream job. “Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity Health Navigator.” I immediately sent my resume, with 100% confidence I’d get the job. It was made for me! I took a screenshot of the posting and posted it on my social media, jokingly asking, “do I pay them to do this?”

My interview was Nov 18, 2021, at 10 am. At 8:15 that morning, I was dressed for my interview and trying to an my moped, broken down on the side of the road. At 8:40, my phone randomly died. I ran back to my house and when I tell you I ran, I mean, this bitch was like Forrest Gump in stilettos. Again, I don’t remember how I made it to the interview, but I was 15 minutes early. Patricio interviewed me. He seemed ok.

On Dec 3, I was offered the job. I’d start on the 17th. In the process of trying to fix my moped, it had been stolen. I was without transportation. Nearing the holidays, with a 12 and a 13 year old, I made the difficult decision to spend $800 on a moped and skip presents for the Christmas of 2021. We had a small pre lit birch tree and that was it. I felt terrible, but I know it was going to go up from here.

A couple weeks into work, I went to leave for the day, geared up from head to ankle in rain protection because it had been storming for days. My moped wouldn’t start. The place where I bought it (one month prior) was about a half mile away, so I started pushing. Again, I was wearing stilettos. By the time I arrived at the shop, I yelled from across the street for them to come get it. My muscles were shaking and fatigued. I was afraid I’d faint in the middle of the busy street. They said no and waved me over. I didn’t faint, but I sure did feel like I was going to collapse.

The main guy told me, “you got water in the gas tank.” I looked at the monsoon outside and back at him. “Are you keeping it covered?”

“When it’s parked, yes,” I answered, in a tone appropriate for whomever he thought he was speaking to.

“These aren’t made to be driven in the rain,” he continued to mansplain.

I’m not new here and know that the gas cap is waterproof, especially when it sits, shielded directly behind a human body, while the bike is moving forward, therefore any rain would go to the sides and far over the gas cap, fuel tank, lines, vent, etc. He told me it wouldn’t be finished until tomorrow because they had to drain the entire tank, so I asked for a loaner. ” I have no money,” I explained. I spent all I had on this to get me to and from my new job. They paid for my Uber home. I paid for my Uber to work the next day. After work, I walked, in finally dry weather, to the shop. He charged me $125. “It’s less than a month old!” I said.

“Err… warranty doesn’t cover damage caused by owner.”

To say I was pissed is an understatement. As I handed him my bank card, I stared into his eyes and said, “I hope you feel good about yourself. This is food from my kids’ mouths.” He stared back blankly as he swiped the card. That put me into the negative.

Within 3 days I knew the moped wasn’t fixed. It bogged down when I throttled, took a few times to start, and smelled of gasoline when I parked and got off of it. To YouTube I went. It was this that allowed me to discover the superpower in my ADHD that had always felt like constant disaster. I learned everything there is to know about GY6 scooters. I could build a Chinese 4 stroke 50cc scooter from the ground up. Hyperfocus. I NEEDED it, so I hyperfixated on it until I could do it all myself. In fact, I found quite an affinity for carburetors (just now realizing that I thought my dad’s liking of magnets was strange -same brand of autism, which wasn’t a thought yet).

I absolutely adored my new job, though the company and teammates had some problematic characteristics. I kept my head down and worked hard, went home and fixed my, usually broken, moped. As the weeks went on, more and more problematic things around transphobia surfaced about the company, but that’s what we were hired to fix, so I had high hopes. 

In the beginning of March, I found myself in the most uncomfortable position I’ve ever been in while at work. After witnessing both of my trans teammates be denied access to the “accessible” single stall restroom at the main clinic of the FQHC at which I worked, I confronted the bathroom key holder with Hawaiʻi’s anti-discrimination law pulled up on my phone and in my hand. I knelt down, below her office chair level and politely said, “excuse me.” She started screaming as though I had whispered a threat, secretly in her ear. Startled, I stood and backed up. She was yelling something about already having reported i-don’t-know-what, followed with,

“If you don’t like it, talk to the CEO!”

My last position was COO of a mental health practice and if laws were being broken there, I’d be the person to tell, as I ran the operations of the practice. I’d have dropped what I was doing and marched directly to that person’s desk, taking the keys away and unlocking the door to make the accessible restroom ACCESSIBLE! Then I’d let that employee go on the grounds of discrimination and immediately arrange DEI training for my staff. So, up to the CEO we went.

