That's all, folks. Thanks for stopping by.

If you're reading this as a result of a search engine query, the odds are good that this *isn't* the page you were looking for. I'd suggest going back and trying another link on the search engine results page that led you here.

If, however, you're reading this in a news aggregator - or have browsed to this address as a result of a link from another page on the web - or have browsed here directly - then I have to tell you that the content you're looking for is (probably) no longer here. If you'll bear with me for a few moments, I'll try to explain *why*.

Over the last two or three years, I've used this space for a variety of purposes. It's held not one, but two podcasts - a videoblog - but primarily a written blog. A personal blog - *my* blog. Each was started with only a hazy idea of why I was producing them, what I was hoping to achieve with them, and who might benefit from them. Each of them took on something of a life of their own, and I'd have a hard time describing all the ways that I, personally, have benefited as a result. Feedback from other people, in many forms, leads me to believe that others benefited, too.

Now, however, it's time for a change.

A major element of three of those four components recorded my passage through a personally significant period of my life. Documenting and sharing those experiences, thoughts and feelings during that period helped me to gain a deeper understanding of what was happening to me - and interacting with other people as a result of my writing and recording helped even more. From the outset, I'd expected - or at least hoped - that there would come a natural point, at which I would no longer write about those issues. I had it in mind that I would pursue other avenues of interest, and just leave those subject-specific works as historical records, not least for the benefit of others.

Unfortunately, it hasn't worked out like that. Interest in what I've written and recorded took off in a way that I never expected - to an extent that I've never felt particularly comfortable with. Try as hard as I did not to add to that subject area, the temptation to do so has always been too strong. If my body of work remained in its current form, I don't think I'd be able to resist the temptation to continue adding to it. Which wouldn't be a problem, if it wasn't for the fact that it's now become something of an albatross about my neck.

Instead of becoming a matter of historical record, it's become a permanent anchor to a part of my life that I don't wish to be anchored to. Despite what some might think, this isn't a problem caused by anybody else - it's purely a result of my relationship with what I've produced. I don't wish to add to it - but that's not enough. If it still remained accessible here, I'd keep getting drawn back to it.

Sadly, therefore, I've decided to lay it to rest.

Which means that, for the next few weeks, all text content on this site will redirect to this post. All of the media files - video, audio and image - will redirect to a dummy object. In short, the only objects which will be accessible here will be some form of this post, whether in a browser, or in a feed aggregator. If you have a site that links to anything on this site, the links will work, but they'll point here instead.

So, why do this - and why now?

Because, as anybody who's relatively up-to-date with what I've written will realise, I'm at a point in my life when I need to - *want* to - focus on my life ahead, and not on the path I've taken to get here. A slightly more pragmatic reason is that my annual subscription for the blogging tool I use expires in December, and if I do this now, there's a period of a few weeks in which anybody who wants to leave a comment here can still do so. Once that subscription expires, new comments won't be possible - and at that point, "my work here will be done". I will maintain the domain - and the hosting. Eventually, all incoming requests will point to a short and succinct statement of why the content being sought is no longer available here.

In a sense, I've spent the last couple of years building up a "brand" - not deliberately, but as a consequence of writing and recording, and others linking to those works. That includes a fair lump of Google PageRank, for example. It might seem ludicrous (to some) to throw all of that away - not to me, it doesn't. In fact, only today I've had the latest demonstration of how that PageRank has now grown, to become a problem. A couple of weeks ago, I wrote problems I had recently with my bank - and today I had a search referral. In the UK version of the search engine, search for:

(name of bank) cred1t c@rd compla1nt5

without quotes, and with the last three words correctly spelled, and, today, the number one search result is... this blog. Remove the words "cred1t c@rd" and try again, and this blog is there on page one, at number 8 - just search for the name of the bank, and fortunately this blog doesn't reckon until page 25. The fact is, words that I've used just once in the last two years now rank high enough in search engine terms to cause me a problem. I need to address that.

"But - how will I find out what happens to you?"

I'm not trying to drop off the face of the planet! Over the last few years, I've connected with many wonderful people as a result of my endeavours here. I don't intend to sever those connections - just move them to email, voice, instant messaging and face-to-face, for anybody who wishes to remain in touch with me. The email address that I've always used from here will remain live and active, so feel free to drop me a line and ask, if you wish to stay in touch. I still intend to read other bloggers' work, and to comment whenever I feel I have something to add - I just won't link back to here, that's all.

"What if I've linked to you - written about you - have an image of you on my blog - or similar? What should I do?"

The simple answer is, whatever you decide! :-) Inbound links will continue to work, indefinitely, but they'll point here - which should hopefully explain to *your* readers why the link they've followed isn't showing them what they necessarily expected. You don't *have* to change anything. I'm not trying to wipe my existence from the record - I've no reason to.

What I will ask, though, is this - I'm choosing not to be quite as public about my life, from this point on. So if we *do* remain in contact - anything I share with you will be on a personal, off-the-record, not-for-blogging basis, unless you specifically ask, and I specifically agree otherwise.

"I think that what you're doing makes sense / is the most stupid idea ever - can I leave a comment to that effect, or mention / lambast this decision on my blog?"

Absolutely. I don't expect that people will necessarily understand why I'm doing this, nor agree that it is the right thing to do - but, bear in mind this pearl of wisdom from F. Scott Fitzgerald:

Sometimes it is harder to deprive oneself of a pain than of a pleasure.

I definitely feel some discomfort, doing this. For the record, twice previously I considered taking this action - in fact, about a year ago, I took all the content down, but only for a day or so. On both previous occasions, I was prompted to do so out of fear that what was here might be harmful to others - on both occasions, though, I was persuaded otherwise. Now, the fact is that this site is proving to be problematic for *me*. A very perceptive person said to me recently, "you need to give yourself permission to move on - so that you can accept that you *can* move on". I'm moving on.

"Is it worth keeping this site bookmarked, or remaining subscribed to this feed?"

I'm a firm believer in "never say never" - I'm not saying I'll never blog again, never write again, or anything like that. But I'm not anticipating doing so, not for a while, at least. *If* I subsequently change my mind, I *may* make an appropriate announcement here - then again, I may not. I guess by bookmarking the page, or remaining subscribed to the feed, at least the bases are covered.

Rather poignantly, for me, one of the most recent comments I received on my blog was:

this project will make you more wonderful! thank you for every word you write!

For anybody who feels in any sense "let down" that I've decided to take offline things that I'd always intended to leave online, I can only say this - putting oneself "out there" has many benefits, but there is always a price to pay. I've weighed up my responsibility to others, against my responsibility to myself - and, right now, I need to err on the side of the latter.

Namaste.

I've made some fairly extensive server-side configuration changes, which will take effect over the next day or so. They *shouldn't* break the site - but, they might. If such a breakage occurs, I'll fix it, but it will take a few hours to do.

