I broke my ankle last winter because my university has money to buy heated UTV’s for the grounds staff to ride around in but not enough for salt for them to do their jobs, I guess? Anyways, had to go to a walk in clinic because I’m a wimp and couldn’t get my boot off on my own and figured I’d probably need an X-ray. I really hate anything to do with doctors or hospitals because of how badly I’ve been burned in the past, but this time the nurse practitioner (I think that’s what it’s called? She said she had a doctorate in nursing) was very nice and outgoing. She kept calling me sweetheart and honey and girlfriend, which I could tell was not out of malice, but unfortunately I really do look like a scruffy sixteen year old boy despite being in my twenties so it was pretty awkward and mildly upsetting on top of the ankle and everything else. After I got the x ray and air cast and everything she said something along the lines of how nice it is that the government has caught up with the times in letting people change their healthcare cards to reflect their true identity when I realized she thought I was actually a trans woman (ironically because our shit healthcare system won’t allow me to change my card unless I pay a private doctor several thousand dollars to write half a paragraph, something I can’t afford to do). At that point I didn’t really have the heart or the energy to tell her otherwise, so I just said thanks and left. It’s really great that being trans and in pain is not as bad as it once was, but words are still a great thing to use even if you’re pretty sure because that could easily have been avoided with a couple questions at the start of the visit and it would have been a good story instead of one I’m still cringing about ten months after the fact.