Welcome to #TransTuesday! Today was going to be a one year retrospective, but something happened that I really want to talk about, so I’m pushing that to next week. So what’s on deck for today? NO ESCAPE 2: SOME ESCAPE aka CIS ALLYSHIP.
As a primer, have a look at my original NO ESCAPE essay, about how my deadname and reminders that I’m trans are things I can never get away from:
And just as evidence about how difficult some of this is, I’m in the middle of having a background check done, and I got stuck on the very first page of the form. Because it says to put my legal name… which is Tilly.
But I also have to check a box that says “this is the name that appears on my government issued ID”… which it is not, yet, and who knows when the process will finally get to that point, since covid has slowed everything to a crawl. For more on that see LEGAL NAME AND GENDER MARKER CHANGE.
I contact customer support about the problem, and they advise me to… put my legal last name on the form. But my last name hasn’t changed, they just assumed because I guess that changes most often due to marriage?
So I have to tell them no, it’s my first name that’s changed, and they ask the old name, and now I’m discussing being trans with a stranger and I’d really rather not have to do that, but I’m forced into it and hey that’s kind of bad.
And now I have to put my deadname on this form, which doesn’t match the name of the person the form was sent to, and it’s just a whole thing. And even better, they want to know my sex. WHICH HAS LEGALLY BEEN CHANGED.
But not on my ID yet. And it, y’know, makes me feel not great to have to put that name on things, much less see it again. Or have to sign it in a signature. It’s super awful, actually. It makes me want to curl into a ball and hide but also scream in anger at the top of my lungs.
And this hit me in a much bigger way just yesterday. I had to go in for a colonoscopy, which may seem totally out of left field but gimme a sec, it’ll make sense. I’m fine, don’t worry, there’s just family history so they’ve been checking early.
Since the procedure was scheduled, I’ve been… increasingly worried and anxious about it, to the point where it was all I could think about. And it’s not just because the prep for it is absolutely awful (it is), or that I hate going under anesthesia (I do).
It’s because I’m still in the middle of getting new documents with my legal name/gender change reflected. And so all of that info hasn’t been changed with our health insurance and doctors. And the thought of being deadnamed and misgendered throughout was too much to deal with.
EVEN THOUGH they’re the ones providing my transgender care (HRT and voice therapy) and it’s right in my file that I’m trans, I STILL get deadnamed and misgendered by people who don’t bother to look at all the info (or worse, don’t care).
I briefly consider going boymode, just to not have to deal with all this, but the thought of boymoding again makes me want to shrivel, so I rule it out pretty quickly. Check out the trans tuesday on BOYMODE/GIRLMODE if you need more info.
But then they had a cancellation so called me to see if I could come in early, and I guess they’re not aware of what their own department is doing because two different people called me, and one used my real name and one used my deadname.
Which of course filled me with even more dread. So I get there and check in, and they print the little ID bracelet thing you get when you go in for procedures, and… it just has DEADNAME MCGEE in big bold print. Not even the “Tilly” in quotes. Super.
And then they immediately call me in, and I hadn’t even taken off my necklace or wedding ring etc yet. So I’m handing all this stuff to Susan when it hits me they… CALLED OUT DEADNAME MCGEE.
Nice and loud for everyone in the waiting room to hear, and then they see me walking up. When I tell you my heart was already in my feet, well… more like under them. It was crushed. And then I have to make a decision.
Do I correct this lady? Is there a point? Am I even going to see her again during this procedure? Will she tell anyone else? What if she’s a bigot? What if she doesn’t care? What if she’s hostile about it?
And then I have to do that with EVERY person I interact with during the procedure? Do you have any idea how much mental and emotional energy that many possible awful confrontations in a row would take? I wanted to run and hide.
So I just said nothing. She has my chart, which says DEADNAME MCGEE “Tilly” Bridges. It says I’m trans. I have… boobs? And everything about me is visually coded female, other than the physical traits I can’t change (thanks to the fuckin’ male puberty I never asked for).
She takes me to the little alcove where the rolly bed is and tells me to change and put the gown on, pulls the curtain closed and leaves. Great. So I change, and I’m laying there in the bed being miserable. And then a guy comes in to ask me a bunch of questions.
Routine stuff, like when I last ate, did I drink all the prep stuff, etc. He pops his head in, sees me and says “hi ma’am!” What a relief! (I still think we should get away from gendered honorifics, tho). But then he looks at my chart.
And says, “Sorry. Sir.” No. NO DAMN IT. FUCK. Now I’m extra pissed. Do I want to get into it with THIS guy? And then the exact same situation comes up:
Do I correct this guy? Is there a point? Am I even going to see him again during this procedure? Will he tell anyone else? What if he’s a bigot? What if he doesn’t care? What if he’s hostile about it?
So I stew in silence and answer his questions. He runs down my list of medications to ask if I’m still taking them. A slight hesitation when he gets to my HRT, which is very clearly estrogen. Then he asks and I confirm and he doesn’t seem to know what to call me.