Bottom line - if the site disappears in the near future, it will only be temporarily.

Or, why I decided to participate in this year's NaNoWriMo (that's "National Novel Writing Month", for those of you who don't recognise the word - which I didn't, this time last year).

I first encountered NaNoWriMo last year - Schmutzie posted about attempting it for the second time, and I remember thinking, "not this year - maybe next". Well, "next year" is now - and since I'm basically marking time until I head south at the end of November, this is probably as good a year as any to have a stab.

So, I've registered, and will attempt to bang out the requisite 1,667 words a day average during November, and see what results. I haven't given any thought to plot - I'll just put the pieces on the board, and see what happens when I push them around a little.

When I registered, I had to choose a user name - because I'm too lazy to remember different IDs on different systems, my first reaction was to plump for the tried and tested 'koanbremner' - but, where's the fun in *that*, especially at the beginning of a creative endeavour? Instead, I decided on ZhauzhousDog - some of you will, I hope, make the connection. And it strikes me that "Zhaozhou's Dog" would make a damn fine name for the story, too - so what I'll tell you, now, is that it will be about a woman motorcyclist who begins to understand what the name of the book is all about. And it won't be autobiographical - at least, not consciously.

And if anybody can figure out why the user name and the title of the story are spelled differently - I really *will* be impressed!

Assuming I complete the challenge, I've no idea what I'll do with the end product. Probably dispose of it, as one should do with crap. But that's not really the point, to my mind - as it says on the NaNoWriMo site:

NaNoWriMo is all about the magical power of deadlines. Give someone a goal and a goal-minded community and miracles are bound to happen. Pies will be eaten at amazing rates. Alfalfa will be harvested like never before. And novels will be written in a month.

Part of the reason we organize NaNoWriMo is just to get a book written. We love the fringe benefits accrued to novelists. For one month out of the year, we can stew and storm, and make a huge mess of our apartments and drink lots of coffee at odd hours. And we can do all of these things loudly, in front of people. As satisfying as it is to reach deep within yourself and pull out an unexpectedly passable work of art, it is equally (if not more) satisfying to be able to dramatize the process at social gatherings.

But that artsy drama window is woefully short. The other reason we do NaNoWriMo is because the glow from making big, messy art, and watching others make big, messy art, lasts for a long, long time. The act of sustained creation does bizarre, wonderful things to you. It changes the way you read. And changes, a little bit, your sense of self. We like that.

So, I'll put a little widget in the sidebar, like the image at the top of this post, and you can follow along with my progress, from midnight tonight. If, by any chance, *you're* participating, leave a comment or send me an email - a little encouragement or friendly competition can't hurt!

Technorati Tags: NaNoWriMo

From Shrek, that is - specifically, when he starts singing "on the road, again"... for I am, indeed, on the road again, in multiple contexts.

Primarily this is because my little car, Lottie, is road-legal once again. "But I didn't know she wasn't", I hear some cry - well, be that as it may. In the UK, you have to pay road fund license (aka car tax) to drive (or keep) a car on the public highway. In order to tax a car, that car has to be a) insured, and b) road-worthy - which means having a valid MoT ("Ministry of Transport") certificate, if it is over three years old.

So, Lottie's tax ran out at the end of August. You may recall that I went into hospital for my breast augmentation near the end of August - so even if I had re-taxed her, I wouldn't have been able to drive her straightaway. So, what I decided to do was to declare SORN ("Statutory Off-Road Notification") - which meant that she did not need to be taxed, but had to be kept off the road, and not used. Which I did - on the understanding that when I a) felt fit enough to drive again, and b) had a particular need to drive anywhere, then I would go through the rigmarole of getting her tested and taxed.

Last week, I judged that the timing was propitious to "make it so" - since, as I've previously written, I'll need to be down south, for surgery, in December. As well as the surgical appointment itself, I'll need to see my speech therapist at least twice - once, before the operation, for up-to-date voice measurements to be taken, and at least once, after the surgery, to gauge the result, and decide whether any further speech therapy is indicated. Which means that I'll be down south for at least a month - which also means that it will be considerably more convenient if I have my car to use during that period.

So, last week I entrusted Lottie to a very nice local repairman, who cosseted her through her test, and returned her, roadworthy and road-legal, to my care.

My plan, then, is to head south at the end of November. Which means that I'll hopefully be able to catch Deathline, Miss K's new group, playing live in December. And then, once my voice is on the mend, my return-to-work and find-a-home campaigns will kick into gear.

Other welcome south-based diversions will include getting my hair cut and coloured - which it hasn't been, since the end of June. I am loath to risk my locks with anybody other than my trusted stylists, so I'm looking forward to their tender ministrations.

In the end, this has all worked out as I'd hoped - I began 2006 hoping to use it to get all of my surgical requirements out of the way, so that I could hit the ground running in 2007. Barring complications with the December surgery, that's what will happen.

Sing with me - "on the road, again..."

Just when I thought my voice woes might be coming to an end... just when I thought a supplier had covered themselves in glory... they end up covering themselves in dung.

I've written in the past about my experiences with telephone call centres, most volubly here - and I've also written recently about how my bank had impressed me with their enlightened treatment of me, a discharged bankrupt. Well, the bank obviously decided that they didn't want me to praise them, and so they have conspired to give me cause to berate them - by displaying incompetent and insulting treatment of me, a transsexual woman.

This morning I received the debit card, associated with my full current account, and the new credit card, which my bank, the Bank of Scotland, recently decided to offer me. Both cards required activation before use, which is, I presume, an anti-theft, anti-fraud mechanism - and I have no problem with that. Each card carried a sticker, telling me to telephone an activation hotline to effect the activation - a different hotline for each card. I decided to activate the debit card first. I prepared my best telephone voice and manner, and set to work.

Having typed in the sort code and account number of the card on the telephone keypad, I was connected to a human, who asked me some additional information - from memory, my name, date of birth, the branch where the account was opened and the approximate balance on the account - which I readily provided. At which point I was told that, unfortunately, I would have to take my card into a branch for it to be activated. "Why's that?" I asked, already suspecting the cause. "Because I'm not sure that you're the cardholder", came the reply. "Let me guess - you have a problem with my voice?" Hole in one.

I could have left it there - but I object to being treated like a suspected fraudster because of somebody's heteronormative bias. I explained why my voice might seem at odds with the account details in question - explained that the Bank of Scotland had received full documentary evidence of my legal change of gender - and asked them why I was required to explain all of this, out loud, in a public place, when all of this information was undoubtedly already on their systems, and could be verified? "I'm so sorry, Miss Bremner, but I don't have access to that information - and, because of the Data Protection Act, I have to act on my concerns about your identity".

