Cracked Unknown Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Tonight, I can't stop crying.

And so, I decided to write.

I am angry. Frustrated. This has been a shitty week, and I am so, so very tired of having to advocate ALL THE TIME for my kids. My beautiful, innocent, hilarious, sweet, authentic, maddening, and loving little kids.

This week, I had an appointment with my primary care doctor. I'll start there.

A little backstory:
Recently, I have been working a lot more with transgender youth in our community, even working to help start a local support group for families like ours. This has been amazing. However, the more we meet with these families, and pool our collective resources ("Who is your dentist? Do you have a trans* friendly primary care doctor? Has anyone found someone local that does hormone replacement therapy, or do we still need to drive two hours?"), the more gaps and holes we find in our community care for our kids. We educate, we advocate, and sometimes bang our heads against the wall in a communal cry of grief and frustration that we have to drive so far for appropriate trans* sensitive care, and explain our children so frequently, to the people that we entrust our children with- doctors, educators, mental health providers, churches, etc.

Several weeks ago, a mom in our group emailed me with an urgent request for a new primary care doctor for her transgender daughter, who is a young adult, and too old to see any of my pediatric contacts. So, I emailed my contacts. I emailed some friends. My friends made some calls. We got some referrals. Those didn't work- the young transwoman felt more comfortable with a female primary care physician. The referrals that I had been sent were all male primary care doctors.

This seemed reasonable. This kid has been through so much- if she feels more comfortable with a female doctor, we would find her a female doctor.

So coincidentally (and after striking out on these local contacts), I happened to have an appointment with my primary care physician. My doctor happens to be female. My appointment was just a physical, routine, nothing serious. I thought, while I was there, that I might ask her if she had any referrals or ideas.

Today
After the shortest appointment in history (seriously- that was a full physical??), I mentioned to my doctor that I wanted to have a private conversation. She nodded, and then closed the door to our exam room.

(But in hindsight, um, WHY was it open in the first place??! Hello, hospital gown!)

"So," I began, "I have sort of a, um, delicate question for you. I have started working for a local transgender advocacy network, and we have several young adults that are seeking local primary care doctors that are trans* friendly. One young woman in particular is in need of immediate care. Would that be something that you have experience with, and feel comfortable treating?"

Silence. More silence. Uncomfortable, long, painful silence. 

This is not what I had expected.

The doctor swallowed, staring at me the whole time. She cleared her throat. I was starting to feel uneasy.

"Well," she finally replied, slowly, "I think that any physician would have to treat these people, these days. So yes, I suppose that I could treat these people...."

Wait. Stop right there. These people?? These people are my kids. These people are my family. These people are people that I love and care for deeply. These people are my friends, my new family, friends' kids that we know and love. Our genderwild tribe.

She wasn't done. Unfortunately. "But, you know, my schedule is really full, and I'm about to go out on leave...there's probably at least a four month wait at this point," she continued. I waited. I was still fuming about these people. Enough with the excuses. Please! It was so obvious that this woman was very uncomfortable, and in over her head.

"Alright," I said finally, letting a little silence hang between us. 

"So," I started again, trying really hard to keep the irritation out of my voice: "Since you are unavailable at this point, do you know of any physicians that you could refer this particular young adult to? The young woman that is looking for a trans* sensitive primary care doctor?" 

And here's where it started to go from bad to worse.

"And," I continued, "you know that I have two trans* identified kids as well, right? I would refer this young woman to my pediatrician, who is very trans* friendly, but the patient is over 18 years old." And with those two sentences, hastily spoken, I outed my kids.

I wish I had thought that one through. Here's a tip for myself, for next time- there is no point in "outing" yourself to someone who has already made a snarky remark about your family. These people indeed. Good Lord.

You see, I also forgot to mention to you, my readers, that this doctor is a friend of someone in our family, well that is, our family of origin. This particular family member has not been very supportive of our children, for a long time, and we have only just started to make progress. I guess I figured that this family member might have mentioned our situation to her friend, my primary care doctor? And that maybe, since this doctor was a trained medical professional, that she could handle herself like a professional?

Apparently that was assuming too much.

The doctor inhaled sharply, and pursed her lips. Her whole body language changed, to an even more defensive stance. Gone was the open ease from when our appointment first began. This woman was clearly uncomfortable, and as I watched her eyes narrow, my heart sank. 

