Finding Nevo
Page 8
The situation with my mum wasn’t improving. I had thought she was dealing with things in her own time, but she wasn’t confronting my transition at all, rather she was pushing it to the side and hoping it would go away. I was faced with a difficult dilemma. I had to decide whether to give my mum more time and space to process the news, or whether to give her a bit more of a push. I wanted to be patient and understanding with her, but it was coming at the cost of my own mental health. I dreaded going home every day and didn’t feel I could be myself. I wanted her to understand the seriousness of the situation.
I had a few more conversations with her, then realised she needed to speak to people who were more detached from the situation. At separate points I got Shannon and Tia to sit with her and talk everything through. I think it helped. It was easier for her to grasp the situation when she was able to talk it out with other people without my presence. They tried to help her see how she could better support me, and shifted emphasis on how my transition was affecting her back onto how it was affecting me. It was through these conversations that something clicked for my mum.
Once it happened, it seemed an almost overnight change. Mum bought some books about supporting trans children and started reading those and other materials that I had sent to her. She was finally ready to listen and let me in. Slowly, she began calling me her son and used my new name. Our relationship became much closer; in fact, she became my biggest advocate.
I am incredibly grateful to my mother. We do a lot of activist work together in the community, which is wonderful. I am impressed at how she was able to overcome her difficulties and accept and love me for who I am. Although I still feel pain in regards to how she treated me at the beginning of my transition, her ability to take responsibility for her mistakes and apologise is what has saved our relationship.
After I came out to my year level, a girl in my class messaged me and said she knew someone indirectly who was also trans, and if I needed support I should try to reach out to him. At that point I had never actually spoken to another trans man. I found this guy on Facebook and sent him a message. We began speaking and I asked him a lot of questions. He was extremely patient and helped me see things from a different perspective. He encouraged the idea that I could have a future, and be happy with myself, and that the dysphoria I’d been experiencing would pass, or at least I would learn how to deal with it better. He also debunked some myths surrounding testosterone. He explained it’s not a wonder drug that would solve everything and I should be seeking help for any mental and emotional stuff I was going through. He told me the changes would be very gradual and dependent on my genetics, and described the process he went through in Melbourne to get testosterone and surgery. This advice was very different to what was online, which was mostly from men in America. It was the first time I had spoken face to face with someone who understood. I felt hopeful and positive.
Something that struck me was that he couldn’t remember how long it had been since he had chest surgery. I was blown away by the fact that his life didn’t revolve around his transition. He wasn’t counting the months or years since gender-related milestones and they were not the only things dictating his life. I longed for this to be my life too. The most significant thing he told me was I was going to need to stop trying to be a man. I was shocked; he sounded exactly like my family and friends. I thought he understood me, but this comment hurt. He went on to explain, “I don’t mean that you’re not a man, but you’re not a cis-man. You are never going to be a cis-man. You’ll probably never have a functioning penis, and you won’t be like other men in that way. That’s okay, because you’re your own type of man, exactly as you are. You don’t have to change anything or try to be like other guys. You can just be you, you’re a trans-man, and that’s a special kind of man because you’re not like everyone else, you’re you.”
In that moment, I was offended and disheartened. I wanted to believe I could eventually be like any other man; I could have a penis and assimilate into the regulated gender norms ascribed to men. I didn’t want to think of myself as different. Over time however, I began to see that maybe the things I had been reading about being a man weren’t true. I could do whatever I wanted. It did not matter how people read me, whether it was as a woman or a man, because regardless, I was being true to myself and that’s what mattered the most. This was crucial advice and needed to come from another trans person who intimately understood. It took a long while to allow myself to address those statements, but they have since stuck with me throughout my transition.
Nevo and their mum, Sharon, at their high school graduation (2013)
Chapter 9: Testing Testosterone
The process to get on testosterone was going to be long and arduous and I felt the need to begin as soon as possible. As usual, I had done my research and knew that the best place for me to go would be the Monash Gender Dysphoria Clinic. I had to send in a letter, with a referral from a GP and a psychologist. I got the documents together and sent them in as quickly as I could. I was excited to see a doctor or medical professional who specialised in gender. When I didn’t hear from them for a while, I called to see what was happening. It turned out that there was a very long waiting list to even get an appointment, let alone to get approval for testosterone. I was unable to get testosterone until I was eighteen without going to family court. I was about seven months away from turning eighteen.
Eventually, I had to make the call to bypass the waiting lists and go to see the gender psychiatrist, which meant more out-of-pocket expenses. Being able to do this was an immense privilege. My parents could see how much I was struggling and were willing to assist financially with the appointments, and this coupled with the Medicare rebates we received meant I was able to book my first appointment with Dr Fintan Harte in July 2013.
