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.
Anyone who has taken a moment to read my “about me” knows that children are in the plans. What does that mean for me? Well, it’s pretty internally complicated. Firstly, lets talk about some of the hard facts. I’m trans masculine, but haven’t undergone any gender confirmation treatments, why? Well, because we want babies. By…