Remind me - exactly *whose* data is being protected here? Oh yes, mine. Allegedly. Although I fail to see how my data is being protected when I have to spout it all out in a public place.

Anyway, I was offered the chance to speak to a "Manager" - of which opportunity I availed myself. To be told that there was nothing that *they* could do, and that I would have to go into a branch. Not content to be fobbed off like this, I informed them that I wished to raise a formal complaint, detailing how their current system was evidently failing anybody who (like me) possesses a voice that might not match with their details. "We have a Complaints Department - would you like me to connect you?" Indeed I would - and I was placed on hold for a while. And then the "Manager" came back on, to say that all of the lines were busy just then - which I found slightly ironic - I wonder how many people had cause to complain early on a Saturday morning, and what might be reasonably inferred from that?

At this point, the call was disconnected - from, I suspect, my end (the phone I was using has an unfortunate habit of ending the call when it's least appropriate). Fully expecting to receive the "call centre run-around" if I rang back, I resolved to go into the branch to take this matter further. First, though, I decided to see if I received the same treatment if I tried to activate the credit card.

So I rang the activation hotline - a different telephone number - and was immediately put through to a human. I didn't even attempt to optimise my voice for their convenience. I was asked for, and gave, the account number, my name, and date of birth - and then came the expected pause. "Are you the cardholder?" I confirmed that I was, and asked if there was a problem. "I have to confess, I'm not sure that you are the cardholder." Without further ado, I gave a complete explanation of why my voice might seem at odds with the details before them, as I had given on the previous occasion. "Oh, I understand - my apologies, I hope you can understand why I had to ask. It will take a few moments to activate the card - let me just describe the features of the card, and establish if you'd like to take any additional services". And he proceeded to activate the credit card.

For clarity - this is the same bank.

I threw on some clothes, and drove to the branch where the account had been opened, to a) activate the debit card, and b) register my complaint in person. As I'd suspected, the branch was closed (not all banks open in the UK on a Saturday) so I'll defer that pleasure until Monday. At least I'll be able to hand over a copy of this post to save repeating myself endlessly.

So, let's think about this for a moment. My experience with the first activation is that it doesn't matter if you are a) an existing customer of the bank, b) have long since provided full documentation of your medical and legal circumstances, and c) can answer every question that is asked of you - if your voice sounds iffy, you're out of luck. Does this mean that if I'd had a female friend ring up on my behalf, and fed them the appropriate answers, that the activation would have been performed, without a hitch? Exactly how would that have been *more* secure?

And then there's the question of the different standards that were applied, when the same problem arose with both activations? I hesitate before causing problems for someone who helped me, if it transpires that the second activation should not have been performed, but I think that the different responses to the same situation highlight a problem, *whichever* approach was actually correct.

Fundamentally, for me, the issue is how an organisation like the Bank of Scotland should treat its customers - *all* of its customers, not just those with convenient voices. Why should I, as a transsexual woman, be made to feel like a fraudster when I have bent over backwards to provide all of the documentary evidence they require, *and* have given full and explicit explanations (which I should not *need* to provide, time and again) of the apparent disparity they hear? If the Bank of Scotland has decided that all of the other information is irrelevant, and it's just the voice that matters, then I assume that they have taken voice samples of each of their customers, and have invested in the systems to analyse and verify incoming calls against those voice samples, as the primary means of authentication. Only, to the best of my knowledge, they haven't.

I accept that their hands might be tied in terms of what information can be a) held on their systems, and b) made accessible in different circumstances, such as during a card activation. For example, I hold a Full Gender Recognition Certificate - but organisations that are made aware of that are under strict legal instructions as to what use can be made of that information, and to whom (and in what circumstances) that information may be disclosed. But what if I, a customer, actually *want* them to hold information on their systems, which would explain such apparent anomalies (and thus avoid the embarrassing situations such as arose this morning) - and would give them full permission to hold such information, and display it in the appropriate circumstances?

And that will be the meat of my complaint to the Bank of Scotland - that their current systems and procedures evidently allow some customers to be treated as fraudsters, and placed at risk of exposure (which exposure can cost transsexual folk their lives) if they are forced to explain disparities between voice (or appearance) out loud, in public. And that their procedures are not even consistently applied.

I will publish the details of any response to this episode in a subsequent post, and link to that post from here. Until then, Bank of Scotland, welcome to the heteronormative shit-list.

Technorati Tags: Bank of Scotland

I know this isn't a very sexy topic. It doesn't rile up the spirit. No one will link to this post.

Well, with a challenge like *that*, Jay, I feel like proving you wrong by a) linking to the post in question, b) saying "there you go, Jay!" and c) pointing anybody who's interested at two of my personal favourite GTD-esque resources, namely Merlin Mann's 43 Folders blog, and the associated Productive Talk Podcast

The revolution may start without me - but if someone lets me know when it's scheduled for, I'll put it in my planner and be sure to be there.

I needed to pay a couple of cheques into my bank account this morning, so I took advantage of the unexpectedly fine weather and decided to walk into town. I guess it's four or five miles, one way, so I thought the round trip would do me good in my ongoing campaign to regain my sylph-like figure. With my iPod Mini loaded with some righteous beats, I stepped out.

When I got to the bank, I handed over the cheques and my ATM card to the cashier - when she checked her system, and the account type, she asked me if I'd like them to upgrade it to a full current account. "Sure", said I, "but I wouldn't waste your time - it won't be approved". She looked at me in puzzlement, so I explained that I had been bankrupt a few years ago - and, even though I had been discharged from bankruptcy, the fact of that former state follows one around like a bad smell for years afterwards. Which I don't have a problem with. It had been a struggle to open the basic account I have had since then, and I have grown used to managing my finances on a credit-free, chequebook-free basis since then.

Still, I wasn't in a particular hurry, so I thought, what the hell, let's see what their systems make of me today! ;) I sat with the clerk, and answered her questions - including confirming that I was taking a year's sabbatical "for health reasons" and wasn't expecting a regular income again until the New Year. After some frenetic key-punching, she looked at me and said "you're approved for a full current account". I was surprised, to put it mildly, but said "excellent!" She peered at her screen some more, and said "you're also approved for a credit card, without a further credit check - would you like it?"

If I was surprised before, I was taken completely aback at this.

I had resigned myself to some years yet of living without credit, or even the possibility of applying for a mortgage (not that I want the latter, mind - I had a thumping great mortgage in the past, and didn't like the feeling). I had become accustomed to feeling like a financial outcast. The inconveniences - of not being able to write a cheque, but having to press cash on a friend and get them to write one for me, or take a trip into a bank branch, to get *them* to write me a cheque - of not being able to hire a car or van (because a debit card is apparently not sufficient surety for the rental firms) - had been annoying, but not excessively onerous.

