Whether it’s beer, music or football, I can’t abide fakery in life. And that extends to being trans as well – I wanna keep it real.
So I’ve just got back from my third appointment at Nottingham Gender Clinic – and it’s the best possible news. The experts there agree I have gender dysphora and, subject to my blood tests being OK, have agreed to prescribe estrogen. *Punches air*
Butterflies seem to be an important part of the symbolism of being transgender, especially for those about to transition, leaving that ugly caterpillar body behind, entering a second-puberty chrysalis and then emerging as a beautiful creature at the end of it all.
A little update a few hours ahead of my second gender clinic appointment. Deed Poll – signed. Sperm – frozen (twice). Finasteride – prescribed. Time spent en femme in Birmingham and Sheffield – hours and hours. So much done but still so much to do!
I’ve never made any secret of the fact that I’ve never really had a burning desire to be a dad. But being a mum – albeit not a bioligical one – is a whole different kettle of fish. So, today, I went to freeze a few million sperm.
Just got off the phone to my sister – and it appears there are major concerns about my transition from my parents – and my brother-in-law. Great!
Well, today was the day I’ve been counting down to since September 7, 2015 – my first appointment at Nottingham Gender Clinic (or whatever it’s been rebranded to this week). It was quite a day – it had its ups and its downs, and now I feel utterly exhausted.