Today I had my third appointment at the Gender Identity Clinic, Charing Cross Hospital on the Fulham Palace road in sunny London. Yet again like many other experiences, it just proved how I can misjudge people and situations. Ever the revisionist I now greatly respect my consultant and the work of the clinic Let me explain.
My first visit was as far back as Sept 07. Not knowing what to expect I trailed my way via train, Euston tube and Taxi to the clinic. It took some finding as it was not on the hospital grounds.I eventually found it on a back st tucked behind a convenience store. The plain but solid looking brown oak door, only distinguished from its neighbours by a small blue NHS sign instead of the "Speedy Loans" and such. I guess its an advantage for the clinic to have a low key appearance, but it does give the whole experience an air of back street naughtiness. Anyway after buzzing my way in I made my way up the stairs and found myself in a modern spacious reception area. I checked in and waited for my appointment with Dr Barrett. I rummaged through the cliched pile of outdated magazines with nothing grabbing my attention. There was only one other girl waiting. She was perhaps in her late teens and dressed in a short denim mini, a deliberately ripped off shoulder t shirt and long black goth style black boots. To my eye she was totally passable and if she hadn't been in the gender clinic then I would never figured her to be transgendered. I felt really dull in my black and white office wear. I had really struggled to know what outfit to choose. Ultra feminine or dress down casual girl look. In the end I just went in what I would have worn to the office anyway. I thought it would have given the impression of being in control of my life. I felt wrongly that I had to give a really good impression, else the doctor could turn me down for treatment. Just a dose of my usual neuroses.
"Have you come far" was my opening gambit to my fellow patient. "Cornwall" came back a nicely soft feminine voice. "God, that must be quite a trek" I said, softening my voice to almost a whisper, in an attempt to sound as good as her. "Pardon, I didn't catch that" she said. I repeated but this time in an audible normal voice. I really have to work harder on this speech thing I thought. "Who are you seeing?" she asked. I told her that it was a Dr Barrett. She informed me that she thought that Dr Barrett didn't like her because he had previously made a comment about her wearing a mini in winter. That made started me off. How dare a middle aged male doctor tell a girl of her age how to dress (I was guessing at his age, but aren't all doctors middle aged). It made me wary of Dr Barrett and put me on guard even before the consultation had begun.
I was called in. Sat down in his small consulting room overlooking the high street, he kicked off the session. He informed me that this would be an assessment to see if I was suitable for treatment. Well Ive been living and working full time as Jen for 2 years and have been on hormones for a year so I will be screwed if he decided I was not suitable. He told me that I would have to have a follow up assessment with another doctor in order to get a second opinion.
First off he wanted to talk about my weight. Now I already understood that this sort of elective surgery was only possible if I got my weight down and I was already dieting. However once I gave him my weight and height he made a point of tapping away on a calculator for what seemed like minutes to work out my body mass index. I could have told him straight away. The answer was too bloody much. He did give me a target weight, which I feel is a realistic goal. Then the questions started. First up were the usual ones; "Any history of mental illness?", "When did I first start dressing as a female?", "Did I used to masturbate while dressing?", yadda yadda yadda and so on. I answered absolutely truthfully and avoided the temptation to tell him what I thought he wanted to hear. Then the questions got progressively more irrelevant. "Do you have many friends?" "A few I suppose" I answered. "Would any of them lend you £20?" Took aback I said "I suppose they would, but they are generally more skint than me". I was getting irritated. What bearing does this have on my gender identity. Then it got a bit prickly. "Do you have any debt?" he asked, stone faced. Tempted to tell him it was none of his bloody business, I capitulated "I have some debt I suppose. The usual you know, mortgage, loans etc". That was not enough detail for him "How much?" he said pen poised to record my answer. Tempted again, I gave him a round figure answer. I so wanted to challenge this question but I thought discretion the better part of not screwing up my consultation. To me he was really flippant in his manner. When I said in response to a question as to my marital status, that although I was still officially married, we were separated for over 2 years and the divorce was going through, he barked back "You are either married or not". The session ended after 20 mins when I was packed off to the hospital for some blood tests. I presumed he wanted to see my hormone levels, but I wasn't given a reason. Not only was I perturbed with some of the questioning, I failed to see how anyone could make a reasoned judgement in only 20 mins. Surely I was more complicated than that.
