The Many Thoughts of Wanda Kidd

I took my first ambulance ride to the emergency room last week. Do not be alarmed; it was a bad reaction to a new medication. My blood pressure was alarmingly high. I also had a throbbing headache. Both are possible side effects of the medicine or possible precursors to a stroke, according to ‘Google.’ The Urgent Care staff said waiting for the outcome didn’t seem worth the risk. So I rode with EMS professionals, Margaret( not Maggie, Peggy, or Meg) and Scott.

While the ride was a memorable experience, that is not what I took away from the visit. I realized that to the staff I was a “person of a certain age.” I knew it was coming. It was still jolting. I will not lie; it was a bit hurtful.

The doctor assigned to my case was a free-spirited, bearded, top-knotted young male who made an effort to mansplain to me. I told him I thought the source of the symptoms was a new medication I had been prescribed for ADHD. He looked genuinely confused. He said, “ I am not used to people your age needing medication for ADHD.” I usually hear that about adolescents.

“Really,” I said, “Most women are not diagnosed until their 40s and 50s. Their behavior is not disruptive to others, so it is often overlooked. So it would only stand to reason. Once we have been offered help, we would need medication for our neurodivergent brain for the rest of our lives.”

He said, “OK, what did they give you for this diagnosis in your fifties?” “Wellbutrin,” I said.

Oh, you know they were medicating you for depression, right?” “You think I was duped and given a placebo?” I asked.  “Well yes; it’s like how hysteria and hysterectomy are related. Women are seen as fragile and needing to be calmed down.”

You can imagine that this interaction did not calm me down. It seemed like a weird conversation to have with a woman whose blood pressure was hovering around 200/100.

I looked at him and with a smile said, “Are you mansplaining how men see women to me? Let me tell you something. I have been a Baptist woman minister for forty years. This is not news to me.” He wisely left the room at that point.

The nurse kindly asked if I had the medication with me. I said, “Yes, it is in my purse. However, my husband has it, and he was told he needed to stay in the waiting room.”  She said, “That’s not right. I’ll go get him. What does he look like? ““Pretty much like any other 70-year-old man out there. The only difference is that he has a blue purse.  That should make it easy.”

She returned with Dan about the time the young doctor reentered and asked to see the medication.  He had read up on it, and determined it could cause high blood pressure and a headache. We obviously read the same article. He was concerned about the dosage, because it should have been given with a gradual increase. You start with 40 mm and go up from there slowly so your body can adjust.  Let’s look at your dosage. “Whoa,” he said, “This is only for 10mm. I guess they start “women of a certain age” at a very low dose.” 

There was absolutely no malice in the young doctor’s interaction, which made it even more confusing. All I received for my visit was a plastic bracelet with my name and age printed on it. No medications, no gown, and no needles. However, during the three hours I was there, he explained nearly conspiratorially, as doctor to patient. He said that men don’t take women very seriously and referred to me as a “woman of a certain age” three times. These events may not be newsworthy, but they were as painful as the blood pressure-induced headache, bless his heart.