Turns out she and I run things a bit differently. After a brief, unsettling meeting with her, we all parted ways. That night, I made an email address for the department and told my teammates to forward all of their work emails, conversations, and files to it. I told them to start documenting everything. I’d already formed a trauma response to do so. In fact, that very week my divorce was finalized. I had waited EIGHT years for that divorce and was put through hell. I’d filed for divorce twice, signing everything over, but 50% legal custody of my kids. My ex husband was military and I could’ve gone to his command, but I knew I could stick it out and it would benefit my kids in the long run. By the time I was able to force the divorce, I walked into my lawyers office and dropped a thick folder of 8 years worth of printed out evidence of my dragging through the mud. He called it my “fuck-around-and-find-out folder”. Unfortunately, I have them for everything in my life now.

On the way out of my lawyer’s office, the day I was free, my officemate had sent me a text stating: “you know, they’re trying to figure out how to legally fire you. l’d get in touch with the ACLU.” I had already had a meeting with my direct supervisor, who told me they were going to narrow the department down to one person. I honestly didn’t see how it wouldn’t be me, but knowing what I do now, if that’s how it went, I think I’d be the first one gone.

Exactly one week from the day we went to the CEO and reported discrimination, we were called into a meeting with HR. They told us awkwardly that it was our last day. We tried to ask questions and got blatant and obvious lies in response. Our supervisor wasn’t there and we asked why. He developed this department. He was part of leadership. They couldn’t answer. I went and knocked on his office door, asking him to join us. He hadn’t been informed that this would be taking place. We brought up retaliation and discrimination and HR nervously fumbled for words. It was ridiculously clear how full of shit they were. The best part: we voice recorded it all & we are a one party consent state. I knew we had a civil rights case.

As I sent my resume everywhere I could, I was told by countless LBGTQ+ community members that they had my back. Well, that FQHC has funding and I do not, so I lost that backing with a swiftness I’ve never seen! My community disappeared from around me as I walked into two lawsuits without representation. Newest hyperfixation: employment law.

I was also living in absolute terror. My divorce, through which I’d gained 100% legal and physical custody of my kids and half of my former spouse’s retirement, had finalized, so child support was finally mandated and he’d send the retirement money, which I know is an under calculation, via PayPal on the first of the month. That was the only money I’d have coming in and there was no way I could even last a month. I was JUST getting back on my feet and had transportation that required constant maintenance.

My supervisor from that FQHC also had a little side business that he had started a few months before I got the job under him. When he saw a gap in the healthcare system, where trans folks were unable to access gender affirming electrolysis, he immediately did the schooling necessary, flew to California for his clinical hours, and became a licensed electrologist. He opened his own small nonprofit, HI SIS, and provided services to those he encountered that were facing that gap. While I worked under him as a health navigator, I spent some evenings and weekends at the shared front desk in the office he had a room in, greeted clients, answered his business phone, and checked his clients out.

From the day I was let go in mid-March until the beginning of April, when Patricio asked for help moving into his own space, from the shared one, I had applied and interviewed at over twenty organizations. It was the first time in my adult life I had interviewed with companies and not gotten a position. I was absolutely baffled. I couldn’t even land a job at the auto parts store down the street. I was becoming more & more convinced I was going to lose everything by the end of each month.

In the third week of April, Patricio asked me and the two people, who were also eliminated, if we’d like to be contracted to paint his new office. The other two took it with the same urgency they took everything aside from social media complaints; the said, “sure,” but never showed up. Patricio had gone away for a couple weeks and left the painting supplies in the office.

For the next two weeks I painted day and night; about 13 hours a day. It was only 4 rooms, but on the first go, I severely screwed up the first room with a paint sprayer. I put that stupid thing away. It took, what felt like 15 years, to tape off a single room. It didn’t help that absolutely everything was crooked. I also didn’t have all things needed for the job. Let’s be honest: I had no idea what I was doing. I had no business being paid to paint someone’s professional space, be it Barbie pink or not. There were nights I left there feeling like a goddamn champion; having moved heavy furniture into a freshly painted room or nailed the trim around the reception window. There were also nights I left crying; thinking of the negative balance of my bank account, my bruised knees aching from fall the I took from the office chair that rolled across the floor, as I tried to maintain balance, having been sure that putting 2 of its legs in a pair of Crocs would’ve kept it in place, so I could reach the top of the wall. 

