My sister is one of my most ardent, passionate supporters. She's a surrogate sister to many friends - perhaps of our entire community. I find her writing to be amazingly profound, so I'll use this space to share some of them...
6/25/2003
The following note is something that my sister sent to me yesterday. Please know that I didn't initiate anything...she did this all on her own.
I think some of the things that she learned from reading my book, Wrapped In Blue (Living Legacy Press, 2003), gave her pause and she wanted to capture her thoughts. Whatever the reason, I put her words here so that others can appreciate "A Sister's Perspective". (Note: The original artwork is Judy's, too!)
SOME THOUGHTS ON “WRAPPED IN BLUE”
(A BOOK BY DONNA ROSE)
Musings written by her sister, Judy
I thought I knew my brother, David. At least, I thought I knew him as well as he would let anyone know him. I knew he had a sensitive side that he kept locked away, buried very deeply. I knew because he could write amazing poetry; complicated, intricate, exquisite poetry. I knew because he was shy around girls, even though they were all crazy for him—even most of my friends had wicked crushes on him. I was 18 months younger, one grade lower in school, and everyone thought my big brother was gorgeous. Well, he was. Even I could see that. But he also had “testosterone poisoning”. I came up with that diagnosis after one of the too-many-to-count times he was horrible to me. One of the times when he said deliberately hurtful things that were diabolically mean and cruel and heartless… the kind of things that wounded and brought floods of angry tears at the injustice of it, as well as the awful self-doubt of an adolescent going through an awkward body phase (“What if he’s right?! What if I AM an ugly cow and I’ll always be a spaz and what if no one will ever want to marry me….?”) David was someone I idolized with the deepest, oldest part of myself, someone I admired for his strengths and talents and skills, someone I loved because he was part of my family… but I had to admit, quietly to myself, that… most of the time, I didn’t really like him very much. But, what I didn’t know was just how close to the truth my diagnosis of testosterone poisoning was. I didn’t have even the tiniest clue. Not a glimmer. That bugs me now, because I have always prided myself on my active intuition… but I confess that I didn’t have the faintest notion of what David was going through.
Looking back on it now, I can clearly see why all of Dave’s aggression seemed to always be coming at ME, always targeted in my direction. How would I have dealt with the knowledge that I was a different gender than my physical self wanted to be? How would I have handled having a genetic sister who was going through puberty at the same time as me? And how would I have been able to bear watching her body change into a woman while my own was taking me farther and farther away from where I knew I was supposed to be? Testosterone is a powerful hormone. It takes a young body that could almost look female and deforms it, over the span of a few short years, until there is nothing female looking back from the mirror anymore. I think about the times our Mom took me bra shopping, took me to get my ears pierced, took me to dance lessons or a hair salon… I look back and feel such pain for my sister, whom I never even knew I had.
My brother David never really existed, you see. His name and his place in the world weren’t real; what we were looking at turned out to be what can only be described as some kind of a cosmic mistake. The fates had handed out an unusual birth defect to my brother/sister: a male body but a female gender identity. No one knows what causes that kind of disconnect in a developing baby, but it is no less terrible a birth defect than a hole in the heart or vital organs that form on the outside of the abdomen. Maybe it’s worse, because no one sees it but the child… and how can a child be expected to tell anyone about this defect? What would the reaction be? People around the world still regard this affliction as “mental illness” or a “sin”. Either way, the child is stuck with a lousy hand of cards and no knowledge base for any useful way to play them. In short, it really STINKS.
I first learned of my brother/sister’s plight when I was 38 years old and going through the absolute worst time in my own life: Our father had just died and I adored him. He was, for me, a kindred spirit, a friend, and simply my favorite person in the universe. He had always been, from my earliest memories, my refuge in the stormy world we all live in. He was my teacher, my mentor, my role model, and the only person I had ever known who could understand ME. Turns out, he and I shared a peculiar kind of brain wiring that was so similar that we just “knew”. We knew how each other thought, we knew why. I can’t describe how comforting it is to have someone like that in your life. My husband loves me and accepts me, but doesn’t understand me at all, really, even after more than 25 years together. So, while my father’s death was surely a relief for the end-stage diabetic that his body had become… for me, being left behind was terrible—indescribably terrible. But worse was yet to come, for I was five months pregnant when he died and the pregnancy was already going wrong. I was clawing my way through it, worrying over my unborn child, and trying not to let grief compromise her any further. In the midst of this, my brother Dave told me, in a very roundabout fashion, what was going on with him.
