NO ESCAPE 2: SOME ESCAPE (due to cis allyship)

Welcome to Trans Tuesday! This week we’re going to discuss how trans existence can just be so confusing to some cis people, even while other cis people can bring much needed relief simply by seeing us for who we really are. Let’s talk NO ESCAPE 2: SOME ESCAPE (due to cis allyship).

As a primer, please see the first essay on NO ESCAPE, about how my deadname and reminders that I’m trans, and thus othered by cis society at large, are things I can never get away from. You’ll see at the end of that how one small, kind gesture was able to make things better for me. This essay builds on that in a deeper way.

As evidence about how difficult some of this is for trans people, there was a time somewhat early on in my transition, where I had to have a background check done as part of a writing job (believe it or not), and I got stuck on the very first page of the form. Because it said to put my legal name, and at the time, that was Tilly. I’d legally changed my name.

But I also had to check a box that says “this is the name that appears on my government issued ID”… which it was not yet, as I hadn’t been able to get a new drivers license. At the time, I had no legal identification with my new legal name on it. This was because I came out and began changing all my legal info in the middle of covid lockdown, and so many things had slowed to a crawl. For more on that see A PANDEMIC TRANSITION.

This is actually important for the larger thing I’ll be talking about in a moment, so you need that context.

Anyway, for this background check that I had no legal ID that matched my legal name for, I contacted them about the problem, and they advised me to… put my legal last name on the form, even if it didn’t match my ID. But my last name hadn’t changed, I guess they just assumed it had because that’s probably what changes most often, due to marriage?

So I had to tell them no, it’s my first name that’s changed, and then they asked the old name, and suddenly I had to discuss being trans with a stranger. I’d really rather not have to do that, but I’m forced into it, and hey that’s kind of bad actually!

I had to put my deadname on the form, which didn’t match the name of the person the form was sent to, and so it becomes a whole thing. And even better, they wanted to know my sex. Which had been legally changed by this point.

But it also hadn’t been changed on my ID yet. And it, y’know, made me feel very not great to have to put that name on things, much less see it again. Or have to then sign it in a signature. It was super awful. It made me want to curl into a ball and hide, but also scream in anger at the top of my lungs. Because for a long time, whenever I thought I was finally away from it, it’d pop right back up again. Even now, nearly six years in, it still does, on an almost daily basis. So do see that original NO ESCAPE essay, if you’ve not read it yet, for more on that.

So let’s get to the bigger issue I wanted to talk about. I had to go in for a colonoscopy, which may seem totally out of left field but gimme a sec, it’ll make sense. I’m fine, don’t worry, there’s just family history so they’ve been checking early.

Ever since I had the procedure scheduled, I grew increasingly worried and anxious about it, to the point where it was all I could think about. And it’s not just because the prep for it is absolutely awful (it is), or that I hate going under anesthesia (I really, really do).

It was because I was still in the middle of getting new documents with my legal name and gender change reflected. And all of that info hadn’t yet been changed with our health insurance and doctors. And the thought of being deadnamed and misgendered throughout was too much to deal with.

Even though they’re the ones who provided all of my transition care (HRT, gender affirming speech therapy, etc), and it was right in my file that I’m trans, I still got deadnamed and misgendered by people who didn’t bother to look at all the info (or worse, just didn’t care).

I briefly considered going BOYMODE, just to not have to deal with all this, and imagine feeling you have to wear a costume to see a doctor just to not have to deal with their inability to give you the most basic amount of respect as a human being, by getting your NAME AND PRONOUNS right.

Buuuuut the thought of boymoding again made me want to shrivel, so I ruled it out pretty quickly.

As I was sittin’ around being anxious for weeks, they had a cancellation and called me to see if I could come in a few days earlier. And I guess they’re not aware of what their own department is doing, because two different people called me, and one used my real name and one used my deadname, which only added to the anxiety. But fine, I’ve got the prep stuff, let’s go early and get it over with.

So I do the prep (one of the worst things humans have ever devised! It’s so bad!), I get there and check in, and they print the little ID bracelet thing you get when you go in for procedures, and… it just has Deadname McGee in big bold print. Not even “Tilly” in quotes as the “preferred name” listed in my chart. Super. Thanks. You’re all the best.

