The Privilege to Pitch a Fit

I wonder about privilege a lot.

How is my life different and often better due to my privilege?

Today was my first trip to the infusion center at the new Annapolis oncology practice, many local friends will know of that debacle. New office, lovely space, awful chairs and a lot of walking and I’m winded. I’m here for a quarterly Zometa infusion, it supports my bones from the assault of bone cancer, which metastasized from breast cancer. This is maintenance for me. And all is stable. All is well.

Except this place is brand new and all kinds of disorganized.  I arrived early and waited 45 minutes to go back to infusion. Then I discover that this is community style infusion where you are all sitting together in one large room. I HATE that.

Two sections over a man is coughing horribly, I’m sure it’s a by product of the cancer he undoubtedly has, and it’s disconcerting. The woman across from me is nauseous and struggling, why must I be eight feet away and forced to witness?

Finally, after an hour and a half the tech addresses me and is asking questions really fast. Is take a deep breath and slow it down, I sometimes need a moment to recall specifics with perma-chemobrain. She doesn’t like my answer and tells me I’ll have to wait for her to access my blood work in the hospital system. I ask her how long that will take and am told that she’s “busy and doesn’t have time for my questions and I can leave now and reschedule if I want to.”

And there it was. The end of my rope.

I got up and explained that I’d be happy to give her more time and leave, and walked away.

A nurse stopped me on my way out and asked what was happening. Close to tears I explained my wait, how frustrated I was with being told I wouldn’t be heard, and how uncomfortable I was sitting with so many others.  The nurse Betty (not her real name) stepped in, she took me to a seat in a open section 20 ft. from anyone else, ordered my meds, and kindly placed my IV on the first stick.

The Zometa is now dripping into me as I write.

Now why is this making me think about my privilege? I got frustrated when I was made to wait for so long and I felt dismissed by the comments. I pushed back, I made my dissatisfaction known. And by simply walking out, I was also pitching a small fit.

Would others have felt they had the personal power/advocacy/initiative even selfishness to walk out and say no?

Would others be intimidated?

I suspect that nurse Betty would have brought her friendly compassion to others as well.

I also suspect that many would simply sit, wait, and not say anything. Because our society teaches us that is what is required. A couple might have even been upset that I complained, seeing me as asserting my importance over them.

There isn’t a right answer here today, simply noticing a way I move in the world and that I have a level of expectation that is surely born out of privilege.

With the marginalizations that intersect in my life  I’ve learned how to self-advocate, even demand in medical settings. I’ve often spoken what others do not, cannot. I’m heard because of a variety of factors, privilege being high on the list.

This is who I am.

And today I’m very glad to be done with Zometa for awhile. An email discussing my concerns about the situation and the design of the space has gone in and I will rest.

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