The clinic was so unassuming. It looked like the kind of place you would go to do something very mundane and bureaucratic, not the kind of place that is going to change your life.
We had been presented with a packet of information by the specialist that listed options for clinics, in case we wanted to take that route.
The day of the ultrasound for the full anatomy scan comes. By this point I have repeated the statistic to myself so many times that I actually believe it: there is a 98% chance that there is nothing wrong with your baby.
After the tragedy of the miscarriage, we decided to try again. After all, the doctors told us that the next time around they didn’t have any reason to believe that we wouldn’t be successful in having a child.
For the past five years I haven’t gone to one unless it was an emergency. Not because I wouldn’t have loved to address some of my issues, but because the care I was typically afforded simply told me three things: I’m too fat, I’m clearly too dumb, and I don’t merit more than a moment of the doctors attention.
We will be back, and we will be bringing our legions of friends. I just hope His Place is ready for us.
If you are not queer, it might be hard for you to fully appreciate the horror of being outed. When it happens there is that moment when my heart grows arms with spindly hands and dagger like nails, which it uses to claw it’s way into my throat where it sits and pounds from it’s efforts. …
Ok, I’m going to say what might be some pretty unpopular things this time: now I understand why the right makes fun of us for being “Special Snowflakes”.
Dysphoria is a burden. I know for some trans people that would be the understatement of the year, but for me I feel like it’s an accurate description. It’s a weight that sits on my chest, figuratively and literally, and yet I’ve had a hard time describing it eloquently to people in the past.
It’s strange what sticks with you from childhood. I have this memory from preschool or kindergarten of taking a field trip to Columbus, Indiana, to go to this soda shop and ice cream parlor. It’s one of those strange little things that has stuck with me, but I hadn’t been back since, and so last Summer Amber and I went to go find this little place. It turns out that it has a ton of history that was lost on my young self, and we revisited that spot again this weekend.
I woke up pretty early on a Saturday morning and checked my support groups Facebook page to find that an event had been posted, somewhat last minute: A “Trans Clothing Swap” hosted at Butler University by the group TransForm.
I plan to begin posting fiction set in this universe. In broad strokes, I’ve made a timeline covering 1500 years and I look forward to sharing vignettes from this other universe.