Male to Female (M2F) Transgender's story (Krissy's Story)

I was born at Ryde Memorial Hospital, Sydney in March 1963 and pronounced a boy, My mother, Nancy, was a process worker and also worked in milk bars and TAFE cafeterias. Dad's name is Hilton and he was a supervisor for Goodyear Tyre and a storeman for Kmat. They are both retired now and mum does a lot of volunteer work for the Red Cross. My two brothers were older than I was and I also had one older and one younger sister. When I transitioned their reaction was mixed but these days the whole family lives in Queensland and is very close. If we can't see each other for a while the phone lines run hot.

      When I was in my teens, both my friend Denielle and I were lucky that our families supported us. We were ostracised by many trannies in Kings Cross because we still lived with our families and they had lost theirs. I guess they couldn't stand being reminded of that. I did get to know quite a few of them and became a 'Clayton's friend for when no-one else was around. That was the way it was: 'You're there--I am here! Don't talk to me untill after so and so has gone...'

      As a kid I don't remember particularly thinking that I was a girl but I liked girls games and toys-- not boy stuff. Our neighbours all seemed to know that I was different, probably because I was always helping them around the house and in the garden. I didn't have any trouble with the kids in our street either. The bashing started at infant school. I was so terrified, I would lose control of my bowels and urine and hide in the closet. The bashing continued through primary school and it was there that I started smoking cigarettes of course. I used sex as a tool and become a 'teacher's pet' so that I could stay behind after class--but no teacher ever touched me in a sexual way.

     I think I got a reputation for being tough (probably because of the smoking) and people started to leave me alone. My second oldest brother had been involved with a few bashings of his own. He had bashed two teachers, and he would just walk out of school, so people began to assume that I had the same violent nature. Mum took me to see Dr Wallman, our family GP, and asked him to send me to a psychiatrist but he refused. He had done that with a set of twins previously, one of whom had said that he wanted to be a girl, and six months after they had seen the psychiatrist they were dead. They both suicided--even the one who hadn't thought he was a girl.

      The challenges really brought home to me how different I was to them and I didn't cope very well. My brother's reputation had preceded me once again and sex was another 'thing' that I used to keep the bastards away from me. I don't think Dr Wallmart knew what to do with me but he knew that I was on the edge and probably figured that a live kid on drugs was better than a dead kid on nothing--so he prescribed Valium for me. The result was that I spent most of my time at high school in a drug-induced daze. Fairly predictably, I tried to overdose on Valium (which obviously didn't n work) and ended up taking a year off. Eventually I couldn't stand it any more and left school completely.

      For a long time I thought I was gay and I had a lot of trouble trying to come to terms with that idea. My ambition when I was a kid was to be a singer and glamour girl--I loved sequins and feathers and all that. What I ended up doing was working on a machine in a factory that make plastic bags and I hated it. I really went off the rails for a while and both Danielle and I flirted with prostitution.

      Then a couple of gay guys and I went to Kings Cross to see a show at Les Girls, where I saw transsexual performers such as Carlotta and Toye de Wilde. It was a revelation. I had no idea that a boy could become a girl and the minute I saw them I thought, 'That's me!' I managed to talk to a couple of the girls, which was just as well because there was no information available that was of any help to me. They told me about a doctor in Sydney I could see-- and that was the beginning of my transition.

      I told my parents, who were totally confused and blamed themselves, They just didn't understand what was happening, but then, neither did I. Eventually they met a couple of my tranny friends, including Danielle, and tried really hard to adapt to the situation. Meanwhile I received a great deal of support from Seahorse in Sydney and my friend, Noeline. If course I used to dress up in my glad rags and go out for the boring into you--it was 'wicked' and 'scandalous'. I got the impression that everyone expected me to stop carrying on under their noses, go away for my gender reassignment operation and not come back until after 'everything' was done.

