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.
I’ve been giving blood for two or three years now despite having a fear of needles – the pain of being jabbed is more than cancelled out by the fuzzy feeling that you could have saved someone’s life. Also, you get cool certificates and badges – yay! But things get a bit more tricky when you’re transgender. So here’s my experience to date.
Finally, after 18-and-a-half months of waiting, I have my letter from Nottingham GIC – my golden ticket to a six-month gender clinic process and then (hopefully, please!) my passport to estrogen HRT for the rest of my life. Wow!
So a year ago, I began my journey towards what I hoped would see me taking estrogen, and testosterone blockers. And you all know what that means – lovely boobs (hooray!), a bigger bum (yay!), less body hair (bliss!) and everything else.
Today, September 7th, is the one-year anniversary of my referral by my GP to Nottingham GIC, or Nottingham Centre for Gender Dysphoria as it’s called these days. I walked out of the doctors’ surgery feeling on top of the world – I’d finally taken the first step to becoming the real me. I’d never felt such excitement and optimism before. I was so happy.
“Gentleman”, “he”, “his”, “Mr”. All pretty macho, eh? Apart from that last line maybe.