Last night, I got my septum pierced by Scott Jania at Progressive Piercing. The place doesn't really look like much - it's one room in the corner of The Alley, which is this expensive punk megastore at Belmont and Clark in Chicago. The piercing room is now surrounded by jewelry cases, and there are a few signs in the window advertising the piercing shop. Scott's face is also on billboards and benches all over the city, with the tagline "Get pierced, not screwed".
Both of the piercers are masters of their craft, and they are surprisingly easy to talk to. Every time I've been there for more than a few minutes, I've learned something new. This time, I got a primer on septum piercings dating back to 1990, when only two places in Chicago would consider doing one - for the hefty price of $100. Mine cost around $50 total, and that includes the hypoallergenic titanium retainer and piercing fee. The stories and information were free, of course. I learned that most shops will pierce septums far too low, and the technique leaves something to be desired. Mine is level on both the vertical and horizontal planes of my face, which is wonderful, since I hate crooked facial piercings. I recommend Progressive to everyone. All of the other "professional" piercers I've gone to can't hold a candle to these guys.
One of the reasons I love tattoos and piercings so much is that they're both relatively affordable body modification. If done well, they can be long-lasting and beautiful changes. While I do plan on starting testosterone and getting top surgery done soon, they're definitely not accessible to a lot of people. I'm not saying everyone can afford a $50 hole in their nose, either. But for me, it feels good to have that kind of control over my body, my appearance, and the way I present myself to the world.
As I've slowly started getting tattoos in more visible places, supposedly "dooming myself" in the business world, I've realized how little of an impact it makes on my life. My boss asked me for tattoo advice, and my coworker wants me to do some sketches for her next design. Everyone at my office is queer and (I think) trans friendly. So I don't think I'm doomed just yet. I'm still planning all my coming out letter writing for this month and next month. Camp Trans is coming up in early August, and it's looking like I might be able to make it. Hopefully everything will be out in the open before the Fall. I'm still in therapy, but I'm cutting it down to twice a month instead of once each week. Everything seems to be going according to plan, and it feels great. Now I have a little stubborn Taurus-y septum piercing to celebrate. Not that I'm an astrology nerd, or anything. But it seems to fit just fine.
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
The Sworn Virgins of Albania.
By DAN BILEFSKY
KRUJE, Albania — Pashe Keqi recalled the day nearly 60 years ago when she decided to become a man. She chopped off her long black curls, traded in her dress for her father’s baggy trousers, armed herself with a hunting rifle and vowed to forsake marriage, children and sex.
For centuries, in the closed-off and conservative society of rural northern Albania, swapping genders was considered a practical solution for a family with a shortage of men. Her father was killed in a blood feud, and there was no male heir. By custom, Ms. Keqi, now 78, took a vow of lifetime virginity. She lived as a man, the new patriarch, with all the swagger and trappings of male authority — including the obligation to avenge her father’s death.
She says she would not do it today, now that sexual equality and modernity have come even to Albania, with Internet dating and MTV invading after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Girls here do not want to be boys anymore. With only Ms. Keqi and some 40 others remaining, the sworn virgin is dying off.
“Back then, it was better to be a man because before a woman and an animal were considered the same thing,” said Ms. Keqi, who has a bellowing baritone voice, sits with her legs open wide like a man and relishes downing shots of raki. “Now, Albanian women have equal rights with men, and are even more powerful. I think today it would be fun to be a woman.”
The tradition of the sworn virgin can be traced to the Kanun of Leke Dukagjini, a code of conduct passed on orally among the clans of northern Albania for more than 500 years. Under the Kanun, the role of a woman is severely circumscribed: take care of children and maintain the home. While a woman’s life is worth half that of a man, a virgin’s value is the same: 12 oxen.
The sworn virgin was born of social necessity in an agrarian region plagued by war and death. If the family patriarch died with no male heirs, unmarried women in the family could find themselves alone and powerless. By taking an oath of virginity, women could take on the role of men as head of the family, carry a weapon, own property and move freely.
