Medical research and practice have long assumed a narrow definition of the ‘default’ human, badly compromising the care of anyone outside that category. How can this be fixed?
I met Chris in my first month at a small, hard-partying Catholic high school in north-eastern Wisconsin, where kids jammed cigarettes between the fingers of the school’s lifesize Jesus statue and skipped mass to eat fries at the fast-food joint across the street. Chris and her circle perched somewhere adjacent to the school’s social hierarchy, and she surveyed the adolescent drama and absurdity with cool, heavy-lidded understanding. I admired her from afar and shuffled around the edges of her orbit, gleeful whenever she motioned for me to join her gang for lunch.
After high school, we lost touch. I went east; Chris stayed in the midwest. To pay for school at the University of Minnesota, she hawked costume jewellery at Dayton’s department store. She got married to a tall classmate named Adam and merged with the mainstream – became a lawyer, had a couple of daughters. She would go running at the YWCA and cook oatmeal for breakfast. Then in 2010, at the age of 35, she went to the ER with stomach pains. She struggled to describe the pain – it wasn’t like anything she’d felt before. The doctor told her it was indigestion and sent her home. But the symptoms kept coming back. She was strangely tired and constipated. She returned to the doctor. She didn’t feel right, she said. Of course you’re tired, he told her, you’re raising kids. You’re stressed. You should be tired. Frustrated, she saw other doctors. You’re a working mom, they said. You need to relax. Add fibre to your diet. The problems ratcheted up in frequency. She was anaemic, and always so tired. She’d feel sleepy when having coffee with a friend. Get some rest, she was told. Try sleeping pills.