Travelling back on the train I started to get angry and frustrated with the whole experience. I thought that he was testing me and I was upset. I couldn't imagine that any other NHS patients would have been treated in such a manner. Why the hell should I have to disclose how much debt I was in. As transgendered patient we are totally reliant on these medics for our treatment. They have the total power to block the treatment we need. This means we will generally not complain or question our treatment for seen as being awkward. I was frustrated with myself that I hadn't complained. In hindsight my views are probably unfair on committed medics who could have chosen a more sexy and high profile specialism, but on that day I was pretty down on the whole thing. All day off work, an expensive and long journey for just 20 mins of questioning. I was not impressed.
The consultation did produce some positive results. A referral came through for speech therapy and my hormones were changed to ones that were less likely to have the side effect of death.
My second appointment was January this year. It was with a different, younger doctor who asked me more questions though this time with more obvious relevance. I did say to him that I was a bit unhappy with my previous visits. He assured me that Dr Barrett was very experienced and would almost certainly support my treatment. I immediately got on well with this doctor and did my usual talking at him until the session overran.
So we now come to today's visit. I wasn't relishing another session with Dr Barrett, not least because my diet had gone a bit wobbly (like my figure) for a while, although I am now back on track. This time it was standing room only in reception. There were at least half a dozen girls some with partners, and a couple of Trans men. The common link was that they all looked pretty miserable. It wasn't a great advert for a transgendered lifestyle, but I suppose it is a stressful time and aren't all waiting rooms designed to make you sad. Everyone seemed to be avoiding eye contact with each other, which was difficult in a crowded room, so we mostly looked at our feet. I think there must be a correlation between unhappiness and shoes. Sad people tend to spend more time looking at their feet as also tend to spend more on shoes (well it's a theory, and would account for the vast number of shoe shops in Stoke-on-Trent!)
Anyway in I went for Round 2 with Dr Barrett. He was really smiley and welcoming this time. This unsettled me a little as I was ready to give him all guns about his half baked assessment. I very soon put those guns on safety and holstered them (I strain analogies like I strain my tights!) After asking me how I was we ended up through some circuitous route talking politics, which for a Trade Unionist and a Blogger is manna from heaven. So for 15 mins we talked about the state of the country (and it is in a state!). I did say that I was surprised to be talking politics in a gender dysphoria session. He said that it was useful for him to engage in conversation to see what sort of rounded functional being I was (perhaps he gets bored talking gender stuff all the time). Anyway the upshot is he thinks I'm doing well and if anything I'm a bit tough on myself. He actually made me feel really good and used the analogy that as a woman I am now flying and that I will reach full altitude in time, whereas some struggle to take off. I made some bad joke about how many engines would be needed to get me off the ground. This kind imagery and the fact he commented that I looked really well led me to revaluate Dr Barrett, from thinking what a stuck up arrogant quack he was, to a generous empathetic gender identity visionary. It is a gift that I have such flexibility of opinion, although in truth it probably means I am just shallow and easily flattered. He did mention my weight, which was fine and reasonable (even if he did get his calculator again). He also mentioned my wonky right eye (he did use a more medical term) and suggested if I sorted it it would help my appearance (fair enough). I suggested a contact lens, but his idea of a monocle may not be up to current trends.
The result was a long journey home, feeling much better about myself and my doctor. So as I said at the top I am really not good at judgement at first sight. My next appointment is November at now I am quite looking forward to it. Wonky eye and all.
The exciting Committe Room 21
Anyway it felt good to be exercising our democratic muscles. Lobby over, and on the long trip home I fell asleep dreaming of storming the Chamber of Parliament, behind a placards declaring Freedom for Stoke, while being pursued by a camera weilding Harold Shand!
.jpg)
