In Queer Under Coronavirus, we’re documenting how COVID-19 is upending LGBTQ+ lives. Check out more from the column, and if you’ve got a story to share, tell us here.
My top surgery was scheduled for March 18. The Friday before, the doctor’s office called me and said, “We’re cancelling it and we can’t reschedule you until the CDC changes their coronavirus recommendations.” I’d been waiting for this surgery for about 10 years and I’d planned everything around it: I’d submitted my leave, which had been approved, and applied for a scholarship. I’d been on the waitlist for a long time. Now I need to refile all my paperwork and hope I can get it rescheduled.
I’ve been binding for years and it takes a toll, especially when you’re working long hours. Thinking of doing that foreseeable future felt basically unbearable. But I’m a little more positive now that I’ve had reassurance the surgery will still happen — it’s just being delayed.
I feel lucky that my job is at least somewhat secure. I work at a nonprofit in Olympia [Washington] for domestic violence survivors. My clients need protection orders and help with civil law cases, custody cases. As someone who was in the foster system, I know how monumental it can feel when someone is advocating for you. It’s really hard not being able to meet with people and figure out, you know, how we’re going to get them these vital items that they need. If your offices aren’t open, and people can’t pick up donations, what are they supposed to do?
That said, people are creative every day in keeping themselves safe, keeping other people safe, and keeping their children safe. Sometimes a survivor is only able to leave their house with an excuse to come to an appointment, and so trying to leave their house for other reasons is going to be difficult. But it’s always been difficult.
Because I’m working from home now, I have to find clever ways to keep confidentiality when I’m talking to clients. My partner and I share a room and a bathroom in a house with our landlord, her daughter, and another roommate. It’s definitely hard, so now we’re holding house meetings to try to figure out how we can alleviate all the stress. My partner recently lost his job as a carpenter for trade shows and it does affect his self-esteem and the whole relationship. It’s something we’re still working through.
I have friends who are much worse off. Even though I still consider myself low-income, I know there are people who make much less than me. I have friends who’ve been told they can’t work for 90 days, and they might not have insurance anymore. There’s the joke that trans friends just end up Venmoing back and forth the same $20 for all of time and that’s definitely what’s happening right now.
There are some older people in my life I worry about, too. I haven’t spoken to my foster parents for many years; it was kind of a tumultuous relationship during my teens and I’ve tried to make it work a couple times. I’ve been very curious and I hope they’re doing okay, but I actually don’t know if both of them are still alive.
I’m more concerned about my biological parents, who were on disability. They’re pretty isolated as it is and I worry about them getting the resources they need. My biological mom doesn’t drive but she has friends from church who are sometimes able to get her groceries. My sibling helps too.
In the meantime, while I wait for the surgery, I’m trying to focus on things that I can control to alleviate my dysphoria, like wearing clothes I feel confident in, watching media featuring people who look like me or have a similar gender or orientation. I think in trans culture, we’re realizing you don’t have to have surgery to be valid. Your identity is valid. And even though top surgery is still something I feel like I need, I know that it’s a privilege and it’s going to happen eventually. I’m just holding on to that.
How the coronavirus is changing queer lives
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