They dressed like men and spent their lives in the company of other men, even though most kept their female given names. They were not ridiculed, but accepted in public life, even adulated. For some the choice was a way for a woman to assert her autonomy or to avoid an arranged marriage.
“Stripping off their sexuality by pledging to remain virgins was a way for these women in a male-dominated, segregated society to engage in public life,” said Linda Gusia, a professor of gender studies at the University of Pristina, in Kosovo. “It was about surviving in a world where men rule.”
Taking an oath to become a sworn virgin should not, sociologists say, be equated with homosexuality, long taboo in rural Albania. Nor do the women have sex-change operations.
Known in her household as the “pasha,” Ms. Keqi said she decided to become the man of the house at age 20 when her father was murdered. Her four brothers opposed the Communist government of Enver Hoxha, the ruler for 40 years until his death in 1985, and they were either imprisoned or killed. Becoming a man, she said, was the only way to support her mother, her four sisters-in-law and their five children.
Ms. Keqi lorded over her large family in her modest house in Tirana, where her nieces served her brandy while she barked out orders. She said living as a man had allowed her freedom denied other women. She worked construction jobs and prayed at the mosque with men. Even today, her nephews and nieces said, they would not dare marry without their “uncle’s” permission.
When she stepped outside the village, she enjoyed being taken for a man. “I was totally free as a man because no one knew I was a woman,” Ms. Keqi said. “I could go wherever I wanted to and no one would dare swear at me because I could beat them up. I was only with men. I don’t know how to do women’s talk. I am never scared.”
When she was recently hospitalized for surgery, the other woman in her room was horrified to be sharing close quarters with someone she assumed was
male.
Being the man of the house also made her responsible for avenging her father’s death, she said. When her father’s killer, by then 80, was released from prison five years ago, Ms. Keqi said, her 15-year-old nephew shot him dead. Then the man’s family took revenge and killed her nephew. “I always dreamed of avenging my father’s death,” she said. “Of course, I have regrets; my nephew was killed. But if you kill me, I have to kill you.”
In Albania, a majority Muslim country in the western Balkans, the Kanun is adhered to by Muslims and Christians. Albanian cultural historians said the adherence to medieval customs long discarded elsewhere was a byproduct of the country’s previous isolation. But they stressed that the traditional role of the Albanian woman was changing.
“The Albanian woman today is a sort of minister of economics, a minister of affection and a minister of interior who controls who does what,” said Ilir Yzeiri, who writes about Albanian folklore. “Today, women in Albania are behind everything.”
Some sworn virgins bemoan the changes. Diana Rakipi, 54, a security guard in the seaside city of Durres, in west Albania, who became a sworn virgin to take care of her nine sisters, said she looked back with nostalgia on the Hoxha era. During Communist times, she was a senior army officer, training women as combat soldiers. Now, she lamented, women do not know their place.
“Today women go out half naked to the disco,” said Ms. Rakipi, who wears a military beret. “I was always treated my whole life as a man, always with respect. I can’t clean, I can’t iron, I can’t cook. That is a woman’s work.”
But even in the remote mountains of Kruje, about 30 miles north of Tirana, residents say the Kanun’s influence on gender roles is disappearing. They said erosion of the traditional family, in which everyone once lived under the same roof, had altered women’s position in society.
“Women and men are now almost the same,” said Caca Fiqiri, whose aunt Qamile Stema, 88, is his village’s last sworn virgin. “We respect sworn virgins very much and consider them as men because of their great sacrifice. But there is no longer a stigma not to have a man of the house.”
Yet there is no doubt who wears the trousers in Ms. Stema’s one-room stone house in Barganesh, the family’s ancestral village. There, on a recent day, “Uncle” Qamile was surrounded by her clan, dressed in a qeleshe, the traditional white cap of an Albanian man. Pink flip-flops were her only concession to femininity.
After becoming a man at the age of 20, Ms. Stema said, she carried a gun. At wedding parties, she sat with the men. When she talked to women, she recalled, they recoiled in shyness.
