Can’t You Wait Until I’m Dead? ~ Chapter 14: The Real-Life Test
I called Mom on Saturday at seven in the morning, and wasn’t ready for her first words.
“Couldn’t you have waited until I was dead?” she said.
“I’m not getting any younger, and everyone who transitions wishes they had done it sooner. There’s only so much hormones and surgery can do when you’re this long past puberty,” I replied.
“I’m sorry. I just worry about you. After I read your letter, I thought about that reporter, Mike Penner, who transitioned at your age. He and his wife divorced, and he died by suicide, and I don’t want the same thing to happen to you,” she said.
Her apology reminded her of a regretful reaction when a friend of the family came out as gay in the nineties. “I wrote her a letter saying, ‘How could you do this to your mother?’ I couldn’t stand by and watch that happen to Diane and not say anything. I wish I hadn’t done it now, but I had to support my friend at the time.”
She continued, her voice breaking, “I love Sarah so much and I don’t want to lose her as a daughter-in-law.”
Sarah looked to her for knitting, sewing, and watercolour tips, and they shared recipes and spent time painting together. Sarah lost her mother to dementia in 2003, and Mom thought of Sarah as more than a daughter-in-law—more like the daughter she never had. The thought of losing both of us at the same time terrified her. “The pain was like losing a child.”
“Please don’t worry about Sarah. We still love each other, and she’s been with me through the past seven months of changes,” I said.
I hadn’t heard of Mike Penner, a Los Angeles Times sports reporter, but I had the support and protection of a unionized position and lived in a progressive city in a progressive country.
“One of my managers joked that the only way they can fire you here is if you kill someone. If I were still in the United States, I might not be transitioning. In Vancouver, most people keep their opinions to themselves—religion and politics are taboo subjects, much less sexual orientation and gender identity.”
Her fear eased as we discussed her upcoming visit to Vancouver in mid-March, when I’d have a break from teaching, and we could drive to Seattle to see her younger sister.
I looked up the story of Mike Penner in the LA Weekly[i] and realized why she was so worried about me. He had a strict Catholic upbringing, began cross-dressing in private, eventually finding transgender community support and counselling. She came out publicly as Christine Daniels in an April 2007 article in the LA Times and began her medical transition. Her wife, also a reporter with the LA Times, filed for divorce two weeks later. She fought off the loss and became an advocate for the trans community, writing and speaking about her experience. She faced criticism and ridicule from both peers in the media and the trans community. Spending a year in the “real-life test” (RLT) took its psychological toll.
Physicians and therapists often forced trans people to prove they had lived in their “desired gender role” for one to three years before prescribing hormones—a Catch-22 because living in another gender role without the corresponding hormones made it that much more emotionally painful. Many in the trans community regard the RLT as cruel, and informed consent has largely replaced it to access hormones.[ii]
Forcing someone to live in a cross-gender role without hormones heightens gender dysphoria when they have to face their physical and mental incongruence head-on, day after day. In Christine’s case, a traumatic Vanity Fair photoshoot highlighted her predicament. She stopped taking the hormones afterwards, gave away her wigs and clothes, and was soon suffering from depression and paranoia. She returned to work as Mike Penner in October 2008, crushed by the experience, and died by suicide in November 2009.
Christine Daniel’s story gave me pause. Was I so certain I could make it through the test? If Sarah left me, I’d be in Christine’s position—I would probably keep my job but would have to live without Sarah’s love and support. Differences between Christine’s transition and mine included that I wasn’t yet living “full time,” giving my psyche, body, and family time to adjust. I also wasn’t a public figure, facing that added stress.
I updated my brother and his kids, using a minor edit of the letter I’d sent Mom, and he replied, “You’ve got our full support.” We weren’t very close before my transition, and still haven’t talked about it nine years later. We’ve had a couple of lunches with Mom and the kids when I’ve been back in Minnesota, but gender hasn’t come up.
In one phone call, he explained that his time in the United States Army left him with homophobia that was hard to shake. When he was alone, lost in the Kuwait desert on a mission to supply troops in Desert Storm, he recalled musing, “If a gay person offered me help, would I take it? I think I would.”
In the same conversation, he said, “I told the kids, ‘It’s important to tolerate people you don’t agree with. You don’t need to accept them, but you need to tolerate them.’” I hoped he wasn’t referring to me—I’d rather he accepted than tolerated me—and chalked it up to the lingering awkwardness between us.
I haven’t faced the rejection from close family that Christine did, and I don’t know how I’d handle it. Aunts and cousins, all female, have been supportive, with one aunt in North Dakota sending a special issue of National Geographic entitled “The Gender Issue.”[iii] It offered an ethnographic perspective, as though we’re a newly discovered species. Another aunt, a Buddhist in Seattle, wrote:
Hello, Allison & Sarah. As you know, Anne has briefed me on the transition you are undergoing. I am writing to let you know that you both have my support. I can only imagine the range of emotions you are facing (each from a different perspective, to be sure), yet I know that you are strong and resilient, which encourages me to believe that good things are rising to the surface as you proceed on this new trail.
Whether we are male or female, it is our inner light that shines in the world that is important. I unconditionally love that inner light that I see in both of you. I am open to hearing from you any time you want to write, talk, or visit. I’m not really big on giving advice, but I’ll try to be the best listener I can be! Love and joy—from my heart to yours.”