Never once did he ASK. Never once did he say “I see you go by ‘Tilly,” would you like me to call you that?” Nope, it was “SIR” and “DEADNAME MCGEE” all the way through, until he saw my chart and got confused.
Never mind I’m a living, breathing person sitting two feet away from him who could confirm if he’d bothered to ask. Fine, whatever. While he’s doing this, a lady comes in to put in my IV. She calls me nothing and uses no honorifics, and none of it was weird or impolite.
That is literally always an option, people! Another dude comes in to put a blood pressure cuff on, and some electrodes on my chest to monitor heart rate and such. Two go up high, no big deal. One has to go lower. He pulls out the gown…
Hey. Boobs. Another bit of confused hesitation. What should he do? He apologizes (?) and then attaches the thingy and off he goes.
It’s possible they only put DEADNAME MCGEE on whatever this guy saw before he came in, so not necessarily his fault, but… LOOK MAN I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO TELL YOU.
Now I’m just there waiting for my turn to go into the procedure room. It’s quiet, but only in the way these places are. So I listen and watch, because I’m a writer and that’s what I do.
And I hear them talking to other patients, one person is VERY upset they can’t have alcohol the rest of the day after the procedure, phones are ringing, beds are being wheeled around. And then I see First Confused Dude and IV Lady looking at their whiteboards of patients.
And I can’t hear all of what they’re saying because another bed wheels by, but they’re pointing at the bottom of the board, which is me. Just as the clanking of the bed fades from earshot, IV lady says “just use ‘Constellations’. Thank goodness for the mask.”
This is where I tell you my mask has constellations on it (yay science, I love you).
So here is a point where two people are just SO confused by a trans person, and rather than talk to me like a human or just use the preferred name listed right in my file, they decide to refer to me by what’s on my mask.
Which is both good and bad. Good because it means no more misgendering or deadnaming, but bad because I’m not a fucking object. I’m a person with feelings that you’ve been pretty good at stomping all over.
So now I’m just feeling extra awful and dehumanized. And I’m getting really mad, and all of this is on top of my anxiety about the actual procedure itself, and I just don’t know what to do. Like if I DO get into it with these people…
What if they’re part of the team doing the actual procedure? Do I have to worry about them providing me less care than I deserve because they’re mad at me? Or because it turns out they’re actual bigots and not just The Uncomfortable Cis?
I don’t reach a decision before they take me into the procedure room, which is unfriendly and cold and sterile in the way those rooms are, which doesn’t help my mood any. There are a few people prepping things, and the anesthesiologist at his own little station.
He talks to me a bit, seems friendly enough and doesn’t deadname or misgender me. Doesn’t really call me anything. I’ll take it. Small victories. In the corner of the room, working on a computer and her phone at the same time, is a lady.
Hard to tell with masks, but she’s probably late 20s or so. As they’re prepping me, she comes over and introduces herself as the gastroenterologist who will be performing the procedure. And she… she calls me Tilly. The FIRST one to do so.
She’s kind and friendly and reassures me all will be fine, and as they administer the anesthesia, someone asks her a question about me and says “him.” The doctor uses “she” in reply. As I drift out of consciousness I am… so glad this doctor is there.
The anesthesia wears off a little before the procedure is over, a first for me (and, uh… that’s an interesting… let’s call it “sensation”). I hear the doctor say “She’s all clear, good for another five years.”
And when I tell you hearing the “she” from her was just as important to me as hearing everything looked fine and I don’t have to do this again for a long time? That’s not hyperbole.
They wheel me to recovery to let the rest of the anesthesia wear off, but I’m completely awake and alert already (which means, uh, for past procedures I was perhaps given WAY too much anesthesia, because they took me all day to recover from).
That doesn’t help me be less anxious about having to go under, as you might imagine! But here’s the turn. After the procedure:
NOBODY misgendered me. NOBODY deadnamed me. As they checked my vitals and prepped me to leave and called Susan to be sure she was there to drive me home (no driving after anesthesia, natch), ALL of them got it right.
Because that doctor, apparently, straightened out everyone who needed to be straightened out. And when I tell you that makes her an angel, I mean it.
She didn’t put it on me to have to tell people they were fucking things up and have me risk that confrontation. She didn’t stand for it, and she got them to stop. THIS IS CIS ALLYSHIP.
She took what had been a pretty awful experience and turned it around, into something that ended up feeling positive and affirming. And all it took was for her to just treat me with the respect we should all show each other.
She turned NO ESCAPE into… SOME ESCAPE, ACTUALLY! And I love her for it.
What’s more, she got things changed in the system somehow. You get these follow-up printouts afterward, with notes on what to expect after, what your vitals were, etc. This stuff always said DEADNAME MCGEE “Tilly” Bridges. But now…
My legal name HAS changed, but they don’t have the documents yet. Yet this doctor went out of her way to do what she could to help. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go send her a thousand thank you emails.
Please, cis folks: be the allies we need.
Tilly Bridges, end transmission.
tillysbridges@gmail.com
ADDENDUM:
UPDATE: the doctor wrote me back. 💜💜💜