She said becoming a sworn virgin was a necessity and a sacrifice. “I feel lonely sometime, all my sisters have died, and I live alone,” she said. “But I never wanted to marry. Some in my family tried to get me to change my clothes and wear dresses, but when they saw I had become a man, they left me alone.”
Ms. Stema said she would die a virgin. Had she married, she joked, it would have been to a traditional Albanian woman. “I guess you could say I was partly a woman and partly a man,” she said. “I liked my life as a man. I have no regrets.”
Photos by Johan Spanner for the New York Times
Link:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/06/25/world/europe/25virgins.html?_r=1&hp&oref=slogin
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Informer.
As I was beginning to type out this entry, I was thinking about family. My uncle J's birthday was last week. My favorite cousin, E sent me an email a few days before saying she would be there, and I was just able to make it in time.
My dad's side of the family is very strange. My aunts and uncles are really uncomfortable with direct confrontation, and most of them are gossip fiends as a result. My grandfather is in real estate, and has systematically screwed over the majority of his eight adult children. My dad's story reminds me of some Macbeth-style drama redone for the 90's. Maybe I'll go into it more later.
Anyway, due to the aforementioned family drama, I was pretty estranged from my dad's family until I was around eighteen. There are a total of fourteen aunts and uncles and endless cousins - so it's not like I never saw any of them. But it was mostly on holidays or involving some sort of family transaction like babysitting. My fondest childhood memories are of our summer vacations to Coloma, Michigan, where almost everyone from that side of the family would rent cabins at a small resort for a few weeks. My "totally rad" cousin E made me my first mixtape, and I still remember a lot of the tracklist. You can't really go wrong with "Teenager in Love" "California Dreamin'" or Snow's "Informer", especially when your audience is 8.
Sometimes I wish I could have spent more time with my dad's family growing up. My uncles and aunts are (or have been) comedians, published writers, cartoonists, handymen, lawyers, paramedics, nurses, hairstylists, craftswomen, local government bigwigs, mothers, and fathers. What a huge amount of knowledge and life to learn from. My cousins are all getting older and larger. Some of them are maturing pretty fast, and I wonder what they'll be like when they're adults.
Sitting at the birthday dinner, I started looking at the faces of my aunts and uncles and wondering what they'll think of me when I come out to them as trans. I told my cousin E at Christmas that I had a girlfriend, and she is still baffled that everyone else in the family is really quiet about it. I have never formally come out to my dad as anything because I never had a name for it. I told my mom that I was into women in high school, but allowing someone to assume you're a lesbian when you feel male deep down doesn't really make anything better.
E was talking pretty loudly about my partner R at the birthday dinner, and while I love her for trying to push me a little to be more open, I felt like I was being dragged out of my personal comfort zone and "outing" timeline. I plan on telling my family about my partner when I come out to them as trans, but not before. A couple of them actually acknowledge my relationship, and I guarantee the rest know a few things about my personal life. But I think it'll be nice to address everything openly all at once - hey my identity is like this, hey my girlfriend is rad. After that, I don't care what they think. At least they'll have the right information.
While I was beginning to type this, R asked me on gmail chat if I know J and K so and so. They ended up being the uncle and aunt I started this entry about. Apparently they are clients of a gallery R's gallery works with. Hilarious.
My dad's side of the family is very strange. My aunts and uncles are really uncomfortable with direct confrontation, and most of them are gossip fiends as a result. My grandfather is in real estate, and has systematically screwed over the majority of his eight adult children. My dad's story reminds me of some Macbeth-style drama redone for the 90's. Maybe I'll go into it more later.
Anyway, due to the aforementioned family drama, I was pretty estranged from my dad's family until I was around eighteen. There are a total of fourteen aunts and uncles and endless cousins - so it's not like I never saw any of them. But it was mostly on holidays or involving some sort of family transaction like babysitting. My fondest childhood memories are of our summer vacations to Coloma, Michigan, where almost everyone from that side of the family would rent cabins at a small resort for a few weeks. My "totally rad" cousin E made me my first mixtape, and I still remember a lot of the tracklist. You can't really go wrong with "Teenager in Love" "California Dreamin'" or Snow's "Informer", especially when your audience is 8.