I can do this, I thought to myself. And, I am so thankful for the supportive medical team that takes care of my kids. This is a good reality check for me- not all physicians are supportive! 

And, I think I will need a new doctor. For me.

My doctor shook her head, no, she wasn't aware that I had transgender children. She didn't ask me any questions about that, either. She didn't have to- I could feel her disapproval radiating off of her from across the exam room.

We quickly ended the appointment. 

And with that, my thick skin cracked. 

I remember now...

This, after a week of fighting with our school to end the gender identity bullying from older children towards our genderwild kiddo. We ask, we remind them, and still nothing is done. I finally offered to do the training myself- enough is enough. My child deserves to feel safe at school, not ridiculed or shunned.

And...

This, after another conversation with my mother, having to explain to her again why she can't take my youngest child on a birthday trip, after my mother so clearly would not take my transgender child on the same trip two years earlier. "I remember that you wouldn't let him go with me," my mother forcefully said to me on the phone, talking about my 6 year old transgender daughter. "He didn't want to go with me." My reply: "Mom, you're right- we didn't let Alex go with you, because you don't accept her for who she is. She wanted the princess birthday, and you wouldn't have it- you wanted boy clothes and boy toys, and that's not our child." 

Honestly, I feel like we are not even talking about the same child. I have a little girl, who is almost seven. My mother is still mad about the little boy that never really was.

And so, the tears flow. My thick skin feels weary and cracked- my defenses have been battered, my advocacy feels tired and worn.

So tonight, I just decide to let those tears flow. I realize that I can't be strong all the damn time, that this is frustrating, and I am exhausted. I now need a new doctor, another conversation with school administration, and dammit, I could even really use a supportive mom, for myself! And, to top it off, I still haven't found a physician referral for this other kid. I feel defeated.

The tears start to seep into the cracks, perhaps softening up that thick, calloused skin. I have developed this thick skin over many years of defending my autistic child, and now constantly advocating for my transgender children. My children now get to live authentically. I fight for their right to do just that. I have learned to shrug off the insults, to find new family, and to educate, advocate, empower, and finally, to just love these people, my little kids.  Most days.

But tonight, I cry. I rest, I rage, and I grieve. I try to be gentle with myself. I write, listen to music, and reach out to my chosen family. My friends reach back with gentle hugs, words of encouragement, and love.

And I hope- tomorrow is a new day, with fresh ideas, and renewed strength.

To all of you out there raising these amazing genderwild children, I wish you strength, peace, and hope for the journey. May we cry and laugh together. And may we still always fight for the one thing that keeps us going- hope. I hope for a new day, for sleep, for strong cups of coffee, for laughter and hugs and words of encouragement, and I hope for a safe, strong community for my children. For all of our children.

Strength for the journey.

The Tooth Fairy Does Not Like Transgender Kids Unknown Thursday, February 19, 2015

My husband and I failed at our tooth fairy duties last night.

When I picked Ben (Leah) up from school yesterday, he was visibly upset. Well, that's not entirely true. Initially, he lit up when he first spotted me through the fence, shouting, "Mama! Guess what? I lost a tooth!!" I smiled- he was so excited!

And then, he climbed into the back of our minivan, and his shoulders drooped. "What's up, Ben?" I asked, as I began to back the van out of the parking lot. "You seem upset- did something happen at school today?"

A big sigh. Pause. "Mama," he says dejectedly, a tone of bitterness entering his voice, "why doesn't the tooth fairy like me?"

Oh good grief- who knows where this will go, with the autism and all...

"What do you mean?" I ask carefully. I have learned, through countless missteps and thousands of errors, that the best approach with Ben and his Asperger's is to always start with a question. Never make assumptions, because really, one can never know where his magical train of thought will end up.

"Well," Ben explains angrily, with his little sister sleeping next to him in her booster seat, and his middle sister looking at him warily, "the tooth fairy only brings me fifty cents. One time I got a dollar. She brings some of the kids at my school twenty dollars!! Why doesn't she like me as much as the other kids? Does she hate me? And honestly, what can you buy with just fifty cents??"

First of all- can I just say- WHO is paying their children twenty dollars per tooth?? I want names.

When the tooth fairy first arrived in our home, four years ago (when Ben was Leah, and Leah was in kindergarten), fifty cents was a big deal! I remember going to the bank and getting a roll of half dollar coins, which I set aside in a special velvet bag in my sock drawer. I was prepared! This was so exciting- I got to be the tooth fairy for my child! I remember Leah losing tooth after tooth, leaving special notes and trinkets and drawings for the tooth fairy, and being so excited to find those large, silver coins. Such a special, memorable rite of passage for a small child.

