A Date with Destiny

I’ve scheduled an appointment for next Wednesday with Dr. Neal Wilson, a plastic surgeon, who specializes in transgender care. My intention is not, of course, to get plastic surgery, but to get a prescription for female hormones.

This will not be the first time I met Dr. Wilson. I actually met him before, in 2006, when I made a brief run at transitioning before. My recollections of his office in Detroit’s historic Fisher Building are few, but vibrant. His is a small, private office, hidden behind a nondescript glass office door, the kind you see in movies from the 20’s and 30’s.

Inside is a long table of beauty magazines and a small smattering of chairs, usually filled with a handful of strange denizens. The front desk girl is poorly trained and says little, though an office manager, perhaps the doctor’s daughter, brightens up the atmosphere for those in the waiting room.

My anticipation regarding my next visit is high, though its tempered by the reality that my marriage doesn’t probably stand much chance, once I start taking estrogens. Sex will undoubtedly be affected and sex is an important part of any successful marriage, as far as I can tell. There is some hope, I suppose, as many couples stay together without sex. But the reasons we may have trouble in the bedroom are much different from couples where a spouse has been injured, for example. We’ll have to wait and see how that plays out.

I am looking forward to the softening of my skin and the lessening of my hair growth; the development of a sensitive chest, then breast buds, then breasts themselves; the rounding of my backside; and the changing of my cheeks and facial fat. I must remain focused on the fact that, no matter how hard this is on my relationship, these feelings of cross-gender identification will not go away, no matter how much I sometimes wish they would. I will not be denied my personal wellness and happiness, in order to please others (though I’m often tempted to do so).

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