Maddox K. Pennington

I went back to my care provider in early December, and all my labs were normal, so she wrote me a diagnosis of gender dysphoria and a prescription for testosterone patches (gel being unreliable and needles being incompatible with my Big Baby status). I was….awed by the ease with which it all happened. Within two days I got a call from a Trans Care Navigator named Eli who told me exactly what questions to ask my insurance, and made me an appointment with a therapist who would write me a letter to give to the surgeon who lived in the house that Jack built.

Then the Pharmacy System intervened but took nearly a solid month to deliver said patches. It was annoying. There was tail-chasing. There was insurance-company-calling and doctors-office-messaging and repeated-Walgreens-visiting. But, there was also the insurance customer service rep who regretfully told me they couldn’t change my name in the system without a legal change, but made sure to call me MK when he left voicemails following up.

They were right about treating dysphoria actually helping (shock). Even with the pharmacy delay, just the feeling I was Finally Doing Something about all this helped nudge me forward and upward. Also helpful, building a LEGO diner and acquiring a LEGO bookstore.

Thursday, I finally picked up my patches from the pharmacy. I walked in the house, dumped everything in the foyer, took off my shirt and went to look in the mirror. In my hot pink too-small “I’m-too-cheap-to-buy-a-binder” sports bra, I ripped open the package, peeled the patch off its backing, and stuck it on the back of my shoulder.

This is how easy it is. This is how hard it is.

My shoulder started stinging, and within a few hours my joints felt achy. I watched three episodes of The Witcher and ate three ice cream sandwiches and waited for the next thing.