On Friday, I’m going to see a surgeon. I’m one of the lucky ones, living in California. My insurance will pay entirely for gender surgery. A few weeks ago (was it only that long ago?) I called Kaiser, that has a specialized transgender clinic in the East Bay. I spent a very nice time with a mental health specialist, who was I guess going through the varied things needed to make sure that I was OK for starting this process.
I’m excited and petrified. Going to doctors isn’t really all that fun for me (I don’t know that it is for most people.) But I have a fairly long history with them, having had a number of medical ailments in my life. I’ve had mostly great doctors, and a few horrible doctors, and some in between.
But there is something really vulnerable about going to a surgeon (a *plastic* surgeon at that) about this thing that has been so tender for me for a long time.
I’ve never liked my breasts, since the beginning moment they began to grow. I started puberty really late (more on that later) and it happened fast. One minute, I had a body that I liked enough. The next minute (or so it seemed), I had a body I hated. I have gotten much, much better at loving this body, but knowing that I can get rid of my breasts is a relief. I know for many of you that might seem harsh. If you love your breasts, I’m happy for you. If you don’t have any, but want some, I can’t really understand, but I can hold a space for that for you. But the idea of not having them feels so freeing.
Right now, this feels like it’s the right step for me to take. Are there other steps? I don’t know yet. Possibly, probably, maybe, who knows. One halting step at a time.