It is 2017, and I somehow made you incredibly uncomfortable just by being myself. I had no idea what I was walking into when I entered the urgent care a few weeks ago. I was sitting in the cold, sterile room, waiting for you to come in. I was in pain and unsure of what was wrong. You came in the room all chipper, introducing yourself, asking how I was. I explained my symptoms and then you did what most doctors do, which was ask a series of pretty generic questions to a young female patient. You asked if I was sexually active, I responded "yes." You asked if there was any chance I could be pregnant then and I responded "no." You looked at me confused, and I get it, I do. You asked if I was on birth control or if my boyfriend uses any protection and I just responded with "I have a girlfriend." I have seen many doctors before and they all usually all just respond with something along the lines of "Oh, okay, not a problem. I understand then that there is no chance of pregnancy." My sexual orientation has never been a "problem" for doctors until I met you. You looked stunned and said, "oh...so you're a homo?" I honestly hope I looked at you as stunned as the way you looked at me. Because that's what I was, completely stunned that I was just called a "homo."

I had a million thoughts race through my rainbow brain within a second, and all I could blurt out was "Yes, I am gay." I, at that point, couldn't tell who was more uncomfortable in the room... me or you? You continued to talk to me, but more quickly now, and proceeded to use the word "homo" and "homo sex" several more times. I was just sitting there, listening, but completely numb to what is going on. You told me what was wrong, and that you'd call me in a prescription but didn't ask me if I had any questions. You just told me to follow up with my primary care doctor. Once I left, I sat in my car and cried. I had never felt ashamed of who I was until that moment. You belittled me.

I am fortunate enough to have friends and family who never made me think twice about myself since I've come out. You, a complete stranger, a "professional," you made me feel embarrassed of being gay in that moment. Shame on you.

I called the medical center I visited the next day and reported you, and I'm not sorry. It is 2017, and I feel like you completely discriminated me, and that's not okay with me at all. It has been a few weeks and I'm still processing that I was called a "homo." There are so many terms out there you could've used, but to you, I am just a "homo." I hope you realize that your words stung. They hit me harder than a runaway train. All I wanted to do was run away from my body the moment you decided to label me that word.

I have been labeled a lot of things in life, and I'm sure I'll receive hundreds of more labels in the future. But this one: "homo" I'm taking off right now. You see Dr., I can't control any label that is thrown on me, but I can control if it sticks. Your label was thrown with ignorance and I am peeling it off with pride. I never questioned if being gay was something to be ashamed of until I met you. And I want you to know that I will always be proud of who I am.

You made me realize that even though it is 2017, there are going to be people who just aren't affirming of my lifestyle. I don't need everyone to fly rainbow flags, and I don't need everyone to support my relationships, but I deserve respect. I called to follow up and left a message to see what actions have been taken, but I never received a callback. I hope that you learn that some words should never be said and that you can learn alternative words that are more mindful.

I want to thank you for making me realize that nobody is exempt from discrimination or hateful words being thrown at them. I want to thank you for making me step back and realize I won't always be supported for who I am. It makes me more passionate about spreading awareness about topics. I am one person, my thoughts and beliefs are only mine. I can't control how others react to my words, but I most certainly can control the words I use. And words, dear doctor, are very powerful.