Sometimes I wish I could have spent more time with my dad's family growing up. My uncles and aunts are (or have been) comedians, published writers, cartoonists, handymen, lawyers, paramedics, nurses, hairstylists, craftswomen, local government bigwigs, mothers, and fathers. What a huge amount of knowledge and life to learn from. My cousins are all getting older and larger. Some of them are maturing pretty fast, and I wonder what they'll be like when they're adults.
Sitting at the birthday dinner, I started looking at the faces of my aunts and uncles and wondering what they'll think of me when I come out to them as trans. I told my cousin E at Christmas that I had a girlfriend, and she is still baffled that everyone else in the family is really quiet about it. I have never formally come out to my dad as anything because I never had a name for it. I told my mom that I was into women in high school, but allowing someone to assume you're a lesbian when you feel male deep down doesn't really make anything better.
E was talking pretty loudly about my partner R at the birthday dinner, and while I love her for trying to push me a little to be more open, I felt like I was being dragged out of my personal comfort zone and "outing" timeline. I plan on telling my family about my partner when I come out to them as trans, but not before. A couple of them actually acknowledge my relationship, and I guarantee the rest know a few things about my personal life. But I think it'll be nice to address everything openly all at once - hey my identity is like this, hey my girlfriend is rad. After that, I don't care what they think. At least they'll have the right information.
While I was beginning to type this, R asked me on gmail chat if I know J and K so and so. They ended up being the uncle and aunt I started this entry about. Apparently they are clients of a gallery R's gallery works with. Hilarious.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Easy/Lucky/Free
At one of my recent therapy sessions - I found out something amazing. Apparently, the three month time period for therapy before starting hormones (that I thought was legally mandated) is just a recommendation. I'm sure some therapists won't write letters before that time period is up, but others will happily do it as long as you're set on hormones and surgery.
Initially, I was really resentful of feeling forced into therapy. I think it's beneficial to talk to someone before any life-changing event or decision, and it's great to get some feedback on how to transition more smoothly. I'm still planning on going regularly, since my experience has been overwhelmingly positive. It's just great knowing it's a choice, and not forced upon me.
My partner and I are planning on going to Camp Trans this summer, hopefully with a giant caravan full of friends. http://www.camp-trans.org/
I've decided that I'm going to come out to my parents, other family and boss right after the trip. The whole event sounds really validating and uplifting, and it'll be great to get that kind of steeling boost right before having a bunch of difficult, complicated (and potentially painful) conversations with people.
Right now, I feel very lucky to have a partner who loves me for who I am. R has been supportive and helpful through all of this. If anything, I'm the one who has to be prodded a little bit in order to open up about gender stuff sometimes. I am also lucky to have friends across the board who are open to these things and are occasionally trans or otherwise gender variant themselves. And I've probably said this before, but my boss is 100% cool with it. Now I just have to get up the nerve to put it on the table.
The one strange thing I've noticed is more openness and dialogue happening with friends who are outside the queer or trans scenes. Maybe it's not the same old thing when it's off your radar to begin with. Most of my friends have already had conversations about transness in various forms (or their own internal dialogue). The only big downside to this is that it stops being a topic for discussion, since everything has supposedly been said. I've probably been guilty of this in the past, especially with people who are more acquaintances than friends. But I've been trying to let people know that I'm happy to have those conversations about them (or about me), if they're looking to talk.
Initially, I was really resentful of feeling forced into therapy. I think it's beneficial to talk to someone before any life-changing event or decision, and it's great to get some feedback on how to transition more smoothly. I'm still planning on going regularly, since my experience has been overwhelmingly positive. It's just great knowing it's a choice, and not forced upon me.
