Thursday, 20 August 2009

In Remembrance Of What Has Been

Tomorrow marks a few potential events of importance for me. Either I get the acknowledgement that my body is not that of a male or female, and I'll get the treatment I require plus further official changes to my name and everything done. Or the UMCG will carry the same message as the VUMC has before, namely that of not wanting to diagnose me, but insisting that I'm just a regular male with some feminine looks, in which case it ends my medical story here in the Netherlands and I'll be forced to seek my salvation beyond the borders of this small country. Either way it'll mark a big shift in matters, one a straight path to salvation, the other a long, dark and winding road which may or may not lead to the intended destination.

Today I have had to resort to all kinds of distractions and other methods to keep myself from going off on a course towards desperation or such. As my therapist Engel Vrouwe has concluded, the treatment by medical specialists so far has led to a second PTSD on my side, which is responsible for nearly sending me into shock when exposed to certain situations, such as tomorrow's. I have to actively keep myself from thinking about it lest I become violently ill, and I don't mean in the 'somewhat nauseous' sense, but more in the 'want to run around screaming, puke out my guts, hurt various people and set fire to a few select buildings' kind.

I'm just absolutely exhausted at this point, both mentally and physically. Today I have spent some time on digging through the MRI images, particularly finding MRI images of males, to use as comparison at the suggestion of Pieter. It hasn't changed my opinion on the competence of the Dutch radiologists, nor has it swayed Pieter's opinion noticeably in their direction. There just isn't anything on my own MRI images which matches up with those of MRI images of males in terms of the presence of a prostate (seminal vesicle may be visible, possibly), let alone the clearly visible tube which isn't a shadow of the edge of the large intestine as it doesn't match its curve and matches up too perfectly with the usual location of the vagina at the bottom of the pelvis. So far I can only conclude that my MRI images match neither those of males nor those of females completely. My vote is on intersexual, still.

Tomorrow at about 11 AM we'll leave for Groningen to arrive 1.5 hour early there as I still have to register and there's no telling whether we'll easily find a parking spot. There's nothing more I can do to prepare at this point, I have promised to Pieter that I won't start arguing with the doctors, and won't leave the room if things aren't going well. Instead I'll just withdraw into myself and let Pieter carry on the conversation. In the end, though, I'm absolutely not looking forward to tomorrow and I wish it was all over already, regardless of the outcome.

One point of light is the magazine interview next week. If I do get more publicity in the media, mostly about the horrible treatment I have received by the hospitals here, it might change things for the better. I'm not sure about my therapists yet, as my insurance company has to give permission for tests in other countries, and it would probably take many months regardless. I'm not sure I could last a few more months, especially not with my upcoming birthday on the 4th next month, which will mark the 26th time that I'll have lived a year without knowing what my body is. A body I'm becoming more and more disgusted with. A body people in this country would rather see destroyed, it appears.

I can't get over the apparent fact that there are people in this country, people who have sworn to heal people and to do no harm, yet who have falsified reports and have treated me with such disrespect and lack of interest that it has driven me to the very edges of my sanity, to the point where I question the point of living if the very people who were supposed to help me with the most fundamental questions about my own body apparently would rather see me dead and gone than to admit that they might have been wrong and to do an actual attempt to carry out their oath.

I think it's absolutely sickening...


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