Is that....Swedish?
alternative title: a recent microagression in healthcare as experienced by an ethnically ambiguous speech language pathologist
He reads my name tag, pronouncing the ‘J’ so it sounds like a ‘Y’ just like my abuela does and it pulls at my heartstrings, makes me yearn for home. “Yo-vawn-uh,” he says again, this time more slowly, “That’s an interesting name.” He pauses, says my name again and looks at my face for a second too long before asking, “Is that……Swedish?” I half-laugh because we are nearing the end of summer and my tan is at its prime. My hair is a dark brunette, just a shade lighter than black, and my eyes are a deep brown. Swedish reminds me of blonde haired pig tails and blue eyed fair skinned folk, and I am nearly the opposite.
“No, not Swedish,” I reply. “I am named after an aunt who died in Mexico before I was born.”
His eyes narrow, he puts his cards down, our game of cribbage suddenly paused. “Mexico? Were you born in Mexico?” I sense the shift in energy, am suddenly aware of the radio that is playing in the background, and recognize the voice of a rightwing broadcaster.
“I was born in a small town in Iowa, just a stone’s throw from the Missouri River. Have you ever been?” He ignores my question, a look of disgust forming on his face. I am trying to redirect the conversation, I start shuffling the deck of cards in an attempt to bring his attention back to the game. I desperately want to prevent the inevitable.
“Mexican huh? What are they going to do with all of those Mexicans coming across the border? We can’t afford it. This president thinks he can spend money we do not have on people we do not want.”
There is nothing I can say that would change an ideology that’s been brewing inside of him for over 90 years so I take the coward’s way out by looking at my wrist watch and lying about an imaginary meeting that I need to attend. Game over, conversation over, no points for me–I scurry out of the door.
I feel at once empty yet full of self-loathing for the rest of the day and that night I lie awake, frustrated by my lack of response, my lack of a backbone. How does that saying go? If you are silent, you have chosen the side of the oppressor? But what if the oppressor has dementia, his social filter riddled by disease and his memory so poor that he won’t recall that we even had this conversation if I asked him about it?
There is no right answer. I am just trying my best.
I rehearse what I will say when I see him, over and over, so I will be prepared. I will educate. I will be nice but firm. I will do my job, but I will set boundaries. I will be ready this time.
The next day I pass by his room and his bed is empty, the sheets stripped and his wheelchair nowhere in sight. The nurses tell me he fell and broke his hip, he’ll be returning in a few days after surgery. And when I find myself face to face with him once more, he reads my name tag again, pausing at the end before asking “oh, is that…..Swedish?”
When I answer him, I brace myself to hear more Fox News talking points repeated from his mouth, but instead he says, “You know one thing about Mexican girls, they are really good looking.”
Sigh. Somehow this is worse.
AND NOW A LITTLE SECTION ABOUT A FEW THINGS BRINGING ME JOY LATELY:
sunrise walks with the dogs—even if the day goes to hell, at least I got a solid 30 minutes of peace & solitude & lovely views before it happens.
evening walks in the woods with Ben, especially on the weekends when we take a few beers to enjoy on the trail
dark chocolate sea salt Rolos—who gave them permission to be so good?!
It’s Soup/Spooky/Sweather-Weather Season!!!!
Catching up on all the MFM podcast episodes that I missed while listening to the Beartown series audiobooks
It’s almost my birthday / it’s almost time for my trip back home to visit my family :)
I’ve been thinking about this experience for a nearly a month now, but was hesitant to write about it because honestly it feels weird to whine about these small encounters that happen especially when there are far worse stories out there, but I couldn’t shake it from my brain so I figured I might as well type it out and hit *publish* and be done with it. Thank you for reading and thank you for letting me take up some space in your inbox :)