This came to mind this morning. I was standing in the bathroom, catching my reflection, and I stopped. I looked at my scars. All of them. And I felt something I have been trying to articulate for a long time, a frustration that is not quite sadness and not quite rage but lives somewhere between the two. Frustration that those scars are there. Frustration that they did not have to be. Frustration that the system that was supposed to protect my health is the reason my body is marked the way it is.
This is a companion discussion topic for the original entry at https://uncommongathering.substack.com/p/the-gender-pain-gap-how-medicine