One summer, two years ago, Leah lost a tooth while we were on vacation. That evening, as we were getting ready for bed, it hit me- I didn't have my stash of silver half dollars. Parental panic! My husband and I scrounged up some change, a dollar's worth of coins, and left a special note from the tooth fairy, explaining that she didn't have her special coins since we weren't at our home. From then on, a dollar was the gold standard for Leah.

For the next tooth, I went to the bank and got some golden one dollar coins. Leah was so excited- "Mama! It's real gold!" She was still so young and innocent, and a dollar was a big deal to my little girl! I loved that we could keep it simple, and that she was still so enraptured with the magic of the tooth fairy.

And then, yesterday happened. And then, this morning. Damn being in third grade, and getting too smart, and losing the magic. And tired parents that slack on their tooth fairy duties. And those parents that have inflated the cost per tooth! Twenty dollars?? Really? The price of privilege, I suppose.

Last night, Ben went to bed early. I figured that he was exhausted, and the thought crossed my mind to check for a tooth fairy note, but I promptly dismissed the thought. I'm sure he fell right asleep, and didn't even remember the note. Big mistake.

This morning, before I even had a hot cup of coffee in my hands, Ben came out of his room, tears in his eyes. He looked at me with a distraught face, and waited for me to speak.

"Good morning, Ben!" I tried, with forced cheerfulness. "How did you sleep last night? Is everything okay?"

"No!" he stormed. "Everything is not okay! The tooth fairy hates me! I knew it! She hates me because I'm transgender! She didn't even come at all!"

(Parental face palm.)

Oh, my dear kiddo.

First of all, I've heard this transgender lament before. And the autism lament. This is not new in our household. Ben often gets confused, misses social cues, and has all sorts of communication missteps because of his Asperger's. When something doesn't go Ben's way, he is quick to blame someone else, and often misperceives that he is being bullied, or that people hate him. We have been working on this idea for years, literally- life is unfair, sometimes people get grumpy and it has nothing to do with you, of course your teachers/friends/family love you, everyone has bad days.

People don't hate you because you have autism. 

They don't hate you because you have a girl body and feel more like a boy today.

For example, recently Ben was trying to play soccer with some older boys at recess (I happened to be a few minutes early for pick-up, and was unluckily assigned to help with yard duty! Lesson learned- always arrive late to pick-up!). Ben was having a hard time keeping up with the big kids, and is clumsy at times on the soccer field, especially compared with these older kids that play soccer daily.

Eventually, the boys lost their patience, and just started playing around him. Not one of the kids said anything disparaging or mean, they just simply stopped passing to Ben. They were in it to win!

Ben ran off the field, sobbing, and came and found me across the playground. I sat down on the sidewalk next to him, and he threw himself into my lap, with huge, wet tears sliding down his face. "Mama!" he cried, "Those boys hate me! They don't want to play soccer with me because I'm transgender!"

Oh dear Lord. Really?? The autism mixed with the genderfluidity is getting waaaaay too complicated.

With all of the patience that I could muster, I calmly attempted to explain to Ben that this had nothing to do with Ben feeling more like a boy than a girl, but rather, that he really needed to improve his soccer skills before playing with the older kids. "Maybe you can play with the kids your age, or with your sister's friends," I suggested. "They are kind and flexible, and I think you would be perfect with kids that are your age or even younger. Maybe you could teach the younger kids some of your skills, and be more like their coach."

Eventually, Ben agreed, and happily ran off to play with the younger children. Crisis averted.

So back to this morning, the crisis of the tooth fairy.

I explained, once again, that of course the tooth fairy loved Ben, and that she really had no opinion on Ben's gender, one way or the other.

(Oh, the things that come out of my mouth, as Ben or Leah's mom. Never in my wildest dreams...)

I also calmly (and most likely with averted eyes, since I felt so guilty for not checking for that damn note!) explained that it was always a good idea to remind one's parents that you might be leaving a note for the tooth fairy. "Parents help to notify the tooth fairy, so you always have to check in with your parents before you leave the note."

Ben narrowed his eyes, listening carefully.

Lies, and more lies!