I was utterly astonished. “David???” I thought, totally stunned with the sensation of abject, absolute incredulity. “No. ..…..no WAY!!! It CAN’T be!!!!!!” Disbelief warred with my profound amazement. My brother, David, in my experience was just about the most masculine, rugged, athletic, aggressive, virile kind of a guy you could ever find! He was a hunk. He was a jock. He was sooooooo……. bloody MALE. Like I said, testosterone poisoning. I had a long moment where I was sure David was setting me up for a nasty practical joke (he always said I was gullible, in a sneering tone of voice, usually right after I had just embarrassed myself by falling for one of his nasty practical jokes…). But this was not a joke, not at all. And as I began to realize what it meant and what life had done to him, I just wanted to put my arms around him. Or rather, HER. My sister, Donna. Compared to the agonizing double tragedies of the loss of my Dad and my newborn daughter’s very rough beginning in life, the news about David was not even in the same league. In fact, I didn’t regard it as a tragedy at all, except for Donna, being stuck in that situation all alone for so very long. And for David’s wife and son, who were about to go through some very rough times of their own. But, as a sister, my first concern was my own family—my sibling. My sibling who had been facing this all along, hiding it, trying to overcome it, feeling that constant pain. And doing it alone. Well, I thought, not anymore. I told her she could count on me, and I meant it. I wanted to make up for all those years when I was so angry at Dave, and Donna was right behind those beautiful blue eyes, hurting. It still makes my throat ache, thinking about that.
Donna is amazing. All the sensitivity that David lacked is right there in her. David was her armor; it’s a tough world out there… especially to people who don’t “fit” society’s expectations of them. I read everything I could get my hands on about transgendered or transsexual syndromes. The more I read, the more empathy I felt for my poor sister who had been trapped for forty years in the prison of the wrong gendered body. How unfair! An innocent baby, born into that kind of twisted medical condition! And people are so ready to condemn those who are so afflicted, ready to say it’s their fault and their choice to live like that… Who would ever choose that affliction??? It’s an outrage! I was horrified on Donna’s behalf even as, on a totally different level, I was delighted to realize that my brother Dave wasn’t the aggressive, unfeeling brute I had feared. So much talking was done over the months after this information came out… endless hours on the phone, on the computer, and during visits. I built a strong, multidimensional friendship with my new sister that means a great deal to me and it has healed many of the old wounds that were left over from David’s attitude towards me while we were growing up. Suddenly, I understood. It made sense. Wow. I can only hope that I’ve helped heal some of the similar scars that she was carrying, as well.
People I’ve known for most of my life have asked me, now that it’s common knowledge that David has transitioned, gone through the entire medical process, and legally become a woman named Donna, how I handled it so well. Did I? Frankly, it was easy. For me, this wasn’t a “loss”, it was a “change” that’s all. Just a change, mostly of my own ways of thinking and ways of relating and ways of seeing. The thing is, I never “needed” David to live up to any expectations. I don’t “need” Donna to stay hidden in order to maintain my own sense of “normalcy”. I have always cared much more about the way things ARE than I do about the way things LOOK. To deny the truth is beyond stupid, it’s hurtful all around and causes more damage. So, this type of change doesn’t hurt me, doesn’t damage me or my family. Truly, what it boils down to is this: How hard is it to love somebody and just accept them, birth defects and all? My third child was born with medical handicaps. Birth defects, of a different sort. Would anyone accuse her of choosing that? Would they say it was her fault?! Of course not!