***
As the term wound down and I drafted final exams, anxiety gripped me and my students. It happened to us every term—students lost their patience and some were on the verge of tears, worried about six or seven exams packed in a week. Their anxiety rubbed off on me. I always absorbed others’ emotions and couldn’t watch a dramatic movie without becoming so immersed that it took days for the clouds to lift. Edgy and upset students made me dread what my exams would put them through. This time, the enormity of my impending social transition sharpened what was already the most challenging part of the year.
One evening in early November, while I took a break from the never-ending treadmill of work, I found an e-book and website by Melinda Green called Passing Glances, containing seventy-eight pages of advice and information on transitioning and passing as female.[iv] I spent three hours reading and reflecting on my goals for life in the years to come.
The last page, written in 2012, discussed the decision not to pass. I admired trans people I’d read about who kept their beards and found the strength to wear dresses and makeup, but it wasn’t for me. I resented what puberty did to my body and voice, and although there was a pull in me to accept what was “natural,” I couldn’t live much longer looking and sounding as I did. In the absence of brain surgery to change how I’m wired, I had to change my appearance more than clothes and makeup, or live a miserable existence.
Melinda suggested that anyone could find peace in their bodies again if they approached their transition with patience and the right mindset. She wrote, “I have seen so many amazing transitions by now that I no longer assume that any particular person will never pass. I’ve seen football players over six feet tall transition into towering beauties who could impress supermodels. No matter how impossible you may feel that your situation is, I assure you that if you put in the effort, your goal is probably much more reachable than you imagine.” With that inspiration, I resolved to focus on my transition during the holiday break and have everything in place to come out in June at the end of the next term.
In late November and December, I began shopping for a new wardrobe. Most of the clothes I found in the women’s department at Walmart were too large and, strangely, made me look more masculine. The one revelation from Walmart was in their “intimates” section, where I found what they called “boyshorts.” They came in a two-pack, black or taupe, for only $10, similar to the famous Spanx shapewear I saw in Sandra Bullock and Melissa McCarthy’s movie The Heat.[v]
I remember being fascinated by the underwear when the movie came out in 2013 and spending an hour on the company’s website, wide-eyed and curious in a way I didn’t understand. Sandra Bullock’s character explained that the shapewear kept everything down there together and in the right place. Melissa McCarthy’s character wondered what part of Sandra’s anatomy might get loose. In my case, it concealed everything comfortably, making tights and other form-fitting pants a euphoric reality.
Before my “boyshorts discovery,” I thought I’d be stuck wearing loose-fitting clothes until I had bottom surgery. I’d read about “tucking” in the summer and gave it a try, but just a few minutes of wearing shorts on a walk to the grocery store caused a painful lump that took months to heal. Tucking involved holding genitals in place with tape, gaff, or tight-fitting underwear, and wasn’t an option for those with a connective tissue condition like mine.
Sarah came with me on every shopping trip, and by this time, I was comfortable wearing makeup and a wide hairband over my hairline to shop in a women’s department. She was my shield against anyone questioning my place in women’s spaces. Whether she was nearby or in another department, just having her around gave me enough confidence to shop for myself. I avoided eye contact like I didn’t belong there, but knew that the pair of us looked like two older women shopping together, and no one noticed. Women didn’t hassle other middle-aged women, and men didn’t pay us any attention.
Our first stop was a store in Vancouver for tall women, called Long Tall Sally. At six feet tall, I assumed I’d never find my size in shoes or pants anywhere but a specialty store, but we walked out with a white blouse a few sizes too large, learning in the process that I was around size thirteen—a size I could find almost anywhere, including Sarah’s closet. I quickly found vegan dress shoes from Clarks, dress tights, and a pink button-down blouse from Banana Republic, as well as some sports bras and casual wear from Winners, and Jockey bralettes, and French Cut underwear from The Bay.
I found casual day-to-day work blouses and pants at Mark’s and Reitmans, and a couple of bikini bottoms at the same time, hoping I’d figure something out for swimming in the summer. Sarah added to my wardrobe with knitted pink socks, a blue winter hat, and a small gold-coloured watch from her mother.
I remember only one moment of hesitation on Sarah’s part when we headed towards a store washroom for the first time. Lost in thought, she instinctively turned to stop me from following her, and quickly realized I couldn’t go into a men’s washroom looking as I did. Learning from other women all my life, I knew we peed together for safety, passing toilet paper between stalls, and borrowing tampons and pads. Peeing in a stall next to Sarah for the first time was an unexpected, magical moment.
I had nearly everything I needed to transition in June, at the end of the winter term. Hormones were working their magic, and I had clothes that made me feel joyful and confident in public. I just had to make it through one more twenty-week term dressed as a man. How hard could that be?
[i] Steve Friess, “Mike Penner, Christine Daniels: A Tragic Love Story,” LA Weekly, August 19, 2010, https://www.laweekly.com/mike-penner-christine-daniels-a-tragic-love-story/.
[ii] Travis Amengual, Kaitlyn Kunstman, R. Brett Lloyd, Aron Janssen, and Annie B. Wescott, “Readiness assessments for gender-affirming surgical treatments: A systematic scoping review of historical practices and changing ethical considerations,” Frontiers in Psychiatry 13, no. 1006024, October 20, 2022, https://doi.org/10.3389/fpsyt.2022.1006024.
[iii] “The Gender Issue,” National Geographic Magazine 231, no. 1, January 2017.
[iv] Melinda Green, “Passing Glances: A primer on passing and successful transition for the early-stage transwoman,” November 8, 2016, http://superliminal.com/melinda/passingglances.htm.
[v] Paul Feig, dir., The Heat (Los Angeles, CA: Twentieth Century Fox Film Corporation, 2013), DVD.