      I had my operation at the Masada Hospital, Melbourne in 1989 and remember saying, 'Thank God that's over'--now I can get on with the rest of my life'. Mum went to Melbourne with me. When dad rang up to see how I was he said, 'Well, I might have lost a son but now I have another daughter', which I thought was really nice. No-one can ever be entirely happy with being regarded as a guinea pig but I was reasonably pleased with the way I was treated at the hospital; I was certainly happy with the outcome of the operation. After that, I touched base with reality and grew up. I did Year 10 at Meadowbank TAFE under the name of Kristine, which I thought was pretty cook and it saved a lot of arguments later when I had to present my qualifications. No prospective employee have insisted on seeing my high school results so far but I often wonder what the expression on their faces would be like if they read that Kristine attended an 'all boys' school.

      It would be wonderful if school records, trade papers and apprenticeship papers etc. could be changed to reflect the true indedtity of a person, particularly if the documents were made gender neutral (the Queensland University of Technology will now change the name and gender status for transgender students). I never did become a glamorous singer but, unlike many trnasgenders after transition, I managed to earn a living by doing house cleaning, working as a process worker and supervisor, andI also acquired a forklift operator's licence.

     I would like to adopt children but have never tried to do anything about it because the laws are too defined and unbending even for those who are considered to be suitable candidates. in 1999 several law reforms relating to industrial relations, domestic violence and property law were passed by the Queensland Parliament in order to bring De-facto and same-sex relationships into line with conditions covering heterosexual married couples in these areas.

      
I couldn't help wondering where that left me as a woman--a boy who, with the help of the medical profession, grew into a woman. And what about the girls, who, again with the help of the medical profession, grew into men. Are we male or female? That depends on which government department you deal with and what state you live in. Federally we aren't too badly off. The federal government has acknowledged our change of gender (after all the surgery has been complete of course) provided we produce a letter from doctor dear that the surgery is irreversible. Documents attesting to that fact fly across the country at such a rate they burn up by the time they arrive at their destination.

      In the State of Queensland, particularly, we faced a great many challenges. We couldn't be issued with a new birth certificate reflecting our change of gender and we couldn't marry the partner of our choice. I could have married a female-to-male(F2M) transsexual legally but, although I was in a long-term relationship with my male partner, that relationship was not recognized for what it was because we were considered to be a same-sex couple. Transgender people to have a Bill, an Act of Parliament of amendments to legislation already in place, to clarify where we stood in the community.

      Where do we, as a community, draw the line or set the boundaries? Who decides who is transgender, homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual and so on--do we let the politicians do it? Many people in our community identify with homosexuals, male-to-female (M2F) people attracted to women, female-to-male (F2M) attracted to men. Is a M2F attracted to men gay because she has a vagina and her partner has a penis? Is a F2M attracted to women gay because he has a penis and she has a vagina?

      Regardless of whether you are a F2M or a M2F, what is between you legs at birth currently decides your future worth to the community as a whole. Society has an absurd curiosity about genitalia and this is reflected every day in just about every form of documentation we are required to sign. The big question is (whether you are pre-op, post-op or no-op) who are we? Where do we fit in? Our legal status is in limbo depending on which state, government department or person you deal with. In addition to that, we must cope with neighbours and people who, on an everyday basis, often refer to you as Ms or Mr based solely on the sound of you voice or appearance.

      My preference would be do do away with the word 'transgender' completely and go straight from male to female. A few words added to legislation, or a small alteration here and there to existing legislation, would eliminate so many of the obstacles we face that prevent us from living worthwhile and fulfilling lives. What other section of the community is compelled to undergo the most intensive, intrusive and exhaustive medical testing and analyses over many years to ensure that they are sane people? How many of you have been forced to prove you sanity? How many other members of society are forced to put in as much time, effort, and money just to conform to the ideas of genitalia-correct people who believe that we have somehow been given the wrong bodies to begin with.

