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.
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.