I suppose this works as a follow up to the post I wrote the other day. The news of the day (well, really the last couple of days) is our public introduction to Caitlyn Jenner. The first moment I saw the cover and looked at Caitlyn I thought to myself, "She looks amazing!" What I saw was a woman who looked comfortable and confident in her body. When I watched the interview with Diane Sawyer, I saw something different, a person that looked uncomfortable. Perhaps this was partially projection on my side, but looking at the two side by side, there is a difference.
The downside to such a public transition is the very public voice that begins to emerge. Of course, in my news feed I see many comments of support. When I click on the various articles and links and look at the comments on them, a different voice is seen. People refusing to use the new name. Refusing to use the correct pronoun. People describing this as disgusting and against God's Will. And, of course, those who see this as nothing by a stunt to get more ratings.
My first experience with transgender folks was back in the late '90s. I was working for USWest at the time and one of my co-worker's husband was beginning to transition. As a male, he struggled with depression which fueled an alcohol addiction. He felt trapped in a life that wasn't right. He loved his wife, but hated his body and who he was. My co-worker had taken the job at USWest partially because she needed the pay it offered, but also because of the medical benefits it provided her spouse. These benefits included hormones and surgery.
This co-worker was the first I'd come out to at work. I was out in my private life and USWest had an LGBT employee organization that gave me the courage to be out at work too. After I told her, she had someone that she could open up to about what she was experiencing with her spouse. I didn't know really anything about transitioning. I especially didn't understand why someone would want to. I was raised as a boy and always felt comfortable with all of my bits and pieces. I couldn't really wrap my brain around the idea, but I lent a sympathetic ear.
The hardest part for my co-worker was that she wanted to get her spouse out of the house. Living in Helena, her spouse was terrified of going out. Of the looks and the comments. I left USWest and started managing a movie theater. It became their special treat with one another. They'd come during the week, when we didn't have many customers. They knew that I'd make both of them feel welcome. The first time I met my co-worker's spouse I was confused. I didn't know what to say or how to act, but I smiled and thanked them for coming in. I keep using the word spouse because that was how they preferred to recognize each other.
I understood immediately why her spouse was afraid to go out. She had a very masculinized body, even after being on hormones for quite sometime. She told me on one their nights out that she hated that all anyone saw was a man in a dress. I told her that I didn't see her that way and she told me I was sweet. But it was true. I didn't see her as a man in a dress. I saw her as a woman. With tears in her eyes, she kissed me on the cheek.
After I moved to Missoula, I had the good fortune of meeting other people who were in various stages of transitioning. I still didn't understand it, but I supported them. I made a few stumbles, mixing up pronouns or deflecting my own insecurities and lack of internal understanding with my usual off-color remarks. One particular moment of stupidity on my part came when I asked a friend if she planned to have surgery. She said she wasn't sure and my brain hit a speed bump. Until then, I thought the end goal of transitioning was complete transformation. I made a remark, which I won't repeat here, that ended up ending our relationship. It wasn't my intent to insult her or hurt her. I reacted without thinking. It has been years since it happened and I still feel utterly ashamed of it.
The first moment of understanding happened when I had my first complete physical examination from a doctor. I was thirty at the time, which probably sounds odd that I was that old before having a physical. I was never involved in any athletics or other activities which would require it and I had never thought to actually schedule an appointment to have one. After the urging of my husband, we agreed to do it together. Our doctor's office let us set up back to back appointments with our doctor and he examined us together. I was the first one of us to have to "turn his head and cough," and that was when it happened. He couldn't find my testicles. I was horribly embarrassed in the moment, especially when he looked up at me and asked why I had never noticed that I was different, given that I am a homosexual man and likely had seen other men. I figured everyone is a little different and just chalked it up to genetics. He eventually found them, but was concerned and ordered an extra set of tests.
When my lab results came back, I met with the doctor again. He explained that normally a male should have a testosterone level of between 300 - 1000. Mine was 60. Another round of tests looking at the pituitary gland and other areas that could affect it showed those levels as normal. He said it was possible that I was XXY. We could run tests to confirm it, but they'd be expensive and my insurance wouldn't cover it. This visit was the first time I had heard the term intersex and he used it to describe me. He wasn't convinced that I was XXY as I lacked many of the tell-tale body signals for it, including the fact that I had quite a bit of body hair. Before meeting with me, he had contacted an endocrinologist and showed him the test results and the recommendation was to treat me as if I was XXY and put me on testosterone replacement.
I remember trying to reconcile myself as intersexed. Up until that moment, my understanding of myself was that I was born male, I was raised male, I felt male. I had a rough time growing a beard, but had long attributed it to the Native American genes I'd inherited from my father. I had some struggles at first, but resolved that I was male. There was no question in my mind about this at all.
