queer dogs

Things I want before the end of 2017:

A girlfriend

An internet best friend that lives close enough to meet up with

A girlfriend

Someone I can do cute shit with

A Ggggirlfriend

Like ten cats to snuggle

A GiRlFrIeNd

Some new hot and spicy memes to bring me joy


Yesterday I had an appointment scheduled for a consultation. It was supposed to be one of the happiest days of my life: after waiting my entire goddamn life, I’d finally found a surgeon to do my top surgery! I took the day off work, the sun was shining, birds were singing, Pepper was flawless, life was good. But of course, none of that mattered. When I got to Dr. Elliot Jacobs’ office, his receptionist gave me my intake paperwork and asked for my ID and health insurance. I sat down in the waiting room and began to fill out the paperwork, but moments later, the receptionist called me back to the desk. She just wanted to confirm that someone was going to come collect my dog before my appointment, since Pepper wouldn’t be allowed to go back with me. I told her that he’s my service dog, and that he goes to all of my appointments with me. Keep in mind that this appointment was just for my initial consult - I wasn’t scheduled to get any procedures done and I didn’t need to enter a sterile environment that might be contaminated by my dog. The receptionist apologized and said that unfortunately, it’s office policy that dogs are not allowed. I asked to speak to the doctor, stating again that Pepper is a service dog and is covered under the ADA. Instead of Dr. Jacobs coming out to see me himself, the office manager came to the front desk to tell me, through a shit-eating grin, that it’s the doctor’s right to decide not to see me, and it’s office policy not to allow dogs into the office, and if I want to file a complaint or whatever I can go right ahead. At that point, I slid to the ground and dissociated on the floor in front of the desk for ten minutes while Pepper did DPT. Patients stepped over me with no comment, the receptionist and the doctor laughed about me and ignored me, and I lost the better part of my day to the panic and crushing sorrow. My whole trans life, I’ve been fighting my transgender body. This transgender life is at least partially responsible for the PTSD that Pepper helps to mitigate. Being transgender and being traumatized are one and the same, as far as I’m concerned, and this experience just cements that for me. I have PTSD because I’m trans, I have a service dog for the PTSD, I have a service dog because I’m trans, I am refused services and traumatized because of the dog, I am refused services and traumatized because I’m trans… I’m so tired. I’m so fucking tired. I’m so ready to just give up. But instead, I’m doing what I do best: I’m raising hell. Dr. Elliot Jacobs’ office is at 815 Park Ave in NYC. He has a yelp page, a rateMDs profile, and a healthgrades profile. He also has a website with a contact form built in. I trust you all, the good people of tumblr, to do the right thing with that info… …and in the meantime, I’m going to file a doj complaint and see if The Mighty or Huff Post need any ideas for interest pieces.