The only people who had a right to be really upset by this change, in my opinion, were David’s wife and son. They DID lose somebody. A husband. A father. And, from their perspective, it was a very bizarre way to lose someone. But it didn’t have to be a total loss, the way my father’s death was. The love for them both was still intact in my sister. She and her love for them and her memories of them both were still very much alive and willing to be part of their lives in whatever way they chose. So, I thought, it didn’t have to be life-ruining, if handled right. To my way of thinking, handling it right would involve learning everything possible about this syndrome, finding some compassion and understanding inside for what it does to a human being’s psyche to be afflicted with this syndrome, and ultimately, forgiving. Accepting. Loving, even if it has to be a different way than before. I knew a divorce was inevitable. I knew Dave’s adolescent son would have a very tough time getting through the process. But learning the true details about this affliction would, I felt, help them all work through the changes and find a way to support each other and be friends for life. Love and the power of reason, together, can work miracles. I really believe that.
Unfortunately, anger can block any person’s best qualities. Dave’s wife never progressed beyond her rage and that’s all she holds onto now. Donna is much luckier in her son’s abilities. He was able to learn enough and understand enough that he decided to move in with Donna rather than live with his mother’s rage, which swallowed everything and was trying to swallow HIM, as well. Donna is finding ways to relate to her son as a woman parent who is not a father, exactly… it gets complicated. her son gets disoriented. What do you tell the school? What do you tell your friends? Sometimes it’s really hard, still. Things are not perfect, but… if this was a perfect world, things like birth defects would never be able to happen!
I believe that we all have to learn how to minimize the negatives that life throws at us, and maximize the positives—wherever we can find or make them. Build on those. Spend your time and thought and creativity on that kind of work. The good is the only thing worth dwelling on and we have to make sure we pass it along to each other. We have to work harder to become the good stuff in our own life and try to add good stuff to the lives of everyone around us. That’s the only way to make the world a better place for all of us. It is my firm conviction that any decent human being who knew enough about this condition would agree with me and be able to handle these things just as “easily” as I did. People just need to learn about it, that’s all. It needs to be talked about openly. It needs to be discussed. It needs to be taught in school. Any way that people’s ability to understand can be increased is a good thing, in my opinion.
Well, my sister Donna has found a way to do exactly that. And she has amazed me again. She wrote a very brave, honest, detailed book about her experiences, called “Wrapped In Blue”. She didn’t leave out the hard parts, the painful parts, the embarrassing parts, or the ugly truths. Because of that, her book is truly inspiring. The basic point of her book is simply this: She is a human being, like all of us. She bleeds, she cries, and she needs to have people she can love in her life, and she needs to be loved back. I’m very proud and happy to say that my sister, Donna, has me. In fact, she has all of us; including my husband and children, as well as our Mom and our brother and his family. And her son. We have all worked at it and put in the time, the effort, and the thought. It is SO worth it. Don’t give up on the people you love. Love is what makes life worth living.
I can say with all honesty that I’m very impressed with my big sister. She’s pretty awesome. She has earned every bit of the enormous respect I have for her. But, even better, I like her too.
10/19/2004
A friend who lives in Buffalo was interviewed in the Buffalo News today. She works at City Hall there, and is pursuing the possibility of getting insurance coverage for her SRS expenses (I think you'll be seeing quite a bit more of this in months and years to come). Read the article here.
Camille has visited with me at my sister's house in Rochester, and my sister sent the following Letter to the Editor today in support of Camille:
Hello Buffalo News and Brian Meyer,
I want to congratulate all of you on the article you wrote on Camille Hopkins and the larger issue of equal rights for transgendered people. I felt the article was quite balanced and well-presented. I'm a writer, myself, I grew up in Buffalo (Irving Terrace, in Kenmore), AND I discovered about 5 and a half years ago that I have a sibling who is transgendered. The person who I thought was my older brother was, in actual fact, a sister that I never realized I had. None of us did. It came as quite a shock, believe me! But I began researching the condition and realized that it is no different from any other tragic birth defect. The more I learn about this, the more I realize that our culture and our legal system have been guilty of certain false assumptions. One is that this is a sexual matter; it isn't. It's about gender identity-- something all human beings are born with. Another misconception is that being transgendered involves a "choice" that one has the freedom to make. My youngest child was born with birth defects, of a different nature (requiring a tracheostomy and a gastrostomy tube, among other things)... Did she make that choice?! Hardly.