I finished the day Patricio returned and I was proud of my work. I met him there and we finished setting things up how he wanted them, but taking my input on how the reception area should be. I had, after all, answered the phone and checked people out a few hours a week. That’s when I made the decision to become full time. I came right out and broke the good news to Patricio: “So, I’m just going to work here full-time now. I don’t even care if I make less than minimum wage. I know how to run a business and can get insurance to pay the denials.” I’m not sure the news was as good to him as it was to me.

Patricio had taken FMLA from his full time position, after the department he’d worked a year to build and gotten the grants to fund was wiped out without warning. He’d felt like he was dropped into a very different, very hostile work environment. He figured some time away would be good to clear his head. His head wasn’t clearing though. The more time that passed, the more he realized that the work environment had turned hostile, in an act of retaliation for his department reporting discrimination. He had taken a stance on the side of his former employees; the side against transphobia.

While Patricio took his usual clients, I fought insurance companies, made gender neutral restroom tags, made a Yelp page, welcomed new clients, and emailed around for donations. The experience I had in operations was taking a 3 clinician, 1 location private practice and hustling my ass off for 2 years until it was a 35 clinician, 4 location private practice being sold, without my knowledge, to a corporation of old white men in Florida. That was the same month I had moved out from the cheater and in with “Henry Higgins.” The owner, who had been my friend (I had started there just to help her out), bought a house on a ridge overlooking Hawaiʻi Kai. She customized a pool and hot tub for her backyard. I had made $28,800 for each of those two years.

What I knew how to do with a business was grow it. Make more clients, money, demand, 5 star reviews, etc. The problem was, HI SIS was only Patricio and Patricio was a nonprofit, offering services for the cost of what covered overhead expenses. That means yeah, growth rate can be astronomical, but there’s never a profit margin.

August approached and Patricio made a really tough and life changing decision: he resigned from his full time (well-paying) leadership position because of the hostility. He joined my EEOC case that was already in full swing. He had once been fired for being gay and when he sought counsel he was asked, “Do you want what’s right or do you want to work again?” That time, he chose the later. This time he joined me in the former, even though I had blindly chosen it (I’d choose it again and again).

As we plowed through legal matters, we rapidly grew. In the first few months, we expanded by over 400%. It became clear that the demand outweighed the electrologists willing to perform the service affordably. Our next move was to open an electrology school. Hawaiʻi Institute of Electrolysis was in the works. HI SIS was profiting enough only so I could scrape by and get my rent paid, while keeping the doors open for our clients. We tried every type of fundraiser we could think of, but every one left us feeling completely overlooked. In October, the NLRB mandated the former company to pay my back wages. I had made the promise that any money I saw from this would go back into the community. All of it did.

I was signed up to take the Notary Public exam and had become certified in LED Light Therapy, Radio Frequency and Fat Cavitation Body Sculpting, Electro-Magnetic Muscle Stimulation Body Sculpting, Aroma Therapy, and Makeup Artistry. The room I had wept in fear in, destroyed with a paint sprayer, fell off a traveling office chair in had become my treatment room. It would be the first room in which I’d provide gender affirming services.

In November, I booked a hotel for me and my family. A room overlooking the ocean in a hotel with 2 amazing pools. I reserved poolside cabanas for us, signed us up for ukulele lessons, group painting, and had amazing dinners. Our third year in a hotel was a good one and would start a tradition.

That was one year ago. I know because my family’s getting ready to leave for the hotel. HI SIS has moved into a much larger space, to make room for our Institute’s 5 students. We are still growing at a steady rate, higher than average, yet still not getting paid. I was recently cast on an entrepreneurial reality show and have started learning things I wish I’d known all alone. I’m now more confident that we are about to get funding. I’ll fly out for filming in March, but I know I’ll be getting a paycheck before then.

This is just the beginning. I would still like to share stories about why this is my passion and what led up to 2020. I’ve given you just a glimpse into the most turbulent 2 years of my life in recent years. This was MY pandemic. What’s COVID?