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Gender-affirming health care has a pretty self-explanatory name.
It is health care that affirms your actual gender,
not necessarily the gender that you were assigned at birth.
I do think queer disabled people are
more likely to be misgendered in the health care system.
It's just that intersection of identities
that aren't respected, and it just
compounds with every marginalized identity you have.
Queer disabled people are more likely to be misgendered
in the health care system because we access the health
care system an awful lot more than a queer
person who is not disabled.
To me, being non-binary means that I
don't believe in, agree in, or want
to live in the gender binary.
Kia ora.
My name's Rimu Bhooi My pronouns are they/them,
and I live in Pōneke in Wellington.
I am a queer non-binary disabled person,
and I am a writer, a creative, and just trying to survive.
I'm disabled by my chronic pain and chronic fatigue.
And those come from a couple of the conditions I have,
including endometriosis.
My disabilities in particular are quite linked to gender.
And to have gynecological conditions
is a constant battle.
But to be queer and have these conditions,
it compounds the difficulty of talking
about it, of explaining it, of accessing the support I need.
To be misgendered feels like a punch in the gut.
It feels like people don't really care.
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I've been in and out of the health care system a lot,
and it was only quite recently that someone
asked me my pronouns.
And someone asked me what my gender identity
was rather than just assuming.
And I felt a real connection with that nurse.
And I'm often back in that same department these days.
Every time I turn up, I hope she's there
because it just feels like things are the way that you
want them to be.
I identify simply as queer.
I don't particularly identify with any specific labels
around gender or sexuality, just under the rainbow somewhere.
I'm Kate, and my pronouns are they/them.
It's not that my preferred pronouns are they/them,
it's not that I identify as non-binary, I am non-binary.
My pronouns are they/them.
I have three umbrellas of disability
which have their own complexities within them.
I have mental health challenges.
I have functional neurological disorder,
which is a malfunctioning nervous system.
I have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, which
is a genetic connective tissue disorder causing weak collagen.
Collagen is basically the glue that holds your entire body
together, and mine is really weak and way too stretchy,
and it causes problems everywhere.
I am paralyzed from the waist down
and have been for nearly three years.
The only option I have for getting around
is in a wheelchair.
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I think it can be really hard to look after a queer body.
It is a fight, and it is a fight that we
fight every single day, every moment of every day
if you're disabled.
It is almost a full time job trying
to keep myself out of hospital and just keep me ticking along.
And it's a full time job that you don't get paid for,
you didn't apply for, and you don't get holidays from.
Eight pills twice a day, and then I've
got a midday dose as well.
And that can sometimes depend on how much pain I'm in.
Because if I'm in a lot of pain, then I'll
usually be awake all night.
I take 15 different medications basically for pain,
for mental health, and for gastro symptoms.
So my pain this year has been worsening.
I'm not quite sure what's causing it,
but it has gotten up to a 10.
When you are accessing health care,
being gendered correctly as a queer
disabled person just means that you
have a base of mutual respect from which you
can access your health care.
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In the decade that I have been accessing health care
on a weekly basis, I could add on one hand
the amount of times that I have been asked what
my pronouns are, that I have had anyone
show any interest in respecting that I might not
be a cis straight woman.
This is not a fashion trend.
This is not a phase.
This is inherent to absolutely every part of who I am
and how I exist in the world.
That's why it's important.
Kia ora.
Do you want to come on through--
Yeah, yeah.
make you a cup of tea?
Need me some coffee.
Yeah.
Coffee will do.
Today, I'm meeting Kate, and they're
also queer and disabled.
They're a huge advocate for gender-affirming health care.
I'm going to have a little chat about that.
Death by decaf
That'd be a good tattoo though.
That would be a good tattoo.
Personally, as a queer disabled person,
as someone who is gender non-conforming, but--
I don't know-- health non-conforming as well,
it's almost like when you're queer and disabled,
people simply don't make that much space for you.
Yeah.
It's like, why do able-bodied, non-disabled queer people
get to have space made for that part of who they are?
A lot of my disability comes from gynecological conditions.
Yes, yes.
And a cis gay women trying to receive treatment
for that is hard enough without me coming in there
and telling them, don't treat me like a woman
because I'm not a woman.
It just blows their mind to the point
where they don't comprehend how to give me the right health
care.
And it's so exhausting.
And you're right.
I've definitely shrunk myself down
into whatever is going to get me the health care
that I need as soon as possible.
Because in some situations, that's literally all we can do
is just survive the best we can.
Yeah.
I find-- and this is not something
that I'm proud of-- but I just give in to it.
Mm-hmm.
I don't have the energy to fight to be seen.
And so a lot of my life is spent just
pretending to be somebody that I'm not because it's easier.
It can be really hard to see a way forward for this, for us.
Because it feels like this has been the way
things are for so long.
Yeah.
Having such a core aspect of your identity entirely denied--
it's not even that it's just ignored.
You bring it up and they say, no, you can't.
You lose a sense of self-worth.
You lose a sense of what you're worth.
Your value just diminishes.
My body currently feels like public property,
like it belongs to the health care system.
I don't get a say in what I look like,
who I am, how I present myself.
In my experience with endometriosis,
I found it really hard when things like health care
guidelines are put together.
It's something that is worked on for decades, decades,
and decades.
And they put out finally, and everyone's like, oh, cool.
We've got it.
It becomes such a hard ask to say the government
needs to put queer and trans people and gender queer people,
the rainbow communities at the heart
of what gender-affirming health care looks like.
We need to be part of that conversation
to come up with these guidelines,
to come up with the training programs for health care
professionals.
The only thing that keeps me going
is that I hope that they will listen.
The only thing I come up with is that we need to be seen.
And I think if we can make Pride more inclusive,
if we can continue to push disability Pride--
there are so many of us.
There are so many of us.
25% of New Zealand's population is disabled.
How many of those people also fit under the queer community?
There are so many of us.
Why are we not seen?
I get to a point where I think surely
if we are loud enough, if we are visible enough--
I think if we're loud enough, they can't ignore us.
Yeah.
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My hope for the queer and disabled community
is that we continue to fight.
This matters because queer disabled people matter
and we deserve better then how we're treated.
I can't remove from myself the fact that I am queer,
and I can't remove from myself the fact that I am disabled.
Nobody accesses health care for fun.
You access health care because you need that health care.
To have those chats, those important and meaningful
conversations with queer and disabled people
is how we keep going.
That solidarity is what keeps us going, keeps us fighting.
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