Suddenly, I felt as if my period of financial penance was being lifted. That I had been, in a sense, rehabilitated. It felt good.

So no, I'm not about to embark on a furious spending spree. The card will sit in my purse, to be used only when necessary (such as when renting a car). It's not the fact that I now have one that counts - it's that I'm now *trusted* to have one that counts.

It seems auspicious - to me, at least - that this has occurred as I'm preparing for the final surgical procedure I desire, and preparing to build a new life thereafter. Call me a sentimental old fool, but it seems like one more instance of things happening when they're meant to. *Because* they're meant to.

OK, so I'm a little late in answering the little challenge I posed on Sunday. It's been a frustrating week, trying to coax the wheels of the NHS into motion. But, as of midday today, I have some news, so I hope the wait will have been worth it - even for the insomniacs amongst us, Miss K!

The answer to the question, "what’s changed about this blog? I’ve made a change to the structure of this blog - to reflect an intended new emphasis, at least for the next few months" is...

I added a new category, Voice, and went back through my old posts and added the relevant posts to that category. You see, I knew that the date of my surgery (for a cricothyroid approximation, as described in a videoblog post here) was approaching - but I found out today that it has been confirmed for early December.

:)

What with preparing for that, and reviewing all the work I did in the 21 sessions of speech and language therapy I had between December 2004 and August 2005, I knew that voice would be a major preoccupation for me for the next three months or so, at least. Which meant that it made sense to create a new category to reflect that.

Hey, I didn't say it was an *interesting* change - just that it was *a* change. ;)

There is another element of this new category, however. Gnawing my arms off with frustration as I have been, waiting since the end of June for this final surgery date to be confirmed, I've begun to direct my development efforts towards creating some software which should hopefully benefit me, as I continue my quest for a more passable female voice - but will hopefully benefit others with similar problems. Koan has had her systems design head on for a while now, and I intend to write about the nature of those endeavours in this new category - an open-source development (not least so that I will have a chunk of cunning code with which to impress potential employers when I re-enter the job market with a vengeance, early in the New Year). For those who've worked with me in the past, think "digital dashboards meets voice analysis". Think historical analysis... and then real-time analysis... and then real-time analysis in embedded devices.

Watch this space...

There's a recurrent theme in my life, just now - I'll be talking with a friend, maybe of many years standing, and I'll say something like "this reminds me of that time when I yada yada yada", or "you remember I told you about when I foo foo foo" - and I see blank puzzlement on their face. Actually, no, I've never told them that story.

Years of habit, I suppose. Years of trying to keep inner pain away from public scrutiny - and then of trying to draw something of a veil over "what went before". It's a hard habit to break. But I'm inclined to think it might be a habit worth breaking.

Two events last weekend combined to bring this to my attention. The first was reading this post by Miss K. In a few achingly beautiful sentences, it captures how simple everyday events (in this instance, a group of girls chatting in the street in the quiet of an early morning) can bring events or decisions from our past into sharp focus. I'm a 42 year old woman who also never knew what it was like to be a teenage girl or young woman. Not directly. Sure, I had experiences at that age - some quite amazing ones - but I've tended to suppress those memories in later life. Not because there's anything in them to be ashamed of - but just because they are a reminder that the first thirty-odd years of my life didn't pan out as I would have wished.

Something else can pierce the blanket I've wrapped around those memories for so long - music. I've think I've written before about how hearing an individual song or piece of music can bring the events and emotions of particular events right back to the present (not that I can find a link, though) - and so it proved last Sunday. I was trawling through my hosts' CD collection for something to listen to - and one of the CDs I pulled out, and stared at, was Duran Duran's "Greatest" compilation. And the track that I was prompted to play was "Ordinary World" - and suddenly I was sitting in a cafe, alone, in Stockholm, Sweden, in mid-September 1993.

I was quite dismissive of Duran Duran when they first burst onto the UK music scene around 1980 - manufactured, new romantic pretty boy pop. At that age, I was an incredible musical snob - it would be some years yet before I learned to appreciate music for whatever it evoked in me, rather than for what others might think of me for liking it. Consequently, I dismissed their first album, and the singles released from it. And then, when they released their second album, "Rio", I heard the first single from it, "Hungry Like The Wolf", and I liked it. I heard the second single, "Rio", and liked *that* - and by the time I heard the third single, "Save A Prayer", I guess I'd realised that, yes, I'd probably like the album. I borrowed it from a friend, and added it to my collection. It was one of the few cassettes I took with me when I went to Switzerland later that year, in 1982, to spend the winter working in a ski resort - but that's another collection of tales for another day...

I wasn't a huge fan of their subsequent work - and after two or three more albums, the group fragmented. The individual members formed different projects (Arcadia and The Power Station spring to mind) without obvious commercial success, before the group reformed, in various comniations. I bought "Big Thing", their CD from the late eighties, on the strength of a favourable review in Q magazine. But their self-titled 1993 release (known by some as "the wedding album") passed pretty much under my radar - I was aware of growing problems in my private life, and listening to music wasn't high on my agenda. A few months later, I was on a two week business trip to Sweden. I'd spent the middle Sunday alone, wandering around the city, and decided to rest for a coffee and a cake before travelling back to the airport for an internal flight south. And "Ordinary World" came on the radio - and I think I was aware of the words for the first time:

What has happened to it all? Crazy, some'd say, Where is the life that i recognize? Gone away...

But i won't cry for yesterday, there's an ordinary world, Somehow i have to find. And as i try to make my way, to the ordinary world... I will learn to survive.

They pierced me to the very core. For reasons I still couldn't explain, aloud or inside, I just didn't relate to the world around me, as those I watched walking past the cafe seemed to. All I wanted was to live an ordinary life, in this ordinary world - why couldn't I?

Three weeks and one day later, I took an overdose of painkillers - a non-fatal dose, as it turned out, but I'd believed it was a fatal dose.

Fast forward to 2002, to a rainy morning in the very house where I'm currently staying - and I played that compilation CD, and thus heard that song, for (I think) the first time since that Sunday in Stockholm. In the nearly nine years that had passed, I'd learned *why* I'd felt so disconnected back then - and although my life had changed drastically in the intervening years, I was still nowhere near dealing with the underlying issues. Nowhere near "learn(ing) to survive".

And then, *this* Sunday, I heard that song again, for (I believe) the first time since 2002.

And now I have what I needed. So that when Simon Le Bon sings:

Every world, is my world... (i will learn to survive) Any world, is my world ... (i will learn to survive)

finally - after all these years - I can say the same.

Came in from a rainy thursday on the avenue Thought i heard you talking softly. I turned on the lights, the tv and the radio Still i can't escape the ghost of you What has happened to it all? Crazy, some'd say, Where is the life that i recognize? Gone away...

