Kicking Down the Closet Door

E has been on anti-androgens for several months. She told her big brother. She couldn't quite tell her parents. And she didn't want to start anything that would produce visible changes until we knew. J, in classic over-bearing-because-I-love-you big brother fashion decided to nudge things along. One day at work I received a text message from J that there was big news and he wasn't allowed to tell me, but he could hint. It was a rare quiet afternoon, so I said I was ready. Mom's can be sooooooo naïve sometimes. No one is ever ready for this. No one. Not even (maybe especially) the one stepping out of the closet.

The hint was, "Testosterone blockers."

Did I mention J can be an idiot? He was ten when I became a pharmacy technician. His wife is a pharmacist. He should know if we aren't familiar with a drug, we'll get there quick. So, after a brief check, I determined that I missed something and responded with something on the line of, "Your brother is becoming your sister?" Then I dropped the phone in my pocket and got back to work.

A few minutes later I learned that my son was indeed becoming my daughter. I'd like to say that I was immediately supportive and just the bestest mom ever. I'd like to say that, but it would be a lie.  That text knocked the wind out of me ~ darned near knocked me over. The pharmacists standing next to me could tell something big just happened. I stammered, managed to tell them what I learned. So many things rushed through me ~ all negative. The hormones. The surgeries. The umpteen ways they could go wrong. The social implications, could he ever find someone who'd accept the change? How will he pay for it? This must be hugely expensive. But, but, but, God doesn't make mistakes. 

One of my co-workers had worked for ten years at the Trinidad Clinic under Dr Stanley Biber (the man who pioneered sexual reassignment surgery in the US). She was a Godsend, truly. She heard the (borderline hysterical) trauma in my voice and piped up. When I asked if my child could be happy after, she assured me that the transgender people she knows are happy and fulfilled. Fulfilled? Hadn't thought of that. Then the questions started. Someone else joined the conversation who thought it was theoretical and asked more detailed physiological questions. At that point I learned way too much. After all, we were talking about my baby. When researching, tread carefully ~ many sites post too many details far too bluntly. Parents need to be eased in.

As I digested the news, I realized that, by the nature of my job, I am far more aware of the small percentage of bad outcomes. Nearly all surgeries in this country provide the desired outcome. Hormone therapy is safer than ever, with physicians aiming for the lowest effective dose. He (no, she) could be happy and fulfilled. Money, well insurance will pay, he's in a union and has good insurance (I was wrong about that ~ her insurance sucks). As for God?

I prayed. A lot. And then I prayed some more. I am Catholic. I sit in Mass every Sunday and wonder if I am supposed to disown my son. God answered. Loudly. One particular Bible verse resonated in my head. John 13:34. Does God make mistakes? Of course not. But sometimes God creates challenges. If you would give child a cochlear implant, or a heart transplant, why would you not correct gender dysphoria?

John 13:34 ~A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so must you love one another.

There is nothing in that instruction about judging, ostracizing, disowning, just love. And I can love my daughter just as much as I love my son.