“Hey babe, are you okay?” I asked my daughter as I watched the surgeon make a small incision on her upper left arm.
No response.
“I don’t think she can hear you,” the nurse replied, pointing to Gabby’s ears.
“Ah, right,” I chuckled. I’d let her borrow my AirPods so she could listen to house music (her favorite) during the procedure.
This was the fourth puberty blocker implant our daughter was receiving in the past five years; to her, this was old hat, and she chose to zone out and relax while the medical team did their thing.
Confession: these days I am simply unable to “zone out and relax.” My daughter’s procedure comes exactly one week since we learned Donald Trump will return to the Oval Office. And given his anti-LGBTQ rhetoric (and the contents of Project 2025), I wonder whether she’ll need to leave the country the next time she needs to replace her blocker.
Gabby is 15. She struggled with her gender identity since the age of two, came out as transgender when she was 8, and has been living as her authentic self ever since. When she first transitioned socially, I remember thinking she was fortunate to live in an age when she could feel free to be who she was. Fast forward 7 years, and today I’m not so sure.
Just last week we were sitting side by side in our living room on election night as Gabby scrolled through her Tik Tok feed and asked nonchalantly, “Mom, what does ‘mutilating minors’ mean?”
I glanced at her phone to see and hear Trump spewing the same anti-trans rhetoric he’s been spouting for years. I wanted to cry, but instead said something like, “Oh, it’s just Trump being Trump. He’s speaking out against gender-affirming care.”
“The same type of care,” I thought, but didn’t say, “that’s been keeping you happy, healthy and alive for the past 7 years. Puberty blockers, hormones, and the vaginoplasty procedure- which is a highly specialized operation, NOT mutilation, that you’re planning to undergo when you turn 18.”
Instead, I said out loud, “And whatever happens tonight, my love, you and your brother will be okay. I promise.”
I believed this when I said it. I still do. Even though the odds are becoming increasingly stacked against my daughter and the estimated 300,000 trans youth like her, ages 13–17, in the US.
The 215-million dollars the Republicans reportedly spent on anti-trans ads this election cycle may be a harbinger of what’s to come. Already 26 states have banned gender- affirming care for minors. Between Trump and a newly cemented Republican House and Senate, that number is expected to rise. Suffice it to say, my go-to apps, message boards, and assorted private Facebook groups- comprised of other parents of trans kids- have been exploding nonstop.
“Who is thinking of leaving the country, and where are you thinking about going?”
“I live in a red state and want to take my family and move to a blue one. We’re considering IL, CO, NJ, maybe MD. Any thoughts on the safety of each of these?”
“You really should not wait to get your kiddo’s passport. They will make it impossible for you to get one after Jan 20.”
“Is there any chance of a federal ban on gender-affirming care?”
I read these posts and wince…despite recognizing that my family is considered “lucky.” Because while there is absolutely no privilege in being trans, one could argue that my daughter has “trans privilege.” She lives with a family (and in a city) that embraces her gender identity, she has access to some of the most highly rated gender-affirming care in the country, and we have the financial resources for her to access this care. And even if lawmakers institute a federal ban on gender-affirming care for minors, my husband and I would fly our daughter across the world to receive the care she needs and deserves in a New York minute.
See, notwithstanding what Trump and the far right would like voters to believe, kids don’t go to school one morning only to return home that night having undergone gender reassignment surgery. The actual process is much more complex and takes a lot more time, as well it should! To date, our daughter is on three separate waiting lists, at three separate hospitals, and we’re still almost three years out from the operation that will finally give Gabby the outsides that match her beautiful insides. We’ll use this time to meet with surgeons, social workers, and patient advocates; to obtain the various letters of medical necessity and fill out the required paperwork to secure initial (and ongoing) consultations; to review the detailed pre- and post-op instructions; and to schedule the procedure itself, not to mention devise a concrete plan for her associated recovery.
All the while, Gabby waits.
“All done,” our surgeon announced, just four songs into my daughter’s playlist. “Everything looks great!”
My husband and I smiled and thanked the doc, and I tapped Gabby gently, motioning to her earbuds.
“We’re good to go, sweetie!” I told her.
Gabby sat up, swung her legs to the side, and hopped off the table.
“Wow, that was easy!” she said with a smile.
“Today, it sure was,” I agreed. And I will hope, pray and fight to make sure her access to care stays that way.