Happy Mutant

Irony can sometimes be a force for good…

My last post went on at length about the apathetic response I had enjoyed from the medical profession since my mental assessment was completed, even though the assessment itself was unequivocal. That is to say, although they cannot actually diagnose me with gender dypshoria prior to the gender identity clinic stage, they were at least satisfied that I am sane enough to know my own mind on this subject, making me suitable for referral. Sadly, they had no idea who to refer it to, forcing me to pester them and my GP on the phone until eventually the report was forwarded along, hopefully to the right person, though by this point my confidence in the system was less than sky-high.

I spent yesterday at one of my support groups, talking with one of the women there who had been in the system a lot longer than I had done – and still has yet to see the GIC – and did not leave with my confidence greatly bolstered. She informed me that in spite of the fact that there are many gender clinics in England, most of them with far shorter waiting lists than the London clinic, transgender people in Wales have no choice but to attend the London clinic, with its year-long waiting list (or longer). I also told her about my probable intention to self-medicate, and she – very wisely – told me to get my blood tests done first. Unfortunately, I had already broached this subject with my GP, who has replied with a doubtful look and the information that blood tests were a funding issue and out of her power to authorise. As an alternative, my friend suggested that I get the tests done privately, at a likely bill of a few hundred quid… I do like doing things by the book, curiously enough, but I prefer it when the book reciprocates my goodwill. At this point, I was feeling very much as if the powers that be were leaving me with a stark choice between making a risky, amateur transition on my own unguided initiative, or biting the bullet and trying to live with my dysphoria for God knows how much longer.

The day did not immediately improve On walking back through town, I inadvertently ended up pledging a monthly donation to Greenpeace, partly because their fundraiser was very sensitive and respectful to the whole gender dysphoria thing, and probably a little bit out of guilt for having set the environmental movement back with my less-than-complimentary posting on Deep Green Resistance (though they would – and have – returned the favour). On getting back home, however, I discovered I will probably have to cancel that subscription before long and imbalance my karma all over again, as our internet provider has decided our bill is due for a massive hiking. Woohoo…

Then, out of the blue, my GP called, asking me if I could come in Thursday next week for my blood tests. These are the very tests I had been despairing of getting done unless I went private, and the ones that will enable a safe prescription, or at the very least allow me to self-medicate and know that I am taking the right dosage. More than that, the request from the blood tests means that a higher authority is now involved – possibly the GIC itself – some funding has been approved, and my case is at long last in the hands of the specialists rather than the well-meaning but essentially uninformed local practitioners. It does not automatically signify lightning-fast progress, but it does at least mean that things are back on track.

Making me, at least for the nonce, one happy little mutant. 🙂



2 thoughts on “Happy Mutant

    • I like to believe there’s no shame in being a mutant – maybe more in being too rigid and unchanging, and placing some sort of moral value on “sameness” – but whether there is or not I’m very happy to have your assessment on my soul. 😀 ❤ xxxxx

      Liked by 1 person

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