Help with Medical Bills from Ronan's Top Surgery

Let me tell you a story.

Nineteen years ago, I was an 11-year-old kid.

An 11-year-old kid who loved riding his bike and devouring YA fantasy novels at the local library branch and building Harry Potter Lego sets and writing silly comics with his best friend. Those were the glorious days of scraped knees, of Starburst stashed away where the younger siblings couldn’t find them, of staying up far too late at night, reading by flashlight.

Enter: gender dysphoria.

I didn’t know what to call it at the time. But I quickly started to become aware of it – “This Thing.” This Thing That Came on the Heels of Puberty.

I didn’t know that this uncomfortable, guttural, skin-crawling, something-is-wrong-and-I-want-to-tear-it-out-of-my-body kind of feeling in response to my body’s changes had a name, and that I wasn’t alone in feeling This Thing. All I knew was that a passing thought or moment of hyperawareness of my breasts, my hips, my thighs… and I was in tailspin. I was crying or else frozen in place, totally shut down.

And I was so upset that I couldn’t name it. So upset that This Thing was in my body, living, pulsating, taking over… and I had no words to put to it.

I wish I had known.

I wish my 11-year-old self had had the knowledge of what it means to be transgender, and the understanding that he wasn’t alone.

Here’s what I have come to know:

I chose a male name for myself at the age of 7, and it made me smile from ear to ear.

When I attended my first Drag Ball at the age of 18, I was hit with the realization that I wasn’t in drag. I was just… myself.

I was first called “he” when I was 20, and the wave of euphoria I felt was instant and undeniable.

When people peg me as a woman, it always feels like they’re placing a square peg in a round hole. It feels so wrong. Like they’re seeing something that isn’t there. Like they’re trying to force something that simply isn’t true.

I know that the double mastectomy that I received on November 14th, 2022, was the most radical thing I have ever done for myself. And I did it for my 11-year-old self. For that kid who could sense that something was coming, but didn’t know how (or if he even could) weather the storm.

We did it. He and I made it through.

I’m turning 30 this summer, and I realize how incredibly lucky I am to have had this surgery. Not everyone is afforded this chance, and it is a very difficult surgery to undergo, recover from, and pay for.

I currently have $3,648.61 in outstanding medical bills. These are the remaining out-of-pocket costs that my insurance did not cover, and that I could not afford to pay. At the time of my surgery a few months ago, I was already paying $220 a month towards other outstanding medical bills – and still am.

The reality is, unfortunately, that we live in a society where gender affirming surgeries are becoming more accessible in theory, but many barriers still exist in practice. The financial hurdle has been the biggest struggle for me. I’ve done it, I’ve made it – and, I still have one last several thousand dollar piece to figure out.

Thank you so, so much for anything that you would like to and are able to contribute. Know that it is incredibly helpful, and immensely appreciated.