But i won't cry for yesterday, there's an ordinary world, Somehow i have to find. And as i try to make my way, to the ordinary world... I will learn to survive.

Passion or coincidence once prompted you to say "pride will tear us both apart" Well now pride's gone out the window cross the rooftops, run away, Left me in the vacuum of my heart. What is happening to me? Crazy, some'd say, Where is my friend when i need you most? Gone away...

(chorus)

-

Papers in the roadside tell of suffering and greed Here today, forgot tomorrow Ooh, here besides the news of holy war and holy need Ours is just a little sorrowed talk

(just blown away...)

And i don't... (chorus)

Every world, is my world... (i will learn to survive) Any world, is my world ... (i will learn to survive)

Any world, is my world... Every world is my world...

written by/copyright: Duran Duran © 1993 Publisher Music Ltd.

Came in from a rainy Thursday on the avenue thought I heard you talking softly

I turned on the lights, the TV and the radio still I can't escape the ghost of you

What has happened to it all? Crazy, some'd say Where is the life that I recognize? gone away

But I won't cry for yesterday there's an ordinary world Somehow I have to find and as I try to make my way to the ordinary world I will learn to survive

Passion or coincidence once prompted you to say "Pride will tear us both apart" Well now pride's gone out the window cross the rooftops run away left me in the vacuum of my heart

What is happening to me? Crazy, some'd say Where is my friend when I need you most? Gone away

but I won't cry for yesterday there's an ordinary world somehow I have to find and as I try to make my way to the ordinary world I will learn to survive

Papers in the roadside tell of suffering and greed here today, forgot tomorrow ooh, here besides the news of holy war and holy need ours is just a little sorrowed talk

And I don't cry for yesterday there's an ordinary world Somehow I have to find and as I try to make my way to the ordinary world I will learn to survive

every one is my world, I will learn to survive any one is my world, I will learn to survive any one is my world every one is my world

[3]:

... what's changed about this blog? I've made a change to the structure of this blog - to reflect an intended new emphasis, at least for the next few months. You can't see the change on every page (yet) - but you can certainly see it on this page (if you're reading this in a web browser, that is - if you're reading it in an aggregator, you'll need to examine, for instance, the home page to see if you can spot the difference.

I'll actually describe the new emphasis, either tonight or tomorrow - but, your challenge for today is to see if you can guess...

Or not, of course! ;)

In a post yesterday, I posed various general questions relating to journalistic transparency, making clear that these were prompted by my asking a specific question of a specific journalist covering stories of particular interest to me. At the time of posting, he had not answered my question, but had answered some that were posed later than mine. I am pleased to say that he has now answered my question. To recap, I asked:

Given that:

• I was diagnosed as a transsexual woman by two of the psychiatrists at the Charing Cross Hospital Gender Identity Clinic;

• Complied with all their requirements throughout my time at the Clinic;

• Was approved for genital reconstruction surgery by those two psychiatrists;

• Subsequently had that surgery performed (albeit privately); and

• Am in possession of a full Gender Recognition Certificate, stating that my gender is female, together with a birth certificate which shows that my parents had a girl called Koan on the date of my birth:

If I sat across from you at a table, passed you a piece of paper on which were two boxes, one marked "Male", the other marked "Female", and asked you to tick the box which you feel best describes me - which box would you tick?

David Batty's response is:

KoanBremner, I missed your post before. From what you say, unless this is a trick question, I would consider you female.

And the reply I have just submitted to the comment thread in question is:

DavidBatty, thank you for answering my question. I assure you, it was not a trick question - it summarises my status. All I was trying to establish was whether you accept that someone who has followed the procedures espoused by the Charing Cross psychiatrists in this case, *and* has satisfied the Government's own requirements for gender recognition, has "changed sex" (for want of a better term).

I don't know about anybody else, but personally, I feel rather more disposed to take your work (on this story in particular, and this area more generally) at face value, as a result of your answer. Had you responded "male", I would have interpreted that as a clear demonstration of, how can I put this, "dismissiveness" of transsexual people, period. Had you qualified your answer (e.g. "I could only tick a box marked 'Other', or 'Transsexual', or somesuch"), I would have had to decide whether that meant you thought I was always destined to be in legal limbo. Had you not responded at all, I would have had to decide whether your silence was down to a desire to preserve objectivity (or, at least, the appearance thereof) - or the desire to avoid answering.

I'm glad he felt able to answer. While I'd still welcome more opinions on the general questions I asked in yesterday's post, as for the specifics of this instance - as far as I'm concerned, the subject is closed.

Update 13 October 2006 12:00 GMT - The specific question I asked of a specific journalist in the post below has now been answered, as I have posted subsequently. As I state in that subsequent post:

While I’d still welcome more opinions on the general questions I (ask) in (this) post, as for the specifics of this instance - as far as I’m concerned, the subject is closed.

First up, I am not a journalist. I have never been trained as a journalist - never worked as a journalist - never called *anything* I write "journalism", nor implied that it is. I am, however, a firm believer that a free press is something worth striving for - a point I made in this post on the BlogHer site:

In my opinion, a free press is an essential element of a free and just society.

*Because* I am not a journalist, by training or practice, the rest of this post may seem naive or simplistic to any who *are*. That's fine - I would really appreciate it if any shortcomings in what follows are brought to my attention.

I suspect I have a different attitude to media and journalists than some transsexual folk - I don't believe that journalists are universally "out to get us", for example. I have personal friends who are (or were) journalists - none of whom have treated me with personal or professional disrespect because of my transsexuality. It is *not* a given that journalists will always seek to cast transsexuality and transsexual folk in a bad light, in my opinion.

Sometimes, though, it can really *seem* that way...

I made two related posts here yesterday. The first of them referred to a couple of recent articles on the Guardian website. I linked to a comment that I made on the second of those articles. The comment thread in question has continued to develop, and I think it makes for compelling reading. It highlights the deep sense of distrust which sadly seems to exist between transsexual folk in the UK and the health services which (one would hope) are there to help them. It highlights the fact that not all transsexual folk agree on all aspects of medical care, including how and when it should be provided. And it also highlights the distrust which some transsexual folk feel towards the motives of the journalist, David Batty, responsible for the post on which I commented.

Now, I don't claim exhaustive knowledge of David Batty or his work. His profile on the Guardian Unlimited website simply says:

David Batty is the health correspondent on Guardian Unlimited.

Not much to go on there. However, I saw a passing reference a couple of months ago to his involvement with the documentary "Return To Gender" (which I saw around the turn of the year) - so Googling "return to gender" and batty returned three links, of which only one seems relevant - this one. Reading the text there would seem to confirm that the David Batty registered on Barbelith is the same David Batty.

