The Transition Process, Part 2

So, it’s been a week, both within the story I am telling, and also in real life, since my last post. How does waiting a week for the chance to find something like this out? Try to imagine now that this is the information that could and probably will change your life.

I called again. I got through. The process began.

Haha, yeah, right. As if it’s that easy.

First, they needed information. Name, address, medicare number, health insurance, recent photo, drivers license, et cetera. I hastily scrabbled this information together (including the delightful process of calling Dad at work to extract from him the details of the family health insurance plan (because I am poor and can’t afford my own) without cluing him in to why I needed it (because I wasn’t yet ‘out’ to him or any member of my family)) and sent it all off in an email. Step One, complete. Woo.

Step Two! I needed a referral from my doctor. I could do that. What I couldn’t do so easily was get that referral within the timeframe of their three day week. Technically, I already had a referral from my GP, but he’d sent it to wherever he thought it needed to go (apparently the gaping maw of Hell because nobody ever saw it) but I needed him to send it to the right location. So I called my doctor and was politely informed I would have to go in and speak to him in person. Luckily they had an appointment on the last day the clinic was open that week, so I went in, and the whole appointment consisted of:

Me: Hey I need you to send that referral to this place instead.
Doc: Okay. Anything else?
Me: Nope.
Doc: Okay. Thanks for coming in.
Me: Yep.

Learn to use a phone, you old fossil. But he gave me the referral with no trouble, and miraculously got it through on the same day. Success!

Oh, but there was a Step Three. Apparently, that wasn’t enough to convince them that I was worth advancing in the process. Gotta weed out all those people who are faking it just to get a hold of those sweet, sweet estrogen pills, you see. Gonna get crazy high on that shit. Aw, yeah.

Anyway, I had to write a two page essay about dysphoria and how it had affected me up until that point. It wasn’t necessarily difficult; I write a lot of stuff and I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this shit. So I did it, knocked it out in about half an hour, and sent that in too. Maybe some day, you’ll get to read it. Maybe not. Who knows?

I got it all in by the end of the day, gave myself a pat on the back, and then…

Nothing. Not one single word from them. Not a “thanks we got your stuff we’ll get back to you next week when we’ve had time to go over it” or anything to that effect. Just silence. All channels dead. As you can imagine, I felt great about that.

At the very end of their next work week, I’d still heard nothing. I was tempted to call or email, but I decided to just be patient.

No, I fucking didn’t, are you kidding me? I followed that shit up, and got an email politely informing me that I’d be contacted by one of their psychiatrists whenever they were available. Cool!

Another week went by. Actually, it could have been two. It was a while ago at this point.

A lot of waiting involved in this process. You picking up on that?

So finally I get a phone call from the psych’s office. Yay! They emailed me some basic information, including appointment costs (a lot) and stuff and we set up some appointments. Finally, this train has left the station. Right?

Come on, have you even been paying attention?

The appointments were in four months. You can imagine how I felt about that.

Patience is a virtue, possess it if you can. Found in a blah blah sexist expression ANYWAY I’m not gonna make you wait four months for the next part. Just a week. But as a homework exercise, try, just try to imagine how this all felt. By this point, I knew exactly what I wanted. I’d done the research, I had the facts and figures. But to get what I wanted, I had to wait. And the reward for all my waiting?

Find out next week.

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