My partner and I are planning on going to Camp Trans this summer, hopefully with a giant caravan full of friends. http://www.camp-trans.org/
I've decided that I'm going to come out to my parents, other family and boss right after the trip. The whole event sounds really validating and uplifting, and it'll be great to get that kind of steeling boost right before having a bunch of difficult, complicated (and potentially painful) conversations with people.
Right now, I feel very lucky to have a partner who loves me for who I am. R has been supportive and helpful through all of this. If anything, I'm the one who has to be prodded a little bit in order to open up about gender stuff sometimes. I am also lucky to have friends across the board who are open to these things and are occasionally trans or otherwise gender variant themselves. And I've probably said this before, but my boss is 100% cool with it. Now I just have to get up the nerve to put it on the table.
The one strange thing I've noticed is more openness and dialogue happening with friends who are outside the queer or trans scenes. Maybe it's not the same old thing when it's off your radar to begin with. Most of my friends have already had conversations about transness in various forms (or their own internal dialogue). The only big downside to this is that it stops being a topic for discussion, since everything has supposedly been said. I've probably been guilty of this in the past, especially with people who are more acquaintances than friends. But I've been trying to let people know that I'm happy to have those conversations about them (or about me), if they're looking to talk.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Therapy.
I finally made the decision to start seeing a therapist. I had my first session on April 15th, my second on the 24th, and my most recent on the 29th.
I've thought about therapy for a while as my point of no return. It's a lot of money, and it's the first step for any sort of physical transition. Because I've yet to come out to my parents or at work, I decided that toward the end of therapy (before I start taking hormones) would be the time to do it. That way, I'll have rational, objective support and advice during the process.
I'm lucky enough to have the means to pay for a therapist. it's $90 a session, and I've started going weekly. To start hormones (in Illinois at least), you have to see a therapist regularly for three months. Twelve regular sessions, I guess. To have any surgery, it's a year.
I've been to a few meetings with a Chicago-based group for masculine-identified female-born people. There are new topics available for discussion during each meeting. Recently my therapist "L" (who created the group) and her partner (who is an out transman activist) were the guest speakers at one of the meetings. They spoke about their relationships and issues that have come up in the past. L also spoke at a trans caucus at one of the GLBT spaces in Chicago. At both events, I loved what she had to say. I decided that I really wanted to see her as my therapist, and that I would find the money somehow if I had to.
While I don't like the fact that you have to see a therapist to prove that you're trans and not "crazy" or whatever, I don't think it's a terrible thing to have to talk to someone before you change a bunch of things about your body. A lot of dangerous and unhealthy cosmetic surgeries are done without any concern for the person's mental or emotional state. I've heard different opinions on it, and I don't want to go into a long rant or anything. But that said, it's a strange situation to be in.
So far, I think it's going well. I'm able to talk about some things in my personal life, as well as more general topics (like gendered socialization and inter-family relationships). I've been nervous just about every time. It's hard for me to just blab on and on about my personal life, especially with an older stranger that basically holds my future in her hands. But it's relaxing to be seeing someone who cares about these issues, who has actual experience and relevant feedback. I even thanked her for taking me on as a client...which is maybe a weirdo move, but I felt good about it.
As I was trying to post this, Lola by the Kinks started playing on the radio. Rad.
I've thought about therapy for a while as my point of no return. It's a lot of money, and it's the first step for any sort of physical transition. Because I've yet to come out to my parents or at work, I decided that toward the end of therapy (before I start taking hormones) would be the time to do it. That way, I'll have rational, objective support and advice during the process.
I'm lucky enough to have the means to pay for a therapist. it's $90 a session, and I've started going weekly. To start hormones (in Illinois at least), you have to see a therapist regularly for three months. Twelve regular sessions, I guess. To have any surgery, it's a year.
I've been to a few meetings with a Chicago-based group for masculine-identified female-born people. There are new topics available for discussion during each meeting. Recently my therapist "L" (who created the group) and her partner (who is an out transman activist) were the guest speakers at one of the meetings. They spoke about their relationships and issues that have come up in the past. L also spoke at a trans caucus at one of the GLBT spaces in Chicago. At both events, I loved what she had to say. I decided that I really wanted to see her as my therapist, and that I would find the money somehow if I had to.