We do it because we are different -- very different. We are forced through endless psychological, medical, psychiatric, religious and peep pressures to fit in. Nearly forty-five per cent of transgenders forfeit their lives through suicide because they can't cope with that kind of constant pressure. In the end---this is the way we are. Society has decided how we will look, act and talk, A parade of people with different hats decides who 'passes' and who doesn't. Because society has decided all this for us, I believe it is up to society to protect us, nurture us, and be there when we need them---but this is not the case at the moment.

      The way we deal with society's assumptions is in our own hands and in the hands of the well-intentioned people who believe in us. All I want is to be an active and participating member of the world at large---not relegated to the outskirts of society for the entertainment of those who see us as men in dresses on stage; or as a sex change; or as a prostitute for men and women to fulfil their sexual fantasies.

      I don't want to see my transgender friends drown in alcohol or choke on their own vomit through talking drugs because they don't measure up to a community's expectations---and there have been quite a few. I don't want to be hidden away in bed-sits or isolated to wait for the deep sleep to end the pain. I don't want to be an 'in your face' type either. I want to be able to get married and adopt my future husband's children, if any. I also want to be able to love, care for and protect the children of friends and family, who in their last will testament have given me the guardianship of their child. I want to be able to live, love and work in an environment where I am protected from vilification, harassment, and discrimination of any kind.

      It should be mentioned  here that there are some truly wonderful people working within the system trying to right these wrongs---none more so than those who tried to change things in Queensland where transgendered and inter-sexed people had no protection under state law at all in many areas. Like members of the transgender community, those who sought to help us continually had their hopes for improvement stomped on for years because we were not politically palatable or the climate was not considered right for a change.

Epilogue

Change eventually came to Queensland! in March 2003 the Queensland Government passed amendments to the anti-discrimination Act to include GENDER IDENTITY (the medical term). This has released the tension and grustration of being (legally at least) treated as a non-human.

      With that protection comes the responsibility of living in a diverse cultural community. Although the law now protects us, education relating to the dynamics of gender identity still has a long way to go. I will always assist whenever and whereever I can to put a human face on this issue.

      Personally, I look forward to a future where I can live a full and productive life, stay healthy, gain some financial stability---and never have to was my face again.

Source : Transgenders and intersexuals by May, Lois

Male-to-Female transsexual (Reynah's story)

Reynah is a psychology graduate and male to female transsexual, who is hoping to study the functions and malfunctions of prenatal hormones and their ability to masculinise the body while leaving the brain in its default mode of femininity.

Although Reynah's mother thought 'he' and his sister were as alike as two peas in a pod when they were infants, his sister was labelled pretty while Reynah was pronounced handsome. He was then bundled into a blue bunny rug from which he was forced to view the world for the next forty years as he struggled to become the person other people wanted him to be.

A near-death experience and his father's critical illness precipitated him into a nightmare world of uncertainty and terror -- a world with which he and his wife and family could not cope. Reynah was not a woman to give up easily, however, and has faced the challenge of becoming the girl of her dress with courage, determination and grace. Her story tells of her ongoing struggle with guilt, confusion, exploitation and hair.

Living the Dream

Have you ever been driving in your car when suddenly you become aware of your surroundings? You realize that you have appparently been driving on automatic pilot for some time, but at the moment of re-focusing you are temporarily disorientated ad can not remember where you are or how you got there. This shift of attention away from reacting to external stmulation toward responding to some internal stimulus is called 'daydreaming'. I suspect mhy whiole life has been a daydream. I don't know where I am or how i got there. I am a pre-op transsexual--but where is that? It's not a man and it's not a woman and there are the only two locations on society's gender map. Did I make a wrong turn somewhere?

My early childhood is charted on my personal memory map with seemingly silly little things being fixed as important landmarks. I remember mum dragging me along for dad to see the ribbon that I had tied in my hair and, terrified, being tolk that boys don't do that --learning so sooon that I was bad.

