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Harper Jean's Story

Transgender Today: Harper Jean Tobin

As part of a series of editorials about transgender experiences, the New York Times is featuring personal stories that reflect the strength, diversity and challenges of the community. Here is National Center for Transgender Equality Director of Policy Harper Jean Tobin's story. 

I transitioned 13 years ago, and today I mostly take living and being accepted as a woman for granted. But seeking health care—any kind of health care—can still be scary. A few weeks ago, while across the country visiting family, I was admitted to a hospital for likely food poisoning. As my dad drove there, my partner and I agreed that we would not disclose my trans status if at all possible. I was vague when asked about my medications. I was weak and disoriented, and afraid of being mistreated when I needed help.

I am fortunate that my ID and insurance records match my gender. If they didn’t, I knew I could easily have been issued a wristband proclaiming listing me as male, and placed with a male roommate—an invitation for constant questions, humiliation, and worse. I knew too many people who had had those experiences. In national survey of trans people, one in fifty said they’d been assaulted in a hospital. That’s far too many, but I knew if the hospital staff labeled my gender wrong, that risk would go up.

As I struggled through pain and nausea, underwent a battery of tests, and one night turned into three, I had plenty to think about—What made me sick? When will I be able to eat? Can I get to the toilet without fainting?—but that fear never left. Everything seemed fine, but at any moment I could face questions about my voice, appearance, medications, or a scan that would show I had no uterus. My fetched things from the house and spent hours there, but my partner would not leave my side. She did a lot of things for me that staff would normally do. When I felt well enough, we watched TV on her tablet. She kept our parents and the other people we love up to date. For three nights, she slept in a stiff hospital chair by my bedside, to make sure that whether out of ignorance or malice, none of the staff coming in and out at all hours made this stay any worse than it had to be. I’ve never felt more loved.

In the end, I was lucky. Aside from a few nervous moments—a nurse who momentarily mistook my gender, a doctor who seemed to understand I was trans from my medical history but saw no need to probe—nothing worse happened than simply being ill amid the noise, discomfort, and bad food of a hospital. I got better and went home, relieved. No one should hesitate to go to the ER for fear of what they’ll find there—but a lot of folks still do. They just don't go to the doctor, even if they're sick or hurt. This experience drove home for me both the progress we’re making as a society, and the distance we have to go.

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