The reason I make this connection is that the documentary covered the cases of people who either had, or had considered, genital reconstruction surgery - and subsequently regretted their decision to undergo that surgery, or decided not to continue living in a different gender role. Personally, I thought it was a good documentary. I didn't get the impression that it was unbalanced or biased, given its remit - it wasn't a documentary about the pros and cons of transition, hormones and genital reconstruction surgery as treatments for transsexuality - it was about individuals who regretted taking that path, or decided not to pursue it to its conclusion. I don't think it's unreasonable to make such a programme - I'm not of the mindset that says "anybody who says a word against transition, hormones or genital reconstruction surgery is wrong".

Some have commented that such a specific programme presented an unfair portrayal, to the general public, of how people feel after transition, hormones or surgery. I hate to keep banging on about it, but the 15 part series "Sex Change", covering the stories of 29 transsexual folk and one transgenderist (their preferred description) - in which I was a participant - was screened regularly on the "Discovery Home and Health" channel in the UK at the back end of 2005 and early in 2006. There *are* positive portrayals of transsexuality out there - that series was chock-full of them.

But, David Batty's record of articles over the last few years has apparently raised concerns among some transsexual folk. For example, from this comment:

David, I'm not sure what it is that has motivated you over the past few years in what looks like your determination to uncover some great scandal at the heart of GID treatment in the UK, regardless of whether it exists or not. Whatever it is, please stop for a moment to consider the damage you are doing to transpeople in this country. We have precious few allies, and as the responses to this article show, more then enough enemies. You *are not helping*.

In my opinion, any sense of David Batty's objectivity is not helped when he makes comments like this:

If there ever is a GMC inquiry into CX I will definitely cover it - a misconduct hearing into the largest NHS gender clinic would be a huge story. And if anyone knows of an ex-CX (& non-Reid) patient who now regrets changing sex, please bring them to my attention.

and proceeds to justify his focus on the regretters (rather than the rather more numerous, but apparently less news-worthy successes) by stating:

The points you raise are equally applicable to broadsheets/compacts & tabloids. What is more newsworthy - '5 people killed in motorway pile up' or 'Millions of motorists got home safely tonight'?

I'm a realist - I can understand that (even though I may not like it) - and, in the interests of balanced coverage, he also says, in the same comment:

I'll tell you why I object to that suggestion - because I was approached by a tabloid to write them a feature that they wanted to conclude that sex changes were a total con and transsexualism doesn't exist.

(& I did write a feature about a success story in the same week as the Guardian Weekend piece came out - on Rachel Padman of Cambridge University.)

So, it's fair to say that some people don't trust David Batty's motives - but I'm as yet unconvinced. How could I become convinced? How about by *asking*? Because, I don't mind if a journalist has an angle, an axe to grind on a particular story - when I think of some of the great successes of investigative journalism of the past (such as the Thalidomide scandal of the seventies, Woodward and Bernstein's uncovering of Watergate, the revelation of Robert Maxwell's corporate fraud and the Blue Arrow stockmarket fixing of the eighties) then arguably a journalist with an axe to grind will dig deeper, work harder. But - and for me it is a crucial "but" - such coverage *must* come with what I believe is called "full disclosure".

Maybe David Batty has an agenda - maybe he doesn't. Personally, I don't mind if he *has* an agenda - but I do mind if he doesn't state it, but seeks instead to pass biased pieces off as balanced reportage. Note - I am *not* accusing him of having an agenda - I am saying that, *if* he has an agenda, then it's important that he is open about it, so that his work can be considered on its true merits.

The problem becomes, how to establish where he really stands on the issues in question? Some commenters tried (e.g. here) - but, *in my opinion*, the questions they asked were of a form and substance that he could reasonably choose to ignore, and wouldn't necessarily have revealed anything germane, even if he had answered. I decided to ask what I feel is a reasonable enough question, which might also flush out any personal bias (of the kind which some people suspect. I posted it here, but here it is in full:

DavidBatty, I (for one) welcome your involvement in this comments thread. Whether or not I agree with your opinions is irrelevant - you state them, and you explain them.

Some of the later comments in this thread seek to draw out your position or motivation on certain aspects of this debate. I wonder if I might ask you a direct question? I think your answer to it might help.

Given that:

• I was diagnosed as a transsexual woman by two of the psychiatrists at the Charing Cross Hospital Gender Identity Clinic;

• Complied with all their requirements throughout my time at the Clinic;

• Was approved for genital reconstruction surgery by those two psychiatrists;

• Subsequently had that surgery performed (albeit privately); and

• Am in possession of a full Gender Recognition Certificate, stating that my gender is female, together with a birth certificate which shows that my parents had a girl called Koan on the date of my birth:

If I sat across from you at a table, passed you a piece of paper on which were two boxes, one marked "Male", the other marked "Female", and asked you to tick the box which you feel best describes me - which box would you tick?

I think your honest, personal answer to this would help illuminate your position in this debate.

Of course, not answering the question might be just as illuminating...

As of the time of posting this, he has neither acknowledged, nor answered, my question. He *has* responded to comments which were posted after mine. Before I decide what inferences (if any) I might draw from that, I want to ask five specific questions, of anybody who chooses to answer, but especially of any who are (or were) trained and / or practising journalists:

1) If a journalist has a particular bias or agenda, are there any circumstances in which professionalism dictates that they should not reveal it?

2) Is it appropriate for a non-journalist, such as myself, to ask a direct public question of a journalist, such as David Batty, with the stated aim of uncovering any personal bias they have on the story they are covering?

3) If the answer to 2) is "yes", are there any circumstances in which the journalist should not answer such a question, in public or in private?

4) Is the intent behind the question I asked of David Batty clear and relevant? And finally,

5) If David Batty chooses not to answer my question, given that he *has* answered others that have been asked, before and since - what inferences (if any) is it appropriate to draw?

In the interests of full disclosure, I think it would help if anybody who comments, in response to this post, states explicitly what journalistic experience they have, if they feel comfortable in so doing. As I've said, I know a fair few journalists, and I will be asking them to consider this post - but I won't hold it against any of them if they choose not to comment, or comment in a way they think is contrary to what they believe I want them to say. And just how convoluted a sentence was *that*? ;)

Over to you.

Technorati Tags: blogher

Long-standing readers of this blog may recall that I have, on occasion, "put on the hair-shirt" - written openly about how my attitudes and opinions have changed, without shying away from responsibility for those prior opinions. I'm inclined to do so again - in the hope that it will help inform the ongoing debate about the provision of healthcare for transsexual folk in the UK, which I touched upon briefly in a previous post.

You see, for a long time, I bought into the idea that transsexual folk needed protecting from themselves. That, no matter how strongly they felt that transition to living in a different gender role from their physical sex was right for them - no matter how much they believed that hormones might benefit them - no matter how convinced they were that genital reconstruction surgery was the right thing for them - that they needed to be *sure* - and that they needed outside help to *be* sure.