A delicate gold chain and cross necklace is all right for girls but not for me. Mum's make-up drawer and red, red lipstick-- is that a pimple or a trace of lipstick? Scrub it raw! I'm bad and I mustn't get cought. My hair is cut: short back and sides! Tears, tears and more tears. I am crying for my hair. I see a girl's Shiny, translucent complexion--gorgeous. I want it too. A bit goy athlete shaves his legs. It must be okey, but again, not for me. Ridiculed and punished--it is bad for a boy to be a girl!

At a party we play 'spin-the-bottle'. I kiss girls on the cheek: in the shed I kiss boys on the lips. Always hiding. Nobody must ever know because it's bad and I am bad. I must learn to be a boy--more of a boy than anyone so that no-one ever guesses. Masculinity did not come naturally to me so I picked a stereotypical role and played it to the hilt. Boy, did I become a man ! I played first grade rugby in Brisbane, fathered three children and built our house with my bare hands. 

I drank like a fish with the boys and went to all the pick-up bars. Although I had trouble with on-night stands, once I was in a long-term, loving relationship I was able to perform satisfactorily. In my life I have had three such relationships; the last one became a marriage of twenty years. See? Girls can do anything!

Outwardly my marriage was not at all remarkable. I was able to suppress the real me and behave just like any other husband. But always hovering, just below the surface for me, was the realisation that I viewed the relationship as being between two woman--with one penis to share. Then two traumatic events occurred I only just survived a near-death experience and my father underwent a triple bypass heart operation. I woke up one morning sobbing inconsolably. I cried for hours. The uninvited realisation that I could die without ever having let 'me' escape the masculine charade left me uncertain of my future and terried.

I explained everything to my wife that morning and , although it took six months for her to leave me physically, mentally she left me that day. One doesn't simply jump a fence to become the woman inside--all that conditioned overt masculine behaviour must be reversed. I had to learn how to walk, talk, sit and even stand like a woman. I was initially besieged by offers of help and instruction from incredulous women who I now think saw it as a rather humorous challenge.

I was forever being told, 'women do this...' or 'women don't do that...' as if all women think and act identically. I could obviously see that this was not the case but conforming to this new stereotype was the first phase of my re-education and the renunciation of my masculinity came very easily.

Soon all the walking and talking business became second nature but I was also to grow a bread without even thinking. Women do not do that! In order to 'pass' physically as my true psychological gender I realised I had to do something about this terrible affliction. Hormones will develop breasts and change the shape of your body and face but they seem to have to effect on facial hair. I remember my first facial waxing: how could I forget it? It felt like the flesh had come away with the hair and only  hours of having a packed of frozen peas pressed to my face alleviated the pain.

      After a great deal of research into eletrolysis and lasering I made an appointment with a laser and skil care clinic that advertised treatments which they said would permanently remove both dark and blood facial hair. The decision to take this irreversible step highlighted for me the reality of my transition and strengthened my resolve but it did not negate the emotional turmoil of home and fear.

      The clinic had quoted me 500 dollars per session and said that it would take three sessions. Fifteen hundred dollars! That hurt! I jokingly told people I was putting my money all around where my mouth was. The scanty literature provided by the clinic advised that plucking or waxing should cease for two months prior to the treatment and that I should present on the appointed day with a couple of millimetres of growth. This meant shaving for six or seven weeks and then growing a bread for a week or so. Yuk!

      As the beard become noticeable, the years of male conditioning and doubts about the direction I was taking came flooding back. Insecurities I thought were well behind me surfaced as the reflection in the mirror told me a different story to the one that I felt was true. The mirror said, 'There is no woman here!' and only the support of friends enabled me to see that the mirror lied.

      I arrived at the clinic for my first apppintment in bib-and-brace overalls and a lime-green T-shirt--a look I hoped was not too garlie for my bearded face or too butch for the lovely complexion I expected to have when I emerged.

      I was met by a youngish, handsome (cute but a bit short) doctor, who led me into his office where we chatted about my expectations. Only then did he revise the three-session schedule, saying that recent information suggested success might involve five procedures.