While I don't like the fact that you have to see a therapist to prove that you're trans and not "crazy" or whatever, I don't think it's a terrible thing to have to talk to someone before you change a bunch of things about your body. A lot of dangerous and unhealthy cosmetic surgeries are done without any concern for the person's mental or emotional state. I've heard different opinions on it, and I don't want to go into a long rant or anything. But that said, it's a strange situation to be in.
So far, I think it's going well. I'm able to talk about some things in my personal life, as well as more general topics (like gendered socialization and inter-family relationships). I've been nervous just about every time. It's hard for me to just blab on and on about my personal life, especially with an older stranger that basically holds my future in her hands. But it's relaxing to be seeing someone who cares about these issues, who has actual experience and relevant feedback. I even thanked her for taking me on as a client...which is maybe a weirdo move, but I felt good about it.
As I was trying to post this, Lola by the Kinks started playing on the radio. Rad.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
CWHC
Today, I had my first gynecological exam at the Chicago Women's Health Center. My partner R. gave the staff rave reviews, and I was long past due.
The last time I went to the doctor, I had the flu. It didn't go away for about a week, and my dad took me in to make sure I wasn't dying of anything. My current doctor's office is in the suburbs – we found it through a family friend who works there. The place kind of sets me on edge, though up until recently I haven't had any major problems with the doctors. My regular physician is female and very easy to talk to. However, when I went in with the flu, things were different.
I was stuck with a drop in doctor, since I hadn't made much of an appointment and my regular doctor was out that day. Of course I was told to drink lots of liquids and get lots of rest. One more small mark on my insurance history for the same expensive advice. The drop in doctor saw my tattoos and asked if any were recently done. I said yes, but I only go to extremely clean tattoo shops. He brushed this off and said that he wouldn't want to let me go without testing for hepatitis anyway – just in case.
I doubted highly that any of the clean, professional tattoo artists and shops I go to gave me hepatitis. But I figured a blood test would legitimize my several hours of time wasted at this office. Time I should have been chugging liquids and resting. I asked the drop in doctor if I could be tested for any STIs as well, if they were going to be taking blood anyway. The response I got was awful. “Why? What are you worried about?” “Nothing, I just figured it would be a good idea.” “Do you think you have anything?” “No, but I thought I would be responsible and get tested regularly, since I'm sexually active.” “Do you practice safe sex?” “Yes...but unless you're abstinent, you can still catch certain things...?” “Well...I guess we could do it.”
I think I could feel the self confidence evaporating out my ears. I wanted to ask him who the fuck he thought he was, and why he thinks preventative care is such bullshit. Why being responsible and considerate are somehow wrong. I doubt this guy was a celibate virgin. I doubt he had the most sparkling record. But for me, with the capital F on my record, asking such a sexually loaded question - I was dirty, slutty, and up to no good. And the message I got was that I should start fucking feeling that way, like a good woman. And this was my doctor, if only for the day. Not some asshole gym teacher subbing for health class, or a priest, or my strict grandmother. And christ – even one of my grandmothers probably would have told this guy to fuck off.
I got my test results back a few weeks after that. In the letter, following my good news, was a note from the drop in doctor. In big bold letters, he added: “BE CAREFUL.” I haven't been back since.
Today I walked up a tall white marble staircase, into an office with cheesy wood paneling. Just like my office at work. I was greeted warmly, and handed a clipboard and some forms to fill out. The waiting room is as inviting as it can be, with comfortable lighting, chairs, and lots of relevant and interesting literature. I got there early, so I had plenty of time to fill out the forms without rushing. I got to a section that I see pretty rarely, if ever, anywhere. The Gender section. There was a spot for transgendered that I happily checked off. I wrote in a side note that I generally go by Artie and use male pronouns. I flipped through a big book of hand-written reviews of the CWHC, some of which were years old. All the ones I read were positive. Some talked about being nervous for their first time, but loving it anyway. Some talked about their visits over several years, and how their children are going to the CWHC now. Most thanked the Center for existing. It was pretty overwhelming, and beautiful.
