Processing prejudice

This is difficult to write. It makes me consider how people see me and the value they attach to me. It opens up old wounds. It rattles me. This is difficult to write.

It is no secret that I suffer from rheumatoid arthritis. Close friends and family will know that I’ve been struggling to find a good rheumatologist. Some of the challenges are that they seem interested only in my insurance. I feel like I’m swatting flies who’re going after a plate of food. The interest is very clearly not in me but how much my insurance coverage is in its entirety and how we can exploit that. They say it in very helpful voices, if that’s of any consolation. It wasn’t for me. One was downright sneaky in some charges he put towards me. He wasn’t my surgeon, not part of the team attending to me, but was summoned for a follow up with me as I was warded and unable to go to him. He decided to stop by a couple of times a day for about a couple of minutes and thought it appropriate to whack full charges for these visits. It never occurred to him that he isn’t in the category of Benedict Cumberbatch, Brad Pitt or such others that I fancy, whose two minute presence may have resulted in a resurrection had I been on my deathbed. I jest, of course! Truth is, I lost trust in him. I’m disappointed in myself for how I barely confronted him about this. My mind was weighing the experience I had with yet another rheumatologist who had put me on steroids for ages and when I complained of terrible weight gain, stopped me cold turkey, caused a crash and told me rather righteously when I went crawling back that he had told me I needed steroids. It was a no-win situation. 

A friend shared an experience of a rheumatologist that I then went to. He seemed like he would be the right fit. The only thing is, she and I had very different experiences. It is how this guy saw me that really brings me to tears. All he saw was an overweight Indian girl before him. I was rather confused at how he labelled all my problems as “because you’re Indian…” and I was stunned by some of the steps he asked me to take. I’m not going to explain those here, because I can’t share it with everyone. I’m actually embarrassed that someone proposed these steps to me. I shared it with some friends. Suffice to say, the course of action suggested was well out of bounds and simply dangerous. In my naïveté, I asked whether his suggestion would make me better. He said it would make me look better. Talk about a sucker punch. 

Familiar as it was, I hadn’t understood the shaky, defensive feeling I had every single time I was before him. Familiar as it was, I hadn’t understood the confusion within because I thought he was a good doctor. He wasn’t being good to me. Familiar as it was, I also hadn’t realised that I was sinking back into not wanting my photograph taken, wearing extra large clothes, having conversations in my head where I dismissed myself because of how I look. Thankfully the descent hasn’t been too bad. I’ve managed to catch myself. The moment I realised that he couldn’t see me- that he had no regard for my humanity because I am of Indian descent and because I am not at a perfect body weight, I cried. Familiar as it was, the hot, tears that were painfully trying to crawl down my face were hard to take. I cried so hard. It was all too familiar. The sucker punch mentioned drew in the realisation. 

I’m tired of it. The young doctor I’m now seeing jumped out of his chair when he heard some of the suggestions made. Friends gape at me when I tell them the actual situation. My dad shook his head in disgust. I haven’t been wrong in my reactions. My hurt is justified. But I’m so sick of it. I’m fed up that externals such as the colour of my skin and how light or heavy I am determines a person’s appreciation of me. 

I miss my mum so much right now. She’d probably have marched into that doctor’s office to give him a rocket. But she’s not here now. Thankfully though, I have many of her words pressed so deeply within my memory. One of the things she taught me so many years ago was that I was made in the image of God and that who I am was not separate from how I looked, and neither how I look or the strengths and demons within me formed who I am completely. I’m reading an excellent book on this right now and my heart swells with pride to see that it was something mum taught me years ago. I guess there is huge progress this time because I’ve not descended into anger with how I look or too much despair about who I am. I have at different points worked so hard on either of these – it’s devastating when you do that. I am relieved this time to see that this recognition of being made in the image of God is actually bringing me a certain measure of comfort and I hope that it will help me derive more comfort as I process the acceptance I have in Christ. 

The hurt is real. But the one big change this time is, I want to respond well. I don’t want to respond with just anger festering in me. Initially I caught myself calling the doctor all sorts of names. I remember shooting down all the bullies who tormented me in my past. Mum told me then, that they too were image bearers of the same God we worshipped- even if they weren’t behaving like it. This is the hard part. I’m determined not to brutalise the doctor verbally to the point that I forget that he is an image bearer. I’m hoping that learning to take the right steps -which may or may not involve a complaint, will help me forgive him. I’m not so keen on turning the other cheek- but if this is what it takes for me to be a better image bearer, then processing it is worthwhile. It feels like I’m fighting for my humanity. The doctor didn’t see my humanity. He was incapable of it because of his prejudices. I shouldn’t lose my humanity in how I battle this wrong. I say now that following Jesus is hard work! I need grace. 

This is hard to write. I’m insecure as I write this because I know full well that someone can say “ahh- but that doctor was right about you.” If it came from someone else, it would hurt. It would hurt like crazy. Yet- I think there has been a certain amount of healing within me from past experiences of prejudice, and I think a lot of it is because I have had Jesus and the space to speak about it. I have had so much support come my way especially through my mum and now from some wonderful friends. 

I write because I hope that if ever anyone I know faces hurt because of inexplicable prejudices, there is hope beyond this pain. This stain, scar, blot, whatever we want to call it, isn’t the end of things. We aren’t just accidental beings that have come into existence. If we were, there shouldn’t be a problem what anyone says. It shouldn’t matter. We aren’t just creatures who can take the high ground, like martyrs who march on stoically. Crikey! No. We have feelings and these matter. We matter. There is more to who we are: we aren’t just aesthetic beings, neither are we just moral ones. We are shaped by both these aspects of our being. 

As I ponder on this, I recognise that Jesus was also human. Creator, yet, begotten. He identified as human. I’m gobsmacked by that thought. Why would He do that? Why give up glory? Why exchange it for something like our humanity, which has demonstrated beyond doubt its fragility? He bore the image of God far better than I or any of us can. Yet, He wasn’t recognised for who He was. He endured hell for us on that cross. That magnificent, inexplicable, and extremely unbelievable act of grace shows me that because of Him, when someone else dismisses or misses my humanity, as painful as it is, is not the be all and end all. His grace shows me that my response in the face of this, can mirror perhaps a smidgen of His response to those who failed to see His Lordship in His humanity. He didn’t deal with us as we deserved. He showed masses of grace. So angry, sad and disappointed as I am that I am facing this, I will be mindful of this doctor being an image bearer and be considerate in how I respond to his dismissal of me. 

I’m also taking steps to ensure that my feelings are properly processed and I will give myself the time I need to heal from this. For this, I hope and pray that God gives me the strength I need. In the meantime, I will be saying a prayer for me and the many people out there who face all sorts of prejudice that is so very destructive.