I have a syringe in my purse and it feels criminal. I’ve always believed syringes were for medical professionals, diabetics and junkies. I am none of those. I am, however, the mother of transgender son.
My son came out a year and a half ago. His father and I were in shock. We had no idea. We attended a couple of PFLAG meetings in an attempt to better understand our son’s dilemma. But it was too far to travel and we stopped.
I also conducted online research (I tend to get a little obsessed) and joined a few of the many Facebook support groups for parents of transgender children. I was pleasantly surprised to find a HUGE community of people out there who support their transgender children and each other. I am very grateful for them.
Unfortunately, my son’s father became overwhelmed and stopped trying to understand and support our son. He feels it is a ‘phase’ and refuses to discuss the matter anymore. He continues to use our son’s dead name and female pronouns. They don’t have a very close relationship. They bond over Lego.
Because my ex had joint legal custody for medical decisions and would not agree to medical intervention to facilitate our son’s transition, we couldn’t proceed with that process. So, I bought a few binders, some boys clothes and accessories, and took my son to a barber to shear his long blonde locks in favor of a crew cut, which I now maintain with our very own hair clippers. My son was happy with these changes as they help him pass as a boy most of the time.
Last month my son turned 18. His first adult decision was to make an appointment to start Testosterone. We walked out of that appointment with a prescription for Testosterone, information on all the potential side-effects, and a blood requisition form. The next appointment is in two weeks. The doctor will teach me how to do the injections.
And that’s why I am now in possession of a syringe which I will soon use to inject my son with testosterone. And I am terrified.