I was on my way to work when my ‘phone rang- withheld number. Now, ordinarily I wouldn’t answer, but I know that my GP often withholds, and I’d been trying to sort out the omnishambles that has been changing my name.
Sure enough, it was my GP. She’d just found out that she could prescribe me testosterone, and did I want it?
Do I want it?
I said no. It was literally the day after I wrote that post saying how much I don’t want testosterone. And I don’t. I know I don’t.
But I envy people who do. I get all excited for them when they start. I think about how much better their lives could become. And I’m not going to lie, I want that.
And I think about all the people who desperately need the prescription I turned down. Whose dysphoria does a lot more than trap them in the shower crying. Who could be in severe danger of being hurt before they get to the top of the GIC waiting list.
I felt so guilty saying “no”.
And since, I’ve had dreams. Beautiful dreams, where T doesn’t have the side effects I fear, and so I tell Sunshine and he’s happy for me and I go on and it’s wonderful. My voice gets lower. I never get misgendered. I don’t lose my job.
But I know it’s not like that. That T would mean irreversible changes that fill me with dread.
And then. There’s the part of me that says the only reason you don’t want T, the only reason that really matters, is that you’re afraid Sunshine will leave you. All the rest are just excuses.
Today, the sermon was dissecting Luke 9:51-62. If you’re not religious, bear with me. In it, Jesus meets three people on the road and asks them to follow him, but two have other things they want to do first. One says he wants to bury his father. Another says he needs to go home and say goodbye to his family.
Now, I’d always seen these as pretty legitimate excuses, and thought Jesus was being a bit impatient by refusing them. But the priest explained- Jesus knew that they were only excuses. That rather than say “I don’t want to”, they said something else instead.
So what if I’m saying these twelve things, when really I mean something else?
I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. I’m afraid of going to Daventry and them refusing to give me top surgery because I won’t take T. And I feel like I’ve got to deal with all this baggage now because I can’t let them know how confused I am. And Sunshine’s in Canada and I’m just in so much pain because I have a lipoma on my spine (getting removed tomorrow, thank the NHS).
There’s no happy concluding paragraph on this one, the one where I figure it all out. Sometimes, it doesn’t work out that way, I guess. Oh well.