Day: November 28, 2017

Sugar Swan looks back at her first year writing for Gscene and what’s changed in the year she’s been on board.

This year has been one of the toughest of my life, and I’m no stranger to tough years. December marks the first year of being without the best and most consistent person I’ve been lucky enough to have had in my life, having lost them after 17 years together. Next month also marks the 20th anniversary of my first partner’s death so I’ve found it particularly hard to write a positive ‘end of year’ piece.

This year has seen me terribly abused. I’ve been sexually assaulted, received death threats, rape threats and hate mail, including being told that if I don’t stop writing this column then “there will be consequences”! (Hey you! Write to me soon – I miss your anonymous messages! Don’t you just admire cowardice?). I’m a social outcast after revealing my HIV status last month, and I’ve been subjected to the most foul and disgusting transphobia and sexism when writing throughout the year about the struggles of trans folk and women.

The pure hatred aimed at me has pushed me to the ends of my cognitive ability, but yet, I’ve continued. I’ve continued to write, to grow, to love, to share, to laugh, to make my way through life. No amount of negativity will ever stop me because my past has made me strong and as often as I cry I remain resilient.

Being so open in transition and gaining a following of readers, despite the minority being negatively fuelled by my work, I’ve realised that I can do good. By sharing my experiences I’ve been able to educate those cis folk who are willing to listen. I’ve been able to deepen their understanding of trans folk and help them become better allies to us.

I’ve been able to reach the trans folk yet to come out and offer support. I’ve had countless messages from trans folk of all ages, genders, points of transition, telling me how they’ve related to something I’ve written and are grateful that someone is speaking out in the way I am.

I’ve equal parts honour and very heavy heart that I’ve saved two trans people (that I know of) from suicide this year. I’ve widened my circle of real life (as opposed to internet) trans friends thanks to the added visibility that Gscene has given me. By having this page, regardless of whether you agree with the content, I’m visible, and therefore to people with no or little interaction with trans people other than this column, keeping us in mainstream minds.

I’ve been interviewed for trans specific medical research; invited onto a mental health podcast; and maybe most importantly been asked to consult with the NHS on point of delivery trans specific gender care at GP level.

Next year I’m getting involved with another trans specific health service and I’m chomping at the bit to get going. These positives that have come from my open, honest, no holds barred transition have kept me going through the abuse and hate.

This year I underwent an intense surgery regime. Despite maintaining my work in journalism, activism, consultation, advocacy and research, I’ve spent the whole year in surgery and in surgical recovery after countless operations and procedures. I started the year 80% bald, a full-time wig wearer, and headed off to Latvia for two 14-hour days in the theatre of a specialist hair transplant surgeon back in February.

During recovery in April, I accompanied someone to France who had been inspired by my story to undergo their own surgery, a kind of bus woman’s holiday for me. In May I went back to Latvia too for the third and fourth full days of hair transplant surgery once my head was adequately healed from the first trip. After a subsequent healing period I went to a cosmetic tattooist for four sessions of Scalp Micro Pigmentation (head tattoo) to thicken the look of my newly transplanted follicles and had eye liner tattooed onto my eye lids.

Throughout this I’ve been maintaining monthly laser hair removal sessions to my face and body whilst physically preparing myself for the trip to India from which I’ve just returned. Whilst in India, I had multiple surgeries to my face and upper and lower genitalia. The schedule this year has been absolutely gruelling, but it’s one that I’ve been working towards, one that I set at my own pace, knowing my own body’s healing abilities and my mind’s ability to deal with the change.

All these operations and procedures have formed part of my Gender Reassignment Surgeries as a whole (get it? as a hole?). Oh dear! I am tired! The joys of working in bed, in my face bra, in post-op pain is real.

My journey this year hasn’t followed the trans narrative of healthcare in the UK. I’ve been fortunate to have been able to beg, borrow and save for the treatment I need and I’m fully aware and riddled with guilt that I’ve been able to have these surgeries when others can’t. These are surgeries that haven’t just enriched my quality of life, but saved it. Without these medical interventions, from HRT to surgery, I would be dead. So why do I feel guilty having necessary, lifesaving surgery?

I feel guilty because every day I see trans folk dying because they don’t have access to the hormones and surgeries that they need for survival, and I do. I recognise that privilege and I’ll continue to do all I can to help other trans folk. Our trans-specific healthcare is appalling in the UK and working with the NHS to address this will always be at the top of my agenda as will helping my siblings at a grassroots level.

I head into 2018 with my shoulders back and head held high, proud of the woman who I am and proud of how I live my life. My goals for 2018 are to be as successful as I was in 2017 and I wish you all the same too.