Social transition may not appear to be a one-way process - I mean, you could always change back if it doesn't work out, right? In theory, I suppose so - in practise, I doubt it. Implicit in the transitioning process is the question "*should* I live in a different gender role?" Just as implicit is the question "*can* I live in a different gender role?" And that question is examined in public - by everyone you meet, everyone you know - and guess what? Even if you decide that transition is *not* right for you - even if you decide that, no matter how strongly you feel you *should* live in a different gender role, that you just *can't* - even if you reverse the transition - you can't undo the asking. Those who knew you during transition will always know that you transitioned. It's a question that can't be unasked.

That's why I was so affected by Lukas Blakk's videoblog post, which I mentioned here. What I hinted at saying - but could never find the words to say - was how much I admire Lukas, for having the courage to ask the question "should I transition?" - and to acknowledge, in public, if the answer is "no". If transsexual folk - or those who believe that they are, or might be - could definitively find out, one way or the other, without the glare of public scrutiny, life for such people might be much less hard. But, we can't - under the terms of the HBIGDA / WPATH Standards Of Care, we *have* to transition in public. And live in that role before surgery can be approved.

If you're not a trans person - if you've never transitioned - you've no idea what it's like. Sorry, but you don't. Reading about it - watching someone else go through it - doesn't even begin to give you an idea of what it's like. That said, I think it's a necessary phase - if you *can't* handle living in a different gender role, then what is (or isn't) under your skirt or trousers isn't going to help.

Or is it?

See, I used to think not. Because I knew that social transition was, effectively, a one-way trip (in the sense that it couldn't be removed from the memories of others) I delayed it until I knew I had no other choice. With hormones, you have a limited window of decision, before irreversible changes occur. They are a *fantastic* diagnostic tool - if somebody convinces themselves that they're a transsexual woman when they're not, the effects of hormones can rapidly clarify their thinking. A transvestite male is probably not going to appreciate it when their penis starts to shrink and it becomes increasingly difficult to ejaculate or orgasm, for example. For a while, at least, the effects of hormones are reversible - but, not for long.

Genital reconstruction surgery, though - that is a one-way trip. If you discover afterwards that it wasn't right for you - you are out of luck. So I didn't want to run the risk of being a person in that situation - I wanted to be sure, before making those irreversible changes, that it was the right thing for me to do. I accepted the hurdles placed before me by the healthcare professionals with whom I was involved - because, I had absolute faith that, if I was mistaken, that they would know.

I lived as a woman for nine months before taking hormones - I began transition with head hair about half an inch long. I never wore a wig during transition. Did I *look* like a woman? No. Did it matter? No, not to me. Those nine months proved to me that I *could* live as a woman - the next 21 months on hormones proved to me that I *should* live my life as a woman - and the 7+ months since my genital reconstruction surgery have confirmed to me that I was right.

So, what do I now know? That I, Koan Bremner, benefited from not being prescribed hormones immediately. That I, Koan Bremner, benefited from living as a woman for two and a half years.

But that *doesn't* mean that all transsexual folk need the same treatment - hence the hair-shirt.

Maybe I can best illustrate this with an example. As I've written in the past, I took part in the filming of a documentary series about transsexual and transgender folk. I had my own motives for doing so. But there were two stories in that series that I was particularly interested in watching - two transsexual women who were planning on having surgery to assist their voice, as am I. One of the women had the same procedure I'm awaiting - with the same surgeon as will be performing mine - with, in my opinion, outstanding results.

The other woman was planning a more invasive procedure. She felt that it was necessary for her confidence and success. She was planning on having facial feminisation surgery (FFS), too. Fair enough - I've never considered FFS as a necessary procedure for me, but it can transform the quality of their life for many.

The thing that worried me, though, was that she intended to have both of these surgeries *before transitioning*. She was going to have two major surgical procedures, without (apparently) having set foot into everyday life as a woman. (That was the impression given by the programme - that she'd gone to nightclubs as a woman, but not down the road in daylight.)

I was shouting at the screen, "what are you *thinking* about? Even if the surgeries are completely successful, what if transition isn't for you? What if you end up with the face and voice of a woman - but find that you can't live *as* a woman?"

Still, off to Thailand she flew - and back she came, with a much more feminine face - and virtually no voice. But, *as* a woman.

At the end of the programme, we learned that she was intending to have revision surgery on her voice (again, in Thailand).

My point is, I couldn't believe that somebody would undergo such surgeries, without even having *tried* to pass as a woman. I was embodying the principles behind the "gatekeeper" approach, as espoused by Charing Cross Hospital's Gender Identity Clinic (CCH GIC).

Just what gave me the right to think that way? To presume that I had the right to second-guess another person's decisions about their own health?

It's only in the last few months that I've realised this. Just because *I* was able to begin transition without hormones, doesn't mean that's true for everybody. Just because it was right that *I* should live as a woman for two and a half years before going near a surgeon's blade, doesn't mean that anybody else should wait a similar period. Each person's circumstances are different - because *people* are different. How *can* there be a "one size fits all" approach? Every moment now, I'm aware of how much benefit I've had from the treatment I sought. What's under (or not under) my skirt or trousers *does* affect my everyday life - even if others never see what is (or isn't) there - because *I* feel the benefits. And those benefits spill over into every waking moment - into every interaction I have with others. The tortured individual I was, has gone. I believe the woman I mentioned above - whose decisions I scorned - would say the same. That despite the complications with her voice, her transition was eased enormously by having the surgeries she did at the time that was right for *her*.

But that's one of the fundamental issues at the heart of the General Medical Council's investigation into the allegations about Richard Reid. Did he use professional judgement in working, on occasion, outside some of the guidelines in the Standards of Care? Was he right to do so? If he did so out of concern for the well-being and welfare of his patients, was he wrong to do so?

There was a time when I believed that the hurdles that stood between a transsexual person and their access to hormones and surgery were not only right, but essential. Now that I have felt - *really* felt - the benefits that both have brought me... and seen them in the quality of life for other trans folk that I know - I have to say that I was wrong to believe that. I put my hand up - I put on the hair-shirt, once again.

What I now believe is this - that the best person to decide what treatment is appropriate for their circumstances, and when it should be provided, is *the transsexual person them-self*. Provided that:

• They have been given full and appropriate counselling about *all* of the consequences of the treatments in question;
• They accept that they are responsible for their decision to have that treatment; and
• The practitioners concerned with approving the surgery have (to the best of their ability) ruled out the existence of any physical, mental or social conditions which mean that treatment or surgery is patently unwise.

This is the UK, where people can legally buy and use drugs that can injure and kill themselves, and others - namely, tobacco and alcohol - at 18 years of age. They do not have to submit to restrictions similar to the Standards of Care to do so - they just have to walk to the nearest retailer.