People afflicted with this condition become aware of it at a very young age, and also realize that there is a cultural stigma attached to it. So it gets hidden. Until the advent of the internet, transgendered people felt so isolated that they mostly remained hidden until very late in life. Many took the secret to the grave with them. In the past decade or so, however, people who are transgendered have been able to communicate with one another, from the safety of their own computers... and realized that they are not alone. Up till now, it required so much courage to be able to transition that the public only saw (and still generally only sees) middle-aged adults "coming out". I think this is mainly where the misconception-- that there is a "choice" involved-- comes from. There is also a confusion created by the fact that transvestites "look like" transgendered male-to-females who are transitioning. However, these are two radically different situations with entirely different underlying causes. Transvestitism may have the aspect of choice or lifestyle preference as well as sexual fetishism involved. Gender Dysphoria (the medical name for being transgendered), on the other hand, is completely different. Babies are not capable of sexual fetishism! Gender Dysphoria is something one is born with.
For people who have tried all their lives to fit into a mold society made for them (purely because of some accident of embryonic development that created a disconnect between physical gender and gender identity in the brain), the decision to break out of that mold and finally correct the birth defect is unimaginably difficult. It's a terrifying prospect. Only someone who has no choice, who has tried everything else without being able to "fix what's wrong", would put themselves through the agony of telling the people they love that they simply cannot go on this way any longer. It becomes literally a matter of survival, with honesty on one side and suicide on the other. They often lose everything they had built, including marriages, the love of children, friends, and family members. They often lose their jobs, because there is no legal protection against discrimination for this particular birth defect. And even if they are lucky enough to have access to money to pay for the myriad surgeries to correct all the deformities, at the end of it that money is gone. They are warned about all of this before they start; it's part of the legal and medical process of transitioning. Who would choose that?!
The internet has caused some radical changes in how transgendered people are handling their condition. When you can network, you can also organize and speak up as a united group for your rights as a human being. As the medical community does more research on the causes of this birth defect, it will hopefully begin to be understood as a medical issue and not a lifestyle choice or a sexuality-driven fetish as many mistakenly see it now. Once you realize that children are born with this syndrome, you can begin to diagnose it earlier because the stigma will be removed and children will not feel the need to hide the fact that something is wrong. If the defect can be corrected before the onset of puberty, most of the hormonal deformations that change the body so radically will be prevented. Much of the expense and misery of transition is caused by the steps needed to reverse all those physical changes that are secondary characteristics of the wrong gender.
As human beings, we pride ourselves on the fact that we are consciously aware, that we have minds capable of enormous imagination and creativity, that we have a "soul"... Does that reside in the body; the physical self? If people's bodies are damaged in some way, does that mean they are lesser human beings? Have they lost their souls? Of course not! In the past, society viewed gender as something on the outside, but we are trying very hard as a species to stop identifying and labeling one another by some visual aspect or feature, be it race, religion, age, ethnicity, gender, physical handicap or whatever.
We have also developed our medical technologies to the point where we are able to fix numerous birth defects, from the life-threatening to those, such as cleft palate, that "merely" threaten a person's self-image, if left uncorrected. I've heard some people say that "God helps those who help themselves." I've also heard some people claim that "Changing the body God gave you is a SIN!" Would those people say that to a child born with a cleft palate? Is it a sin to repair a hole in the heart? I don't think so. Our medical capabilities are part of our development of the gifts we were given by God or whatever creative force it is we may believe in. To not use those gifts is to spit on them, it seems to me.
Clearly, gender is something that is associated with one's mind and soul. The body is relatively meaningless. It's time for society to get with the program here, and change the legal system to match our lofty ideals. As human beings, are we not MORE than the sum of our PARTS?
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