And then they immediately call me in, and you can’t have any jewelry or anything with you for the procedure, and I hadn’t even taken off my necklace or wedding ring yet. So I’m handing all that stuff to my wife Susan when it hits me they… called out Deadname McGee.

Nice and loud, for everyone in the waiting room to hear! And then they see me walking up, very much presenting as a woman. 

When I tell you my heart was already in my feet, well… more like under them. It was crushed. 

And then I have to make a decision.

Do I correct this lady? Is there a point? Am I even going to see her again during this procedure? Will she tell anyone else? What if she’s a bigot? What if she doesn’t care? What if she’s hostile about it?

And then I have to make that decision with every person I interact with during the procedure. Do you have any idea how much mental and emotional energy that many possible awful confrontations in a row would take? I wanted to run and hide.

If you need more on the nightmare of deadnaming and misgendering, see MISGENDERING AND PASSING.

So I just said nothing. She has my chart, she’s holding it and looking right at it, and it says Deadname “Tilly” Bridges. It said I’m trans. I had… boobs. And everything about me was visually coded female, other than the physical traits I can’t change (thanks to the fuckin’ wrong puberty I never asked for).

She takes me to the little alcove where the rolly bed is, and tells me to change and put the gown on, pulls the curtain closed and leaves. Great. So I change, and I’m laying there in the bed being miserable. And then a guy comes in to ask me a bunch of questions.

Routine stuff, like when I last ate, did I drink all the prep stuff, etc. He pops his head in, sees me and says, “Hi, ma’am!” Oh hell yes, what a relief! But then he looks at my chart.

And says, “Sorry. Sir.” No. No, damn it! Shit! Why would you do that?! Now I’m extra pissed. Do I want to get into it with this guy? The exact same situation comes up:

Do I correct him? Is there a point? Am I even going to see him again during this procedure? Will he tell anyone else? What if he’s a bigot? What if he doesn’t care? What if he’s hostile about it?

So I stew in silence and answer his questions. He runs down my list of medications to ask if I’m still taking them. A slight hesitation when he gets to my HRT, which is very clearly estrogen. Then he asks, and I confirm, and he doesn’t seem to know what to call me. This is not that hard, my dude.

Never once did he ask. Never once did he say, “I see you go by ‘Tilly,’ would you like me to call you that?” Nope, it was just “sir” and “Deadname McGee” all the way through… until he saw my chart and got further confused. 

Never mind that I’m a living, breathing human being, sitting two feet away from him, who could alleviate all of his confusion, if he’d just bothered to ask. But fine, whatever. 

While he’s doing this, a lady comes in to put in my IV. She calls me nothing and uses no honorifics, and none of it was weird or impolite. That is literally always an option, people! 

Then another dude comes in to put a blood pressure cuff on me, and some electrodes on my chest to monitor heart rate and such. Two go up high, no big deal. One has to go lower. He pulls out the gown…

Hey. 

I have boobs. 

Annnnnd we get another bit of addled cis hesitation. What should he do? He apologizes to me (?) and then attaches the electrode, and off he goes.

It’s possible they only put Deadname McGee on whatever this guy saw before he came in to my little curtained area, so that’s not necessarily his fault, but… look, man, I don’t know what to tell you. TRANS PEOPLE EXIST.

So I was just sitting there, waiting for my turn to go into the procedure room. It was quiet, but only in the way these places are. So I listen and watch, because I’m a writer and that’s what I do. 

And I heard them talking to other patients, one of whom was very upset they couldn’t have alcohol the rest of the day after their colonoscopy. Phones were ringing, beds were being wheeled around. And then I saw First Confused Dude and IV Lady looking at their whiteboards of patients.

I couldn’t hear all of what they were saying because another bed wheeled by, but they were pointing at the bottom of the board, which was me. Just as the clanking of a bed faded from earshot, IV lady said, “Just use ‘Constellations’. Thank goodness for the mask.”

And this is where I want to again remind you that this was happening during the height of covid, and my mask had constellations on it (yay science, I love you). 