And finally, my last desperate attempt at saving the magic: "And really, your note is kind of bossy! Let's write a note together tonight, and we will make it very sweet and grateful."

I waited, mildly proud of my (ridiculous) explanation.

Ben sniffled a few more times, and then was quiet. And then, he looked me in the eyes, and asked, very calmly, "Mama? Are you the tooth fairy?"

Pause.  Busted. What else could I say?

"Um. Yes," I replied meekly.

Another long pause, while he thinks this through. And then, with a triumphant, startling laugh: "Ha!! I knew it! Aha!!"

I smiled a guilty smile, and gave him a hug. "I'm sorry that I forgot last night. And you are now sworn to secrecy, because you know an adult secret. You must never tell your friends, or your sisters- keep the magic going for them. This is something that each child has to discover for themselves, once they are ready." Or, in other words, when their parents epically fail at their tooth fairy duties.

He nods, thinking this through. "Ok. I can do that."

And then, without missing a beat, "Can I have my dollar now?"

I had to laugh- the whole scenario was just too absurd.

Oh this life of mine- tooth fairy failures, autism, fairies that don't like transgender kids.

I accidentally gave Ben 10 extra cents. Two quarters, and six dimes. I let him keep the extra dime, payment for keeping the magical secret of the tooth fairy.

He smiled, a gleaming hole where yesterday's tooth had been. Apparently, the tooth fairy does like transgender kids, and autistic kids, after all.

In fact, she loves them. With all of her heart.

Why I Am Considering Hormone Blockers For My Nine Year Old Unknown Tuesday, February 17, 2015

That was a fun title to write.

I wanted to add the word "autistic" in front of "nine year old", just for shock value, but that just makes me freak out even more.

Up to this point, I feel like I have been writing a lot about our journey with accepting our transgender middle child, Alex (age 6), and beginning to understand our genderfluid eldest child, Leah (now age 9). Most of this writing has chronicled events that have already happened.

Today, I am switching gears a bit, writing about an issue that we are dealing with presently. This is happening now, in real time. And honestly, I haven't given the whole thing enough thought, or research, which is not typical for me. I feel underprepared, uninformed, and this is not a reassuring place for a perfectionist that likes to be prepared and in control.

(You think I would have given up these ideas of perfectionism and any semblance of control by now, given my children. Apparently, I am a slow learner.)

This conversation, about hormone blockers for my autistic child, Leah, began several months ago. Well, actually, it began in June of last year. 

No. Thinking back, it began in March of 2013. Only this was originally a conversation about Alex, not Leah.

Flashback: March 2013
I am sitting in the pediatric gender specialist's office, several hours away from our home, at a hospital clinic for transgender youth. I am with my husband and our four year old boy, Alex. We are in the waiting room, nervously awaiting our turn to go back to the exam room, not really knowing what to expect. 

Alex is wearing light-up Star Wars sneakers (hand-me-downs from an older cousin), a sparkly skirt from his older sister, and a superhero t-shirt. He keeps dancing around the waiting room, enjoying watching the lights from his shoes dance along with him. His white blonde hair is beginning to grow out, and it hangs in his eyes. He wants to grow his hair long, like the Disney princesses that he so loves to watch on TV. He wants to be a princess. Alex wants to be a girl.

There is another family in the waiting room. They have a teenager- a tall, gangly adolescent with a boy body, dressed in a skirt and heels. I keep trying to sneak glances at the family, wondering what their story is, what the parents are like, and trying to imagine if my son will look like their child some day. I try not to stare, but we wait for a long time in this waiting room. The other family gets called back before we do- we have arrived too early.

Alex's name is eventually called by a nurse, and we make our way back to the exam room. My husband and I finally get to meet this wonderful doctor, who I will call Dr. Taylor, this amazing woman who has helped so many gender nonconforming, gender variant, and transgender children. An hour goes by, and we discuss all of Alex's history of female gender expression and eventual female identity. We move into the second hour of our appointment, and we discuss our options of how to handle Alex's gender nonconformity. And eventually, we find ourselves discussing a potential future timeline for Alex, if he (soon to be known as she) persists in identifying as transgender as he approaches puberty. And it is here, at this point in the visit, that we first learn about hormone blockers...and about blood work, endocrine science, and cross hormones. We realize we are learning a whole new language- transgender, cisgender, "T", blockers, stealth, preferred pronouns, social transition, and the list goes on. We have so much to learn.