      The dollar signs must have started to whirl in my eyes because he promised to reduce the price after the third session. This interview left me with the distinct impression that money was more important to him than success (which couldn't be guaranteed anyway due to the newness of the technology). I felt like a guinea pig gambling my life's savings--but I was committed.

      After taking a photograph of my face, which immediately came up on his computer screen, the doctor wrote down some details and then showed me into the beautician's room where I was asked to like down on the 'operating' table.

      My face was to be waxed and since I now regarded waxing as the painful equivalent of a tooth extraction without unaesthetic I wasn't too keen, but the beautician was very professional and the waxing was soon over without very much discomfort. She smothered my face with a cool cream and began to set up the computerised laser.

      I closed my eyes thinking that if I couldn't see it, it wasn't happening--but it was. I could hear the whirling and dinging of a machine and then felt a wave of warmth progress slowly down my cheek. The warmth became real heat but the machine moved on just as the pain was about to become unbearable.

Time flies when you're having fun and I suppose the opposite applies, so I couldn't judge objectively how long the treatment took, but the clock indicated about half an hour.

      I did emerge like a fresh-faced young thing, with no residual pain or blotching. I looked adorable--well, pretty good compared to the way I looked when I went in, but after a week or so the hair started to regrow and the ritual began all over again. Iwent to the clinic for treatment three times and really felt that there was no long-term change. Depression set in and in despair I began researching alternatives.

     Another clinic was offering prices on a sliding scale, starting with the same amount of 500 dollars but reducing the charge by 100 dollars for each visit down to a minimum of 200 dollars. I attended this clinic five times. The improvement was noticeable after the first three times but I thought that the last two visits produced no significant effect. I had reached the end of my lasering treatments.

     My overall impression was that the clinicians saw me as a cash-flow opportunity rather than a client with genuine need. I do believe that psychiatric-ally diagnosed transsexuals should be supported in accessing surgery or procedures that are normally considered cosmetic from a medical point of view.

     I would describe my facial hair at the moment as being controllable. I pluck the ever-emerging strays every morning and I am probably more self-critical of my looks than most biological women. Genetic girls can have faults and still be girls. We will always have an agglomeration of faults that conspire to give us away.

      'Passing' is more of an internal thing now and I have reached a point where I can 'pass' as a true woman no matter what I look like. The 'bad boy' tapes that continually played in my head, perpetuating my sense of guilt and lack of self-esteem, are gone. These days I hear more often what a lovely, kind and caring woman I am and believe me, I can listen to those sorts of comments until the cows come home.

EPILOGUE

Some people say that being a 'woman' or a 'man' are learned states but I think that femininity and masculinity are innate. Intellectually, I have no preference for being a man or a woman but internally I know that I'm a girl. This may seem like a strange idea to those people who have maching brains and genetalia but even stranger things happen to those who haven't.

      As I continue to mature into womanhood it is important to me to become as attractive as I can, while at the same time realising that I will never be beautiful on the outside--on the inside, of course, I am already absolutely gorgeous.

     My body is changing its shape as muscles disappear and fat accumulates in different place. While my breasts and hips enlarge and my shoulders diminish, I have become almost totally unaware of my penis, as if this extraneous appendage has accepted redundancy and quietly awaits its demise.

     I probably have to shave my legs more often than most women do and I was my arms in areas where I am sure that even the most fastidious woman probably wouldn't bother.

      I am emotionally attracted to men and, since my self-acceptance and transition, I am less physically attracted to women. I love in a halfway house of asesulity, which is fine by me because I realise that as a woman I have only just reached the psychological stage of adolescene.

     My sexuality will probably be determined by the person with whom I eventually fall in love and I somehow think that this will be a man. Does this make me gay? Some people think so but I don't.

      As long as my partner and I are happy and my efforts and commitment result in my becoming the strong, intelligent woman I fell myself to be, quite frankly I don't think that it matters what labels people use.