Her Story Made History

The man in line beside me smirks at my answer to the cashier’s question “What movie?” Then, he stares at my breasts.

I don’t know the reason for his mirth, disdain, and crudeness. Was it because of the message of my intended movie? Or was the micro-expression from his immature psyche reacting to the word “sex”? Or did he just have gas?

The movie depicts the 1972 trial where Ruth Ginsburg argues the first case addressing discrimination based on gender. A man is accused of tax fraud because he claimed deductions for staying home from work to care for his ailing mother. The law at the time stated that only women could deduct for not working to care for loved ones. 

During the trial, a male judge “schools” Ruth about the freshman rules of government law as she stands to dispute the case. Another judge informs Mrs. Ginsburg, “The word ‘woman’ doesn’t appear even once in the US constitution.” Ruth responds, “Nor does the word ‘freedom’, Your Honor.”

Winning this case is a landmark departure from the norm and the start of something huge. The new tax law states that females aren’t the only ones allowed deductions for staying home to care for the family. In other words, gender discrimination is unlawful.

The repeated instances of sexism in the movie stir my discontented psyche. Normally, my reaction to this kind of bias lies barely below the surface. Today, it bubbles to the top and I feel the need to comment.

Most commonly, I encounter chauvinism in the nursing homes where I provide eye care. To use a pun, it’s eye-opening. Among the 90-and-older population, women outnumber men by a ratio of three to one.  Even though they are the minority, many men express dated views of women.

One morning, I load my hand-held equipment onto my wheeled cart and look for a scheduled patient. His bed is one of two in the room and next to the window. After muting the blaring TV, I lean over the bed to assess the man’s pupillary responses, with my back to his roommate. A gravelly voice from the other bed barks, “Hey, babe. I need my eyes examined too.” My modus operandi is to quietly remove myself from belligerent, combative, or rude patients. Today, this word strikes (or more accurately “stomps”) a raw nerve. I straighten up, turn to face the man and say, “My name is Dr. Higgins, not ‘babe’, and that is NOT how you request an eye exam.” I turn back to my patient and resume my exam. Ms. Jackson if you’re nasty.

Sometimes, male patients beckon with “sweetheart”, “honey”, “dear”, and “love”, but mostly, I tolerate comments on my appearance. When wearing a respectable skirt, male patients comment on my legs. One man says to me, “Aren’t you a tall drink of water?” My height is noted often, to the tone of “What are you, like six feet tall?” (I am 5’9″ to RBG’s 5’1″, but I must look taller from a wheelchair.) After the exam, when I explain that I will see him in one month/three months/one year, some men say, “Your pretty face is welcome back to my room anytime.” Wink. Wink.

In another instance, I lean against the wall in the hallway with a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. I am deep in thought, drawing the minute details of a diabetic retinopathy bleed in a patient’s retina. A male patient wheels by and tells me to “You should smile, hun”. Asking a woman to change her appearance in order to fit what you think is most pleasant isn’t cool.

Occasionally, I am accompanied by a male ophthalmic technician. Almost always, the men (and to be fair, sometimes the women too) assume he is the doctor and I am the assistant. It is so frequent that even the male techs tire of clarifying. Sometimes, fellows inform me they will wait for a male doctor.

(As a deflating side note, once I had a black male technician assisting. He was fashionable and wore a three piece suit with a bow tie and shined loafers. Not a single patient assumed he was the doctor.)

Gents question my ability to perform tests. “Are you sure that you are doing that right?” A female patient rarely questions my skills of 23 years of optometric care.

It was my first visit to one high-rise nursing home. Standing in front of a wall of eight elevator doors, I ask a younger male staff person if certain elevators go to certain floors. I am headed to floor 13, running late, and trying to save time. He mans-plains to me that if I press the “up” button, that I will ascend to higher floors. And, if I press the “down” button, I would descend to lower floors. My dumbfounded, mouth-agape, head-shaking, verbal response is “unbelievable.”

Would any of these incidents occur if I were male? Doubtful.

Yes, sometimes these instances happen on the dementia unit, but often the men are of right mind. This mindset is ingrained and occurs in both sound and sick brains. I am appalled that this behavior is tolerated and even accepted.

On the flip side, I am at fault too. When a patient refers to their doctor, I assume that he’s male. “Your doctor told you that you have glaucoma? What exactly did HE say?” When I meet an attractive blond female doctor, my deep-seated assumption is that she is less intelligent. I’m not proud of these subconscious reactions, but I am honest.

In the past, someone suggested that I may not have gotten to my place in life without having to defy this adversity. I believe this to be true. Both men and women must continue this fight. We should learn and grow by observing ourselves, correcting ourselves, and gently correcting each other. We must stand up for equality and basic human respect.

This chapter isn’t about throwing shade at all men. I LOVE men- respectful, kind, communicative, honest, broad-minded, decent, loving men. Outshining all of the bad examples of sexist men, the good guys stand out in their brilliance.

The message from On the Basis of Sex is to toil to overcome discrimination. I leave that theatre proud and walking (at least 6′) tall. Mrs. Ginsburg’s strong and outspoken, yet thoughtful and kind demeanor moves me. She earns her moniker “the Notorious RGB“ for her willingness to speak. Ruth has my humble gratitude for being one of the first to carve a path of equality for women in the law. And I am happy and honored to be following behind her, working every day to prove that I am at least equal.

I get into my car, whose features I researched, whose price I haggled, and whose gas pedal I use to accelerate away from the theatre. After driving myself to a restaurant, I choose where I want to sit, and I enjoy my own company. I pay the bill with money earned from the salary that I negotiated to be higher than some male counterparts. I sleep alone in the bed in the house that I bought and renovated.

Let’s be thankful for how far we have come. But, let’s also be cognizant of how very far we still have to go.