Mormon studies, personal essay, chronic illness
This doctor, yet another one I hoped would be able to help when others couldn’t, calls me “Sweetheart.” Is there anything more patronizing? He pats my shoulder. He thinks I’m crying because I feel lousy and he can’t figure out why. I’m crying out of fury that he, and everyone in his office, treats me like a child, like I don’t have a brain and a life and better things to do. And fury that I’m crying in front of him. And, yes, a little bit because I feel lousy.
BYU Studies Quarterly: Vol. 57
, Article 9.
Available at: https://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/byusq/vol57/iss4/9