Almost Heaven ... My Vagina

by norrie mAy welby

(The Gender Centre advise that this article may not be current and as such certain content, including but not limited to persons, contact details and dates may not apply. Where legal authority or medical related matters are cited, responsibility lies with the reader to obtain the most current relevant legal authority and/or medical publication.)

Wjust wanted to pass on a recent experience I had with health providers, as someone with a neo-vagina that needed medical attention. I noticed I was "spotting" that is, bleeding slightly from the vulva (is my doggy background showing here?), and became worried. I delayed going to a doctor immediately, for I feared that a G.P. wouldn't know how to deal with my surgically constructed part. I worried about it, and after about half an hour, I resolved to seek immediate medical attention if I was still spotting. I found I was, and went to the local late night medical centre.

... the nurses had moral objections to giving men vaginas. I felt too vulnerable to ask if she shared their bigotry.

The old male doctor there briefly examined me, announced that the bleeding was from an external growth, and referred me to a gynecologist. I wanted to be referred to a female gynae, but he could only find men. I asked for a generic referral letter, and undertook to find a female gynecologist myself.

Of course, having a gender identity somewhere between girly male and a tomboy, I was somewhat embarrassed about having to buy some panty liners and ladies underwear. It took a determined effort to find some pants that fit the shape of my undercarriage without making a ridiculous statement with frills and flowers.

I spend the next morning at the Gender Centre trying to find a female gynecologist, preferably with some knowledge of neo-­vaginas. I had no luck in this last requirement, but I eventually made an appointment with a woman.

I told her I was transgender when I went in to see her. She said she had worked in a hospital where they had performed the surgery I'd had, but they had stopped because the nurses had moral objections to giving men vaginas. I felt too vulnerable to ask if she shared their bigotry. Regardless of the moral rightness or wrongness of my having surgery, it was a done thing, and I now needed medical attention.

She examined me, and told me there were more growths inside the vagina. She told me I'd need surgery to remove them, but this couldn't be done for several months. I left feeling as if my vagina was an open festering sore, a contagious leprosy I'd have to bear for months. For this I have given a bill for fifty dollars.

The more I reflected on her comments about moral condemnation of transgender genital restructure surgery, the more uneasy I was. If she didn't share the moral approbation she'd mentioned, wouldn't she have pointed this out? It was like someone saying, "I know someone who thinks people like you should be shot", without saying, "Of course, I don't think that way."

I decided to try other options and went into Sydney Sexual Health Centre the next day. After a wait of an hour or so, I was seen by a male doctor who was very pleasant and non-judgmental, accepted my explanation of my problem and treated me right there and then.

There was no charge to me, and I didn't even need my Medicare card.

In future, I won't worry about whether my gynecological care is from a man or woman, but from a service I know to be non-­judgmental, and as a bonus more effective and efficient.

While this disease has been a bit yucky, there's also the sobering thought that I may have, caught something much worse and less curable. I'll count this a serious warning, and close escape. I have to be more vigilant in avoiding un-protected sex, and change my attitudes that lead to trying to get physical intimacy in lieu of emotional safety.

It's also had a major effect on how I see my transgendered physique.

I have been very offhand or ambivalent about having a neo-vagina, and during this incident I realised some bad aspects and some good aspects. The bad aspects were the fear that I couldn't find a doctor who'd know how to treat me, and the fear of medical discrimination when and where I'm most vulnerable. The later fear perhaps even manifested, but I found ways around these things. The good aspect was realising that if I didn't have a vagina, I would still have had the infection, and it would've been in a place that would've been a lot more difficult, painful and unpleasant to treat.

So I'm a little less ambivalent now, and thank Heaven for my vagina!

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