I took the tram from school. I was nervous and terribly eager for the appointment. Fintan greeted me and welcomed me into his rooms. Mostly we spoke about my childhood, times I felt I was a boy, how my family had interacted with me throughout my life and through my coming outs. He did tests and examinations and asked me strange questions I didn’t understand the relevance of. It took five months, six sessions and a significant amount of money, but he eventually gave me the referral to the endocrinologist who would be responsible for writing my testosterone script. The whole medical process was gruelling and I think if I went through it now, it wouldn’t be as simple. At the time, I felt I had been born in the wrong body, that I was a man trapped in a woman’s body. This is the kind of language the medical world loves. It is textbook for transgender people, and therefore I was more likely to get the medical treatment I needed if I felt this way. This is no longer how I feel, and therefore I think I would have struggled far more now to attain the same treatment. I needed to be a certain kind of transgender person to be taken seriously and given the support that I needed.
While both my parents were struggling with my transition, I suggested that after my gender assessment they should speak to Fintan directly and get a medical perspective. They were both apprehensive about me taking testosterone and I thought this could be helpful. They needed to see him individually, as they weren’t exactly on speaking terms, so I organised an appointment for each of them. My mum had come to understand things better and had read books and resources on supporting her trans child. She asked Fintan questions and he seemed impressed with the level of love and support she was willing to offer. He assured her testosterone would likely be the right pathway for me and spoke of the many clients he had worked with over the years who had gone on to live healthy and fulfilling lives after undergoing medical transition.
Dad had a hard time wrapping his head around the idea of me taking testosterone. He was confused about the situation and throughout the appointment he used the wrong pronouns and messed up my name. By the end the doctor pointed this out, and suggested he needed to take time to think about my transition and try to adjust. My dad said he needed a one hundred per cent guarantee testo
sterone would be the right thing for me. The doctor responded that this was not possible. There was no scientific test that had been done specifically on me to produce that kind of result. However, he could tell my dad through experience, research, knowledge and understanding that there was about a ninety-seven per cent chance taking testosterone would enhance the quality of my life. Dad said afterwards that he felt attacked during the appointment, as if Fintan and I had ganged up on him and he didn’t have the time or space to process everything.
Despite everything I had gone through in my last few months of high school, I managed to do well in my exams. I worked hard and enjoyed the academic side of my schooling. I didn’t enjoy the pressure placed on me or on the numbered rank that I would produce, that would apparently determine my worth. I got a great result, but it meant very little to me. I couldn’t wait to leave school forever and discover what my life could be like outside of that constricting institution. I threw out the huge piles of notes I had made and the bandaids I used to cover my piercings, and I cut up my uniform.
I was excited to think I would now be able to express myself however I wanted. I would not be told how to dress or present myself. I was free.
I had a ten-month trip to Israel and travel afterwards to look forward to. I needed to work hard to raise enough money to go away. I got two jobs as well as other odd tasks and worked about ten-hour days on average from as soon as I finished school until I went away. I needed money for my doctor’s appointments and testosterone, which was going to cost me about $100 a month. While working, I made a very difficult decision to create a crowdfunding website to help fundraise for my testosterone. I felt strange about it because in so many ways I was privileged and capable of working and earning my own money. I spoke to many people about it and received the support I needed. I wasn’t forcing anyone to donate; it was there as an extra helping hand, and it did help. I worked in a charity call centre and an electronic toyshop. These were the first jobs I had ever worked where people read me as a man and didn’t know I was trans. I had been out as trans at a job in the past, but because I had transitioned while there, my boss frequently made mistakes and this influenced how customers treated me. They would initially gender me as male, and as soon as pronoun mistakes were made, they would quickly shift their perceptions.
It was easier for me starting new jobs, where people knew me only by the name by which I introduced myself. But I wasn’t sure what to do when signing work contracts, which required my name, title and gender. I didn’t want to out myself as trans at work, but was concerned about the legalities of being truthful on my forms. I decided that for my safety it was better to tick the male box and write “Mr”.
I was misgendered over the phone many times at the call centre, which highlighted the anxiety I already had over my voice. Once I was speaking to a man over the phone, trying to get him to donate to a charity I was representing. He said, “Darling, did you know it’s my birthday? Would you give me a kiss? I’m sixty today, sweetheart.” I had to explain I was a man and he immediately became apologetic. He only wanted to flirt inappropriately if I was a woman.
Another day, one of my co-workers at the call centre pulled a friend of mine aside and asked her if I was actually a boy, because I had such a “pretty” face. I overheard the conversation and felt my stomach stir with anxiety. She mocked me when she thought I wasn’t looking, and when I confronted my boss, he told me to ignore her. I enjoyed working at the toyshop much more because flying helicopters are more exciting than phone conversations, but also I was being read as male the entire time. Read as a fourteen-year-old boy rather than my actual age, but a boy nonetheless.
