Tag Archives: Malcolm Gladwell

The Paperwork Obstacle Course

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Babe Didrikson, demonstrates her hurdling technique. 1932.

Babe Didrikson, demonstrates her hurdling technique. 1932.

In July, after my intake appointment at Callen-Lorde (NYC’s LGBT health clinic), my nurse practitioner told me that my cholesterol was high. I needed to lower it before I considered starting testosterone. I bought a bottle of fish oil.

I carried a card in my wallet, with the name of a prominent cardiologist on it, for three months. When I called, the office manager told me that I can’t schedule an appointment until the cardiologist looks at my file. She gave me her name and the fax number, which I wrote down on the back of an envelope.

The next day, I pulled up the Callen-Lorde patient portal expecting to send my results over. I attempted to log in. I tried every permutation of my user IDs and passwords. I phoned Callen-Lorde, and they realized that when they initially registered me they incorrectly entered my e-mail address in my profile (which explained why I never got any emails from them). I dropped by their office to straighten it out and re-register.

I went home, set up the user name and password, wrote the password down on the patient portal information sheet, opened up my file to get my results, and couldn’t find them. I clicked around a lot and gave up. I was going to call Callen-Lorde back and ask where to find my test results, but it was late in the day and the medical records office was closed. I had to wait until the morning.

I thought about calling Callen-Lorde every day, but there was always an excuse to put it off. I waited for a month. Continue reading →

The Tipping Point

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If-I-were-as-butch-as-TonyMy first tipping point was the summer between kindergarten and first grade. I developed a crush on Sandy and I developed a way to deal with my world.

It was the summer my grandfather died from lung cancer. It was a hot New York summer. We lived in an apartment that was not wired for air conditioning. My grandmother decided that she should take us (my mother, my brother and me) for a couple of weeks to Sacks Lodge in the Catskills. My Dad took the bus up from the city on weekends.

Sacks Lodge had a day camp and a children’s dining room for breakfast and lunch. They kept us busy and out-of-the-way until dinner. Sandy worked in the dining room. She was 17, and had long blond hair pulled back in a pony tail. Continue reading →