When the health worker called me in, she used my preferred name and introduced herself as A. She reminded me immediately of my friend S., and continued to do so throughout the entire visit. She even had the same voice, and a slightly chipper version of S's humor. Amazing. She asked if the CWHC could contact me for some information on how to make the Center more comfortable for FTMs. I agreed, saying I was happy to help.
I had my blood pressure taken, a pap smear, a general “business” inspection, a chest exam, and blood drawn. I would have had a cholesterol test done, but I you have to fast for 8 hours beforehand. I got some great comments about my tattoos, which strangely made things less awkward. The space heater, plastic speculum, and crocheted stirrups on the exam table were all-out class too. But there's just something about hearing someone's half sleeve tattoo plans while they're checking for breast tissue lumps that speeds everything up.
I paid the high end on the sliding scale price – it was $35 - $115. I could afford $115, so I paid it. I was happy to pay full price for such a positive experience. No “BE CAREFUL”s or rude questions. I learned some important things, and I felt taken care of the entire time. Even if it's the Chicago Women's Health Center, I rarely felt out of place, and I don't think I once felt unwelcome, judged or uncomfortable (beyond “geez, I'm naked from the waist down in front of a stranger”). I'm happy to go back, and I feel like I'm doing something positive for my body. I would highly recommend the CWHC to other FTMs, as well as anyone else who they offer services to. Bonus sweet Snoopy sports bandages, if you were wondering.
The last time I went to the doctor, I had the flu. It didn't go away for about a week, and my dad took me in to make sure I wasn't dying of anything. My current doctor's office is in the suburbs – we found it through a family friend who works there. The place kind of sets me on edge, though up until recently I haven't had any major problems with the doctors. My regular physician is female and very easy to talk to. However, when I went in with the flu, things were different.
I was stuck with a drop in doctor, since I hadn't made much of an appointment and my regular doctor was out that day. Of course I was told to drink lots of liquids and get lots of rest. One more small mark on my insurance history for the same expensive advice. The drop in doctor saw my tattoos and asked if any were recently done. I said yes, but I only go to extremely clean tattoo shops. He brushed this off and said that he wouldn't want to let me go without testing for hepatitis anyway – just in case.
I doubted highly that any of the clean, professional tattoo artists and shops I go to gave me hepatitis. But I figured a blood test would legitimize my several hours of time wasted at this office. Time I should have been chugging liquids and resting. I asked the drop in doctor if I could be tested for any STIs as well, if they were going to be taking blood anyway. The response I got was awful. “Why? What are you worried about?” “Nothing, I just figured it would be a good idea.” “Do you think you have anything?” “No, but I thought I would be responsible and get tested regularly, since I'm sexually active.” “Do you practice safe sex?” “Yes...but unless you're abstinent, you can still catch certain things...?” “Well...I guess we could do it.”
I think I could feel the self confidence evaporating out my ears. I wanted to ask him who the fuck he thought he was, and why he thinks preventative care is such bullshit. Why being responsible and considerate are somehow wrong. I doubt this guy was a celibate virgin. I doubt he had the most sparkling record. But for me, with the capital F on my record, asking such a sexually loaded question - I was dirty, slutty, and up to no good. And the message I got was that I should start fucking feeling that way, like a good woman. And this was my doctor, if only for the day. Not some asshole gym teacher subbing for health class, or a priest, or my strict grandmother. And christ – even one of my grandmothers probably would have told this guy to fuck off.
I got my test results back a few weeks after that. In the letter, following my good news, was a note from the drop in doctor. In big bold letters, he added: “BE CAREFUL.” I haven't been back since.
