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Image by Catherine Heath on Unsplash.

My primary care doctor – who I really like – is moving. And, as a single person, I’m a little nervous about my next step in the medical system.

I usually turn to the Internet when I have a question.  What insights can I get when it comes to health care and being single?

I started with the prompt “gay people seeking medical care.” My doctor was gay and I know that’s another stigmatized group. It would be a good baseline for comparison.

These days, search results come with AI-generated summaries. This one said:

“LGBTQ+ people seeking medical care often face barriers like provider bias and a lack of inclusive training. Finding affirming, culturally competent healthcare is crucial to avoiding discrimination and receiving proper preventative and specialized treatment.”
If I were gay, I’d be encouraged. Many practices identify as gay-friendly so it would be relatively easy to find “affirming, culturally competent” providers.

So then I typed in “single people seeking medical care.”

Wow, what a difference. I got

Single people and solo adults can face unique challenges when navigating the healthcare system, from securing insurance without a spouse’s plan to coordinating logistics and after-care for procedures. Proactive planning ensures you receive safe, high-quality care without relying on family.”

And

“Single adults seeking medical care in Philadelphia can access a wide range of services regardless of income or insurance status. Options range from sliding-scale city health centers and free clinics to urgent care networks and concierge primary care memberships.”

Most posts around medical care for singles involved concerns with payment and insurance. Some of us aren’t living at the poverty level even though we’re single. And even without “relying on family,” many of us have friends and paid resources. Long-time “single at heart” people have developed these networks.

Of course, I couldn’t resist typing in “married people seeking health care.” I got
“Married individuals often navigate the healthcare system by combining resources, sharing caretaking duties, and acting as medical advocates for one another. Because health insurance, medical consent, and caregiving roles intersect, understanding your specific rights and coverage strategies is essential.”

Why, I wondered, aren’t single people encouraged to find “affirming services?” Don’t we have friends who can be advocates? I’ve called on friends many times, including a former college classmate who’s a retired doctor.

I then prompted the search-generated AI: “I want something on the prejudices of the medical profession, which does not understand single people or people who live alone.”

This time the system said: “‘Singlism’ in healthcare is a well-documented systemic bias where the medical profession unthinkingly equates marital status with adequate social support, leading to lower-quality care, undertreatment, and institutional obstacles for single people and those who live alone.”

They cited articles by Bella DePaulo and Joan DiFattore. They cite Bella DePaulo as a source for the comment that the medical system is designed for couples and sees single people, as well as people living alone, as “inconvenient.”

Of course, different prompts and even different computers and times of day might pull up different responses. But the theme seems to be the same.

However, although AI recognizes prejudice against singles when asked directly, the initial responses differ in emphasis. AI may be responding to the most common queries.

When asked specifically how to deal with prejudice against singles, AI acknowledged “singlism” as described by Bella DePaulo. They offered the usual suggestions of appointing a proxy and setting up a network. They also suggested finding “those trained in diverse patient demographics.” They also suggest redirecting conversations from concerns about living alone to medical needs. And get everything in writing.

Some suggestions were impractical, such as finding concierge medicine: it’s not only expensive (they don’t take insurance) but they’re not located in my city center; like most city-dwellers I don’t have a car.

They suggested looking for practices that emphasize “cultural humility.” This led me to PennMed’s Center for Health Equity. Since I’ve been to Penn several times in diverse departments, it seems that at Penn “cultural humility” doesn’t extend to singles. I suspect that no staff member has had training in dealing with singles and I’ve experienced several inappropriate remarks and biased assumptions.

The Center for Health Equity says, “Sexual orientation is how a person identifies their emotional, physical, and sexual attraction to others.” What if you define this attraction as “prefer to be alone?” I plan to ask the Center and will write a follow-up.

AI also had an interesting idea: seeking help from LGBTQ+ centers. These centers treat everyone, and they’re accustomed to diverse lifestyles. This idea was completely new to me; I wonder if others have considered it. I often thought my doctor (who’s, alas, moving away) should be listed not only as LGBTQ-friendly but as singles-friendly.

However, gay or straight, 85% of doctors are married, often to other doctors. That’s another barrier to understanding singlehood.

Bottom Line

If you’re gay, you’re encouraged to find affirming care. If you’re married, you’re assumed to have an advocate. If you’re single, you’re often treated as a logistical and financial problem.

My little AI experiment showed that even Internet searches seem to be influenced by singlist stereotypes. The encouraging part is that once I asked directly about singlism, the system recognized it immediately. The less encouraging part is that the bias remained invisible until I raised the question.

Perhaps that’s the real challenge for single patients: not just finding good medical care, but getting healthcare systems to recognize that going through life alone is not the same thing as lacking advocacy, being financially strained, and not seeking respect and affirmation from our providers.