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| Finding Renewed Faith In Optimism, And The Perils Of Despair |
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| Opinion - Looking Glass | |||
| Sharon Gaughan | |||
| Sunday, 04 November 2007 20:00 | |||
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Fairfax, VA, USA. I have met two men in my life who lost their penises to a misfortune of life. They weren’t born transsexual, but accident or disease confronted them. These are my notes on our encounters in the burn ward, my meetings with men looking for their own lives to live. A port city on the eastern seaboard of the United States drew me in for my periodic medical examination, a lifelong cycle of progress and repair. The steep stairs leading up to the hospital entrance rarely convey the charms of what might lay ahead, only the terrifying possibilities of what might lie within those swinging doors. The hospital I visited is old and prestigious, but ill-equipped to calculate the tolls paid by the human heart. While there, and as usual, I stopped in for my regular visit to the pediatric burn ward. As a long-term burn survivor of nominally terminal burn injuries, the gatekeepers let me in, figuring my example might help comfort the kids. My mother once caught my younger brother playing with matches. In frustration, she exposed my burn sites to him hoping that would block him from doing it again. That was awful, given that children often feel so guilty when terrible things happen to their families. But a visit to the burn ward isn’t like that. I am an adult now and neither the children nor I had anything to do with what happened to us. Our only decision is what to do about the situation. Not being a doctor or professional caregiver, I do not deliver anything like therapy when I visit a burn ward. It is just a matter of being there — being here. I survived and — from the children’s point of view — thrived. It is terrifying for me, but well worth it. I see it in the kids’ eyes, open wide upon learning they are not alone, that there might be some hope, that they may well have a future. Some of the parents gain a little more confidence in their ability to handle the situation. On one of my visits, I met a man who had his penis and one testicle cut off in an industrial accident. The other testicle was so badly damaged, the surgeons opted for removal. The psychiatrists prescribed heavy medications in fear that suicidal impulses would take him away. He was distant and unresolved within himself as panicky testosterone fled from his damaged body. His devastation was so complete, no one could reach him. He could not reach himself and remained locked in a faraway place. On another visit, I met a man who had been in a fire. An exam found cancer in his penis. I had been there to visit and comfort his children who were injured in the same fire. Doctors detected the cancer while treating him for burns received while rushing around the house to save his children. With flames spreading upward beyond his thighs, he held up the roof beam, allowing his family to escape. They were a poor family, migrants from a failed coal field, and the family had not benefited from regular medical care. The wife and mother went under psychiatric treatment, nearly catatonic from shock after the fire. The man had his penis amputated, along with his testicles (as a precaution). He did not view himself as being born transsexual: he was devastated. He did opt for reconstruction to restore himself as best he could. We sat on a wood bench exchanging confidences and support. Since we were so open with each other, I shared about myself, and gave him some limited assurances that others undergo similar reconstructive surgery (think F2Ms). He sat there for a moment, then said "You are one fine lady. I mean that. I like you. But how does it feel to be turned into a girl like that?" He was in tears. I explained that I already was a "girl" so it feels just fine. I looked up into his downcast, clouded eyes. "You are still a fine and brave man. You showed you are a real stud during the fire. You have heart. Nothing changes that. Your wife and children need you, no matter what happens." I saw in him a familiar spirit. The important thing for his children, as it was for me, was to face a circumstance not of our making. The only decision for me was what to do about it. As it was for them. As it was for him. We sat on that wooden bench for a long time hugging each other. Finally, he straightened up and asked me if I had regrets about what I had done. Transition hardly came up — I find people are far more accepting once they fully experience their own trauma. I said "I have no regrets at all, only a gathering Joy." I realized I could only go as far as my female empathy would allow. Beyond that point lay a male place I had never inhabited and never could. I asked him in turn how he felt. His answer was male, focused on how he thought about his feelings rather than the feelings themselves, but I got the drift. In part he said "I believe God spared me for a purpose. I gotta get control. I've gotta get back and take care of my peoples." His body language and the look in his eyes said it all. His doubts and his fears connected with his sense of responsibility to others. He cast aside his concerns for himself and bent his will to his loved ones. This is a quality I find heroic in the men who have it. Later on, after sharing coffee and a danish, we said goodbye and wished each other luck. He said he has a tall brother in West Virginia that would get real goofy over someone like me! He was so nice even in the midst of all his pain. I learned later that the family stayed together, at least for a time. The man had a wife and family to live for — I hope they made it. I do not know what happened to the other man, the one in the industrial accident, the one lost in himself. God love them all. My petty concerns — and the occasional bigots I meet along the way — all seem so inconsequential by comparison. The stairs leading out of the hospital led me to a different day. I walked down a smooth slope of renewed resolve. Whatever faces us, meeting these men confirms my faith in optimism, and the perils of despair. NoteThis is a true story. The author withheld certain details to protect the privacy of people mentioned in this opinion column.
 Ms. Sharon Gaughan is a Co-Founder, Principal, and Managing Editor of TS-Si. She also is a columnist for the TS-Si website. Sharon's signed articles contain her own opinions and do not necessarily convey an official position of TS-Si, its partners, or affiliates.Sharon welcomes your comments. You can reach her via the public form below, her TS-Si Contact Page, or on Facebook (Sharon Sinead Gaughan).
 The TS-Si News Service is a collaborative effort by TS-Si.org editors, contributors, and corresponding institutions. Sources can include the cited individuals and organizations, as well as TS-Si.org staff contributions. Articles and news reports do not necessarily convey official positions of TS-Si, its partners, or affiliates. We welcome your comments. Use the form below to leave a public comment or send private correspondence via the TS-Si Contact Page. We will not divulge any personal details or place you on a mailing list without your permission.TS-Si is dedicated to the acceptance, medical treatment, and legal protection of individuals correcting the misalignment of their brains and their anatomical sex, while supporting their transition into society as hormonally reconstituted and surgically corrected citizens.
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