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I mentioned in my previous post that I'm participating in this year's Trans Rights Readathon. I don't have a specific fundraiser, but there are lots of recommended charities and organizations for folks to donate to in that carrd link.
Right now, I'm in the middle of reading Dear Senthuran by Awkaeke Emezi. I had read The Death of Vivek Oji last year and fell in love with it. That book really kept its hold on me, and I've been a fan of Emezi's work since then. I'm not the biggest fan of nonfiction — I definitely read it much slower than fiction or poetry — but I trusted that Emezi's vivid prose style would remain regardless of genre.
And I was right about that. Early in the book is the chapter "Mutilation | Dear Eugene" and in it, Emezi captures the experience of undergoing a few gender-affirming surgeries, most notably a hysterectomy. As someone who has felt similarly to Emezi about the ability to bear children ("I have always had a violent aversion toward reproduction, toward having a body that was marked by its reproductive potential" on page 12), I feel like I sat up and paid close attention to this chapter — and then felt the experience of the hysterectomy in my body.
I won't go into detail (some of the descriptions of pain and medical procedures might warrant a content warning for the squeamish). But suffice it to say, reading this made me face the reality of the procedure (a nurse reminded Emezi that they "got an entire organ removed from your body" on page 15), but also affirmed, for me, that I want something like this.
I don't think I've ever felt dysphoria, and I have never really questioned my gender. Very few people have questioned my gender, too (barring the years of my early adolescence when a pixie haircut and my aversion to wearing "girly" clothes meant that I was mistaken for one of my brothers a few times). But I've faced similar (though less fraught) hurdles to getting the medical care I really want. The few times I've sat in a doctor's office and tried to raise the possibility of even just a tubal ligation, I've always been subtly redirected towards different birth control options. I don't want kids; everyone seems to be under the impression that I will one day change my mind.
Anyways, I'm greatly enjoying the book. Even though I'm not done with it yet, I feel like it's something I'll recommend to a lot of folks.
Right now, I'm in the middle of reading Dear Senthuran by Awkaeke Emezi. I had read The Death of Vivek Oji last year and fell in love with it. That book really kept its hold on me, and I've been a fan of Emezi's work since then. I'm not the biggest fan of nonfiction — I definitely read it much slower than fiction or poetry — but I trusted that Emezi's vivid prose style would remain regardless of genre.
And I was right about that. Early in the book is the chapter "Mutilation | Dear Eugene" and in it, Emezi captures the experience of undergoing a few gender-affirming surgeries, most notably a hysterectomy. As someone who has felt similarly to Emezi about the ability to bear children ("I have always had a violent aversion toward reproduction, toward having a body that was marked by its reproductive potential" on page 12), I feel like I sat up and paid close attention to this chapter — and then felt the experience of the hysterectomy in my body.
I won't go into detail (some of the descriptions of pain and medical procedures might warrant a content warning for the squeamish). But suffice it to say, reading this made me face the reality of the procedure (a nurse reminded Emezi that they "got an entire organ removed from your body" on page 15), but also affirmed, for me, that I want something like this.
I don't think I've ever felt dysphoria, and I have never really questioned my gender. Very few people have questioned my gender, too (barring the years of my early adolescence when a pixie haircut and my aversion to wearing "girly" clothes meant that I was mistaken for one of my brothers a few times). But I've faced similar (though less fraught) hurdles to getting the medical care I really want. The few times I've sat in a doctor's office and tried to raise the possibility of even just a tubal ligation, I've always been subtly redirected towards different birth control options. I don't want kids; everyone seems to be under the impression that I will one day change my mind.
Anyways, I'm greatly enjoying the book. Even though I'm not done with it yet, I feel like it's something I'll recommend to a lot of folks.