Today I walked up a tall white marble staircase, into an office with cheesy wood paneling. Just like my office at work. I was greeted warmly, and handed a clipboard and some forms to fill out. The waiting room is as inviting as it can be, with comfortable lighting, chairs, and lots of relevant and interesting literature. I got there early, so I had plenty of time to fill out the forms without rushing. I got to a section that I see pretty rarely, if ever, anywhere. The Gender section. There was a spot for transgendered that I happily checked off. I wrote in a side note that I generally go by Artie and use male pronouns. I flipped through a big book of hand-written reviews of the CWHC, some of which were years old. All the ones I read were positive. Some talked about being nervous for their first time, but loving it anyway. Some talked about their visits over several years, and how their children are going to the CWHC now. Most thanked the Center for existing. It was pretty overwhelming, and beautiful.
When the health worker called me in, she used my preferred name and introduced herself as A. She reminded me immediately of my friend S., and continued to do so throughout the entire visit. She even had the same voice, and a slightly chipper version of S's humor. Amazing. She asked if the CWHC could contact me for some information on how to make the Center more comfortable for FTMs. I agreed, saying I was happy to help.
I had my blood pressure taken, a pap smear, a general “business” inspection, a chest exam, and blood drawn. I would have had a cholesterol test done, but I you have to fast for 8 hours beforehand. I got some great comments about my tattoos, which strangely made things less awkward. The space heater, plastic speculum, and crocheted stirrups on the exam table were all-out class too. But there's just something about hearing someone's half sleeve tattoo plans while they're checking for breast tissue lumps that speeds everything up.
I paid the high end on the sliding scale price – it was $35 - $115. I could afford $115, so I paid it. I was happy to pay full price for such a positive experience. No “BE CAREFUL”s or rude questions. I learned some important things, and I felt taken care of the entire time. Even if it's the Chicago Women's Health Center, I rarely felt out of place, and I don't think I once felt unwelcome, judged or uncomfortable (beyond “geez, I'm naked from the waist down in front of a stranger”). I'm happy to go back, and I feel like I'm doing something positive for my body. I would highly recommend the CWHC to other FTMs, as well as anyone else who they offer services to. Bonus sweet Snoopy sports bandages, if you were wondering.
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
February 6, 2008
It's a little over a month into the the new year, the year I will transition from "female" to male. This blog will be my documentation of the whole process. By definition, I guess I'm technically transgendered and transsexual. To simplify things, I use "trans" in conversation, and that will carry over here.
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From Wikipedia:
So far, I am out to all of my friends, but not to my family or my boss. I have a supportive and understanding partner. I have yet to start any counseling, but I plan to start as soon as possible. Ideally I would at least like to be on hormones and out to my family/boss by the end of this year.
If I use any unfamiliar vocabulary while writing, comment and I'm happy to clarify anything. This should not end up being a day to day blog - mostly I'll be using it for new important stuff or past stories. Hopefully this can someday add to the small pile of information out there.
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From Wikipedia:
"Transgender is the state of one's "gender identity" (self-identification as male, female, both or neither) not matching one's "assigned gender" (identification by others as male or female based on physical/genetic sex). "Transgender" does not imply any specific form of sexual orientation; transgender people may identify as heterosexual, homosexual, bisexual, pansexual, polysexual or asexual. The precise definition for transgender remains in flux, but includes:
- "Of, relating to, or designating a person whose identity does not conform unambiguously to conventional notions of male or female gender, but combines or moves between these."[1]
- "People who were assigned a gender, usually at birth and based on their genitals, but who feel that this is a false or incomplete description of themselves."[2]
- "Non-identification with, or non-presentation as, the gender one was assigned at birth."[3]
So far, I am out to all of my friends, but not to my family or my boss. I have a supportive and understanding partner. I have yet to start any counseling, but I plan to start as soon as possible. Ideally I would at least like to be on hormones and out to my family/boss by the end of this year.
If I use any unfamiliar vocabulary while writing, comment and I'm happy to clarify anything. This should not end up being a day to day blog - mostly I'll be using it for new important stuff or past stories. Hopefully this can someday add to the small pile of information out there.
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