This changed a couple of years ago. It was a particularly icy winter day. As long as I can remember, I have been terrified of icy conditions, always afraid I was going to slip and crack my head open. I got to the bottom of my stairs and slipped on a patch of ice landed on the right side of my butt. After a couple of failed attempts, I struggled to my feet. I walked around the corner of my building to my car. As I stepped off the curb, my foot found another patch of ice and down I went, landing the same way as I did before. I was frustrated, cold and wet as I pushed myself up. I drove in the early morning darkness to work. I noticed I was running late, I tried to walk quickly and carefully towards the office doors. I saw the glimmer of another patch of ice and figured I would try to get to the get around it, but missed the snow covered ice patch in from of me. Down I went, but this time with more speed and force. Like the previous two times, I landed on my right side. This time was different. As I got up, I felt like I had taken a swift kick to the groin and my stomach was in knots.
I told the security guys about my fall and had to write up an incident report. I reported it to my supervisor and she gave me the Worker's Compensation information. I told her I was certain that it wasn't necessary, but took it anyways. The whole day was one of general pain, as anyone who has been kicked can attest.
I didn't realize anything was wrong until I got home and started a shower for myself. I saw the dark bruise along my thigh from my wallet chain. I could see each link in the bruise. As I started to wash up, my mind became aware even if I didn't want to be. Two things were missing. They might be different from other males, but I knew where they should be and they weren't there. My testicles had vanished. I was too embarrassed to insist on going to the ER, figuring a trip to Urgent Care in the morning would be ok. I was in shock. I couldn't really think. The next morning, the doctor confirmed they were not where they should be. After a trip to radiology to get an ultra sound, I was told by a student technician, a regular technician, and then a radiologist that they couldn't find both of them. The radiologist did find one, but not where it should be. Returning to Urgent Care, the doctor said that they may have retreated and the trauma may have caused swelling. He gave me some NSAIDS and sent me home. I dubbed this whole even "Finding Nemo," only we still hadn't found them.
I scheduled a follow up with my doctor for a few weeks later. They had moved, but still hadn't returned home. The doctor felt around and eventually found both of them but was unable to get them to go back to where they should be. He let me know that both of them were dislocated, something I didn't know could happen. It is rare, but can (and clearly does) happen. My doctor's initial assessment was that since they seemed to drop down to regulate temperature, it could be left as is. We could also set up surgery to pull them down and stitch them into place. The last option was to have them removed, since they weren't doing their normal job anyways. He cautioned that if they stop regulating temperature, it may lead to testicular cancer, at which point removal would be the only viable option. To date, I haven't had any surgery.
The accident brought back up the questions I had about my sex. Now, part of my external was missing. It created a good bit of dissonance for me. Inside, in my mind, I felt male. Outside, in my body, I felt distinctly not male. Given their size, I was surprised that it could feel so different, but it did. Over the years I have questioned myself if I'd feel more male if I had them pulled back into place. Or should I have them removed and see if replacement would work. Since I haven't done it, I don't know, but the veil had been pulled back for me. I realize that this isn't quite the same for transgender folk, but I started to understand. The accident dropped my testosterone level even lower (putting it at 40). I felt externally more akin to the doctor's diagnosis of intersex. But, that isn't who I am inside.
My mind started to settle when I took a class on Gender, Race, and Class. Added to this, I also took a class focused on Queer Theory. Through these classes and by reaching out and talking to my friends who are transitioning, I started to consider sex and gender differently. I realized that I could be intersex and male. That the bits didn't define how I, or anyone else, had identify or express themselves. I can be masculine most of the time and have my feminine moments and still be male. People transitioning don't need to have surgery. The goal, at least as I have come to understand it, is to be happy and healthy and be who you are supposed to be. And, ultimately, to have the world see you for who you are.
I have to thank all of my friends of all sorts of genders. I know I haven't always been the quickest learner. Sometimes, as much as I'd like to just be able to understand and empathize/sympathize, I need to experience some part of it. All of you have been wonderful about answering questions, especially when I have felt awkward asking. I have always felt like we have grown into a culture that is too afraid to ask personal questions. Sometimes the answer, isn't any of our business. And I am always ok with the answer of "None of your business, Will." But, for me at least, the easiest way I can understand to question. To take the answer and mull it over and take into me all of what I can of it. Sometimes, it leads to more questions. Other times, it clicks and I get an "AHH GOT IT!"
I decided to write this after seeing so many hurtful comments out there about Caitlyn and others in transition. To me it seems odd. As we grow up, we change. For me, I have changed names a few times. I was Cody for a while (and still am to my family). I have been Bill. Most of the time, anymore, I am somewhere between William and Will. And when I am especially Irish, I am Liam. I am not the same person I was when I was 6. Nor am I the person I was in my twenties. I can't even say that I am totally the person I was three years ago, before I started school. At no point, was I ever met with resistance about my changes. No one ever told me that it was disgusting that I had changed. Nor was it unnatural. Or against God's Will. Now, admittedly, these types of changes aren't the same as people who are transitioning. And most people, looking at me, wouldn't know that I am classified as intersex. But, I feel like people should accept the changes people make in themselves. It takes a good deal of courage to be who you are. Love them. Accept them. Support them. Even if you don't fully get why they might have changed-- because life is too short and precious to fill with hate.