As I became closer with my co-workers at the toyshop, a new issue arose. I realised there were parts of my past I couldn’t discuss without revealing I was trans. It became difficult to navigate telling stories and I had to change them in order to reflect having lived as a man my whole life. Although this felt disingenuous, I was excited to be treated as a man and I didn’t care about erasing certain parts of my past. However, being treated as a man meant really being treated as a man. Other male co-workers assumed they were in good company and would say misogynistic things to me as women passed the shop. I wanted to call them out over this behaviour, yet at the same time I was terrified that doing so would out me as trans, and I would lose the belonging I felt. I never managed to stay silent over these comments because they made me angry, but I also didn’t stand up as much as I could have.
Before going to see the endocrinologist and talking about the potential of beginning testosterone, I wanted to find out the effects it would have on my reproductive system and whether I would still be able to have children. I wanted to explore the option of freezing my eggs so I could have biological children. Though I knew that if this was not possible, I would adopt children or find another way to have them.
I had received varying advice from different medical professionals, so I decided to go to an IVF specialist. I spent $300 to find out this woman was not the right person to talk to. Because I hadn’t made a concrete decision, there wasn’t much she could help me with aside from informing me that freezing my eggs for approximately ten years would cost me about $7000. She also explained it was likely testosterone would ruin my reproductive system and it wouldn’t be an option to have children once I began taking it, and I should consider that before deciding not to freeze.
I started thinking about why biological children were actually important to me and how I would feel if that wasn’t possible. A lot of my hang-ups regarding the need to have children biologically related to me were definitely influenced and indoctrinated by societal standards. I knew I would always find a way to have a child. If it was meant to be, things would work themselves out in regards to testosterone. I knew I needed to be on testosterone to feel secure in myself and validated. I desperately wanted the effects it would bring, and I understood that it could mean a sacrifice I may later regret. But at that point there was no other choice outside of testosterone. So I tried to detach myself from the idea of biological children.
I went to see the endocrinologist with my mum on the same day I had seen the IVF specialist. He was a polite older man, very relaxed, and did not reciprocate the excitement I was feeling over the possibility that I could receive my testosterone script. He explained the possible side effects – the good ones, the bad ones and the fairly scary ones. Mum sat there and nodded and he told her she was taking this surprisingly well. She responded, “Well, what choice do I have?” And he said, “You wouldn’t believe how many people I get in here who come without their family’s support. Who have been kicked out of their homes and are on their own.” To which she replied, “It hasn’t been easy, but this is my child. I have to be here to support and love them regardless. They are the same person, just a different package.” And I knew Mum had finally begun to understand. I needed her during this, and it felt like she was finally there. I let out a breath I felt I had been holding for months.
The endocrinologist explained that it was possible to come off the medication for a certain period and that my ovulation cycle and periods would resume as normal. But testosterone affects different people in various ways and there isn’t very much research into these matters. Of course it wasn’t very comforting to receive totally contradictory advice from different medical professionals, but it’s something that, as a trans person, I have adjusted to. The most important thing was to be on testosterone; it was the only thing getting me out of bed every morning. That was more important than protecting my unborn children that didn’t yet exist. I needed to protect myself.
The doctor handed me the testosterone prescription and my knuckles turned white from holding it so tight. I couldn’t believe I had it in my hands. The future looked brighter. The future looked existent.
Aside from the medical difficulties and waiting lists and fees I had to face to get my testosterone script, there was a lot more that went into the decision. I felt that every force was working
against me starting testosterone, and that was difficult because I had been struggling for a long time and was counting on it. I thought people would understand how important it was to me and that I wasn’t making this decision lightly. Even though I was aware it wasn’t an all-in-one solution to my mental health issues, I knew gender affirmation in any form would allow me to live a better life.
My own brain working overtime had consumed me and it became difficult to think of others and be a better person. I was self-involved and anxious. I wanted silence so I could refocus my life with others at the centre, rather than just myself. I wanted to be less mentally exhausted. Many people around me didn’t understand.
I was only a few months away from eighteen. Shortly after my birthday, I would be travelling to Israel with Habo to engage in a year-long leadership program. I wanted to start testosterone right away but there were a few things holding me back.
Tia was afraid. We had been together for three years. There was uncertainty surrounding the future of our relationship, and the gender stuff mixed in there complicated things further. Although Tia had been exceptionally understanding and supportive throughout my transition, when it came to testosterone I think it enhanced an insecurity that she had already. She thought I would change too much while away and we would not be able to rebuild a relationship when I returned. She wanted to be a part of my transition and didn’t like the idea of me potentially coming home a different person.
My family was against the idea of me going on testosterone while I was away. I think they were nervous about the trip in general. It would be the longest time I’d been away from them, and that coupled with the potential of me physically transitioning was too much. They were concerned that I would change while overseas and they would no longer recognise me. They were worried about how young I was and felt I wasn’t self-aware enough to be certain that this was the right thing. They also wanted me to go through the journey with my family to support me and were worried I wouldn’t have enough support from the people I was travelling with.