LGBTQ+

Laurie Donohue, MD, a longstanding colleague of mine, died October 24, 2024. We were a year apart in family medicine residency, both practicing at Brown Square Health Center, an FQHC (Federally Qualified Health Center) in Rochester, New York. We worked together for years, maintaining adjacent clinical practices. For several years we shared an office and often bounced clinical situations off each other, or shared challenges and support. Both of us had dedicated patient panels, and we seldom saw each other’s patients. I loved working with Laurie; her calm and steady presence balanced me in so many ways.

Adam, my twenty-five-year old son, died of a heroin overdose two years ago. Several days after his death, and before the funeral, I sat up late one night talking with his ex-girlfriend. She revealed that he had been sexually abused for several years by a close, male family member starting when he was eleven. The perpetrator threatened to harm our family if Adam ever told anyone. Adam told a few people but the secret was kept from me.

“I’ve been having some gender issues lately.” I was on the phone with my eighteen-year-old granddaughter Amy who had recently moved across country to attend college. “Want to talk about them?” I asked. “I want to be a boy.” “Wow! Where did that come from?”

So, this is what it feels like to belong. I found myself crying as I danced through the streets of downtown Boston, celebrating my first Pride parade since coming out. While Lady Gaga songs and rainbow costumes provided a backdrop for my ecstasy, my joy arose from the feeling of belonging, a sense of connection bringing me closer to myself and to every person within that crowd of thousands. That was the feeling of my first Pride.

I was born a Brobdingnagian in a world of Lilliputians. As a child, I towered over my classmates, both female and male, and most of my teachers. Even as an adult, I stand out in a crow-and I hate it. Being tall has contributed to my psychological angst: it has given me a negative self-image; it has made me the victim of teasing (“How’s the weather up there?”); and it has made me feel like an outsider from mainstream society. Being a part of the LGBTQ+ community may cause its population to feel a similar sense of isolation and depression. Or, it may not. I do not know. What I do know for certain, however, is that being different should be okay–and that no one, especially ourselves, should condemn us for not fitting some predetermined mold.

When I was a freshman in college, my closest friend told me that he was pretty sure he was gay. I was perplexed. I knew that gay men existed, but I’d never known one. (Of course I had; I just didn’t realize it.) Not long after, my friend began a journey of exploration, of figuring out who he was–yes, he was gay–and I had the good sense to reserve judgment, to listen and learn, and to remain his friend.