So here was a point where two cis people were just so confused by a trans person, and rather than talk to me like a human or just use the preferred name (that is listed right in my effing file!), they decided to otherize and dehumanize me and only refer to me by what’s on my mask, so they didn’t have to “figure me out,” or, heaven forbid, talk to me.

Which sadly brings a little weird relief, because it means no more misgendering or deadnaming, from these cis people who cannot be assed to treat me like a human being. 

But I’m not a fucking object. 

I’m a person with feelings that they’ve been fucking experts at stomping all over.

So now I was feeling extra awful and dehumanized. And getting really mad, and all of that was on top of my anxiety about the actual procedure itself, and I just didn’t know what to do. Like if I did get into it with these people…

What if they’re part of the team doing the actual procedure? Do I have to worry about them providing me less care than I deserve, because they’re mad at me? Or because it turns out they’re actual bigots and not just The Uncomfortable Cis?

I don’t reach a decision before they take me into the procedure room, which is unfriendly and cold and sterile in the way those rooms are. It doesn’t help my mood any. There were a few people prepping things, and the anesthesiologist over at his own little station.

He talked to me a bit, seemed friendly enough, and didn’t deadname or misgender me. Didn’t really call me anything. 

I’ll take it. Small victories. 

In the corner of the room, working on a computer and her phone at the same time, was a lady. 

It was hard to tell with masks, but she was probably late 20s or so. As they’re prepping me, she came over and introduced herself as the gastroenterologist who’d be performing the procedure. 

And she… she calls me Tilly. 

Out of the half dozen people I’ve interacted with so far, she is the first one to do so.

She was kind and friendly, and reassured me that all would be fine, and as they administered the anesthesia, someone asked her a question about me. They call me “him.” The doctor uses “she” in reply. As I drift out of consciousness I am… so glad this doctor is there, I could almost cry.

The anesthesia wore off a little before the procedure was over, a first for me (and, that’s an interesting… let’s call it “sensation”). As I groggily return to consciousness, I heard the doctor say, “She’s all clear, good for another five years.”

And when I tell you that hearing the “she” from her was just as important to me as hearing that everything looked fine, and I don’t have to do this again for a long time? That’s not hyperbole.

They wheeled me to the recovery area to let the rest of the anesthesia wear off, but I was completely awake and alert already… which means, uh, for past procedures I was perhaps given way too much anesthesia, because those took me all day to recover from. Which doesn’t help me be less anxious about having to go under, as you might imagine! 

But here’s the turn. After the procedure:

Nobody misgendered me. 

Nobody deadnamed me. 

As they checked my vitals and prepped me to leave, and called Susan to be sure she was there to drive me home (no driving after anesthesia, natch), all of them got my name and pronouns right. Even the ones who routinely got it wrong before.

Because that doctor, apparently, straightened out everyone who needed to be straightened out. So that I would be respected as a human being.

And when I tell you that makes her an angel, I mean it.

She didn’t put it on me to have to tell people they were fucking things up and have me risk that confrontation.

She didn’t stand for it, and she got them to stop. 

This is true cis allyship. This is BEING AN ACCOMPLICE.

She took what had been a pretty awful experience and turned it around, into something that ended up feeling positive and affirming. And all it took was for her to just treat me with the respect we should all show each other. 

She turned no escape into… some escape, actually! And I love her for it.

What’s more, she got things changed in their system somehow. You get these follow-up notices afterward, with notes on what to expect after, what your vitals were, etc. This stuff always said Deadname McGee “Tilly” Bridges. But now… look at what she did.

My legal name had changed, but they didn’t have the documents for that yet. And still, this doctor went out of her way to do what she could to help. 

I sent her a thank you email, explaining what an awful experience I’d had until she came into the picture and made everything better. Because this truly meant the world to me, and made my life better. 

And then she wrote me back:

Imagine, treating trans people like human beings worthy of dignity and respect. I bet you can, if you try.

And please, please do. 

Be the allies we need.

And give us some escape. 

Tilly Bridges, end transmission.
tillysbridges@gmail.com