A few months after starting HRT, I began snoring to the extreme. This is not uncommon in trans men as T thickens soft tissues throughout the body. After several months and hoops, I was diagnosed with sleep apnea, and after several more months, I finally got a CPAP, which initially alleviated symptoms. I felt amazing.

Almost two years ago, I started feeling pretty tired, pretty consistently. Ran some blood tests, started taking vitamin D. Still tired. I got a Garmin, and it consistently showed poor sleep and really low energy levels. 6 months later, my doctor ordered an overnight sleep study, but insurance decided I didn’t need it.

Months were going by, and I was getting increasingly tired. Napping almost every day. Struggling to stay awake even with naps. Last April I sent a couple screenshots of my Garmin sleep data to my doctor because, while I’d gone to central OR to hike for the week, there were several days where I was too exhausted to do so. This time, she was able to get an at home study approved. It showed that even with my CPAP, I was having over 30 apnea events an hour. So insurance approved the overnight study.

I missed the phone call from the hospital to schedule it but called them back immediately. I was desperate for this test.

“Name?”
“[Name]”
“Hmmm, we don’t have a referral for you.”
“Umm, you literally just called me to schedule, but I missed the call.”
“Hmm, date of birth?”
“[Date of birth]”
*long pause*
“Can you give me your name again? … Can you spell it for me, please? … Is it…is it possible it’s under another name?”
*Stops breathing*
“Are you kidding me right now? What name is the referral under?”
“Jesse, but that isn’t the name we have on file.”
“Yes, I changed my name 5 years ago, so please update your system.”
“In order to process a name change, you have to provide your ID in person. It’s like that for everyone.” (As if “fairness” is a mitigating factor.)
Note: they only have my name because this is the hospital where I gave birth 10 years prior.
“That’s a terrible policy. Can you understand how upsetting it will be for me, 5 years into my transition to walk into your building, up to a stranger, and claim a name that no longer exists? To watch them look me over to see if they call “tell” that I was born female?”
“That’s our policy. It is the only way.”
“Perfect. Let’s schedule the study so we can be done with this ridiculous conversation.” *Exhale*

The study is scheduled for 10 weeks out. I want to cry from sheer exhaustion. *Inhale*

I forget this interaction in the ensuing weeks. *Exhale*

I was out of town for work last week. I’d almost made it to the study. I’d been looking forward to answers. I was in an all-day meeting and missed a call to confirm my sleep study. The message said that if I don’t CALL them back, they’ll cancel the appointment.
1. I absolutely hate talking on the phone. 2. They don’t give a “call us by” time, just a vague threat to cancel. So I ask for a break in the meeting and spend 15 mins on the phone – on hold.

“Name?”
“[Name]”
“I don’t have an appointment for you.”
“You just called me to confirm the appointment 20 mins ago.”
*it comes rushing back*
*Stop breathing*
“Is it possible the appointment is under [deadname]?”
“Oh yes. There it is.”
“I have changed my name. How do I get my record corrected?”
“In person, provide a copy of your ID… That’s how it is for everyone. Not just you… do you have any questions?”
To myself, I think, “None that I’m willing to ask you.” But simply say, “no.”

It feels like everything I’ve gone through in the last 5.5 years was just disregarded. I return to my meeting. Everyone is talking at once. I’m so tired.

I try not to think about it because I have no power to change it. I know showing up for this study is going to suck on a deep deep level. And no one cares. “It’s like that for everyone.” Oh, but it’s not. There are a lot of reasons people change their names. And a vast majority are not related to something as fundamental as their gender.

Over the last week, I got text after text and email after email addressed to [dead name]. I was forced to sign several forms online under the wrong name, worrying that if I didn’t sign them, they would cancel the study. It is not lost on me that the paperwork informs me of my right to privacy and dignity.

I’d received no information about the appointment: what to expect, what to bring, where to park. That lack of information is highly destructive in my autistic brain.

My spouse takes pity on me and calls the hospital Tuesday morning to inquire about these unknowns. They sent me a 10-page booklet of information that, while I’m grateful to have, would have been helpful to have sooner.

I try to distract myself, but as the hour draws near, I feel that familiar conflict – the struggle…
1. Accept that what I am walking into is highly likely to be a hurtful, if not harmful, emotional situation.
2. Try to prepare myself to potentially have to assert and defend myself, but if so, do so in a way that doesn’t upset other people, lest all transgender folx be seen as combative and entitled.
3. Half-heartedly feel obligatory hope that maybe it won’t be that bad, lest I be seen as a pessimist and responsible for manifesting my own oppression.
4. Surrender to the no-win nature of it all.

Walking in, I feel ill.
“Name?”
*Stop breathing* “[Name]”
“OK, I’ll be right out.”
*Exhale*
Hmm, maybe it will be ok.
He’s examining some paperwork while approaching the door with great efficiency.
He looks up, and to his credit, hesitates, only slightly, tilts his head, and says, “Can you verify your address for me?” With a warm, unassuming smile.
*Stop breathing*
“Indeed. [Address]”
“Great. Let’s head on back.”
*Exhale*
We are together for several minutes before he delicately broaches the subject.
“Have you had a name change?”
*Stop breathing*
“I have.”
“OK, let me get you some paperwork to get your chart up to date.”
*Exhale*
Perfect. I fill it out. This is going well.
He places a medical bracelet on my wrist.
*Stop breathing*
I am sad to see my deadname and incorrect gender. But I dismiss these feelings. After all, what did I expect?

I just try not to think about it. Try not to breathe. Try not to mourn the life I thought I finally had – where I was always seen as myself. By this time tomorrow, this will be over.

In the morning, the tech comes in with a new bracelet. My heart feels warm. How thoughtful of him to update it for me. But alas… the bracelet has the same information it did the night before.
*Stops breathing*
It hurts. It hurts more than when I just expected to be treated poorly throughout. I feel foolish for thinking he’d done the compassionate thing and resolved this matter.

The new daytime tech enters a couple of hours later. He introduces himself. I think, “ok, night time tech guy must have briefed him. We’re good to go.” He leaves and comes back only a minute later. “Can you verify your name for me? … And your date of birth? … ok, I’m just making sure I have the right person.”  Indeed.
*Cease to have an interest in breathing*

In the afternoon, I am brought other forms to sign. They have my deadname on them and then, in quotes, my legal name. In quotes. Quotes. And my incorrect gender.

To be clear, this means that changes were made to my record, but not to correct it, per the paperwork I completed.

I barely have enough air in my body to push it over my vocal cords and be heard. But I rally.
“Excuse me. When will my chart be corrected? My name and gender have legally changed, and I completed the paperwork about this last night?”

To his credit, he was very kind and did follow up on it.

“So has it been a while since you’ve been to a [Name of hospital] facility?”
I wanted to say, “Why? Do you suspect that I didn’t have a beard when last I was here?” But, understanding that he was trying to be kind, I just said, “Not since I gave birth here 10 years ago. Much as occurred since then. So imagine my surprise when I started getting texts, emails, and forms for a person to sign who no longer exists.”

Privacy and dignity.