Hormones and genital reconstruction surgery represent life-saving treatments for transsexual folk. Their record of success is statistically much higher than for most non-contentious surgical or medical procedures. The cost to counsel and provide such treatments, for those who request them, is miniscule, compared to the benefits they provide, in terms of quality of life for the individual and economically to the nation. The cost of *not* providing them, in lost tax revenue, and in ongoing care and medication for conditions such as depression, associated with unresolved gender identity issues - it's a no-brainer.

Let an adult (who is capable of making a considered, informed decision) *make* that decision about their own life. That is all I ask. And I don't think I'm alone in asking for that.

Time for me to step into an ongoing debate. For those who don't know, Russell Reid, a prominent practitioner in the field of transsexualism, is currently the subject of a General Medical Council enquiry. For a heads-up on the case, and the issues behind it, see, for example, this post on the "Press For Change" website. For example:

The best known private service provider closer to home in the UK is currently preparing to mark his retirement with a malpractice hearing at the GMC in the autumn. The case against him isn't being brought by any of his devoted patients, who would rather see him elevated to sainthood. Instead the complaint comes from a group of four NHS psychiatrists at a single clinic, who heartily disapprove of him having offered a flexibly patient-centred approach, for years before the concept entered the clinical vocabulary. The complainants, putting forward a public interest case, are rather better known among their NHS patients for an incredibly rigid regime of treatment -- so harsh that new patients complain to me of spending their first consultation being lectured on the rules of the establishment, and all the ways they can be thrown off the clinic's list for non-compliance.

With Dr Russell Reid neatly pinned down in a corner, and his sole private practice successor still really finding his feet, the range of non-NHS options for trans people in the UK is therefore very constrained. Inevitably, as a result, a lot more attention is being focussed now on why the NHS is considered so bad by many trans people that they would sell all their belongings (if they had many) to get private treatment if they could.

For an example of newspaper coverage from two different perspectives, see this post and this post, from the Guardian. See also the lengthy comments on both pieces. I chose to comment on the latter post, here. For completeness, I've reproduced that comment below - all 5000 characters of it. (I had to edit it *quite* a bit to fit that limit, pleonastic as I am!)

I will return to this subject in the near future. (Here, actually.)

This issue polarises opinion. I see all of those non-supportive, misinformed, occasionally bigoted comments - bravely made by people hiding behind cutesy-pie screen names. How many of those commenters would make their comments under their real names? Expose themselves, their opinions, and their rationale for forming those opinions, to the full scrutiny of all?

Anybody?

Thought not.

Which is ironic, really, because that is exactly what someone who transitions has to do - every single day.

So, yes, that's my real name to the side there - and I am not afraid to comment here as a transsexual woman. Because I know, first-hand, the kind of difficulties a transitioner faces, I do not blame any of those trans folk who have commented here under a screen name - the price of being outed as a trans person can be death. The non-trans commenters who hide their identities - what do you have to fear? What's your excuse for anonymity?

I've never met Dr. Reid, but I've long known of his reputation, and the high regard in which his patients hold him. When I finally accepted that I had no choice but to transition, I could not afford private care - I had no choice but to travel the NHS route. I was referred to the Gender Identity Clinic (GIC) at Charing Cross Hospital (CCH) - you may have heard of it - and attended that clinic until, after two years, two of the psychiatrists there gave me their approval for surgery (coincidentally, two of the psychiatrists responsible for the current GMC case against Dr. Reid). So, while I can't comment on how Dr. Reid treated his patients, I can comment on how the much-maligned CCH GIC treated me, for two years.

It was four months after transition before I received my first appointment - another four months before I received my second appointment, at which hormone treatment was approved - and so, by the time my blood had been re-tested, it was nine months before I received any feminising hormones at all. Thereafter, my nominal three-monthly appointments occurred every three, four (and in one case, five) months. I was never subjected to any of the humiliating practices which some have described - and I never lied about my situation. I was, for example, open about being in a relationship with a woman, and not envisaging ever having a sexual relationship with a man, even after genital reconstruction surgery. That was never raised as a black mark against me. So, even if that were the case in the past, it is simply wrong to state that it is uniformly their attitude now.

By the time I received my two approvals, though, I was in a position to pay for the surgery privately. So, rather than wait for my funded turn on the NHS, I saved the taxpayers money (and that would include me, a lifelong taxpayer) and engaged a surgeon privately - one of the two surgeons who would probably have performed it on the NHS - and six weeks later it was done.

So, no - my experience of the CCH GIC was not that which you'll typically read, or hear about. That said, it meant that I was living as a woman for nine months (not the recommended three) before I was prescribed hormones. And had I not been able to pay privately, I would likely have waited more than three years (not the recommended two) for NHS surgery, even though I'd passed all assessments without difficulty, without lying.

Maybe I was lucky. Nevertheless, had I been able to afford private treatment when I started, I would have been prescribed hormones six months earlier, and approved for surgery at least a year earlier - and yet still within the HBIGDA guidelines. But I never lost sight of the key point - that it would be my decision to undergo surgery - nobody else's. If the surgeon had been negligent, I would have sought recourse - but the responsibility for having the surgery was mine, all mine.

In summary - at least one patient (me) did not have the horrendous experience at the CCH GIC that many talk about. But I do not doubt that I would have received more timely, more individual and more thorough care at the hands of Dr. Reid. I'll repeat what others have said - who were the psychiatrists who gave the second approval for those patients who now regret their decisions to have surgery? Why are those psychiatrists not also under investigation? What percentage of Dr. Reid's patients now express regret? How does that percentage compare to the percentage of CCH GIC patients who express regret at their treatment? How do those percentages compare with "regret rates" in other branches of surgery and medicine? How many practitioners with higher "regret rates" have not been investigated by the GMC? And, if there are any, why not?

If you don't have Gender Dysphoria / Gender Identity Disorder - if you aren't a transsexual person - you simply can't ever know what it feels like. I don't know what it feels like to be a budgie - but I don't deny their existence. If you must refute someone else's identity, at least be open about your own.

I've had a particular post in mind for the last few days, celebrating the return, tonight, of Season 3 of "Lost". ("Tonight" meaning tonight in the USA, of course - Channel 4 has only just finished showing Season 2 over here in the UK, so I'm not expecting them to begin showing the new episodes until April, at the very least.) But that's OK - there are ways of circumventing that, and I expect to curl up with the season opener some time tomorrow or Friday.

I'd planned to speculate a little - just a little, mind - on what the new season might bring. To ask if anyone else had followed the little internet treasure hunt that the series producers laid over the summer? To suggest that, if you don't know what I mean by that, then listening to the episode of "The Official Lost Podcast" from Comic Con 2006 might prove instructive (particularly from 17 and 27 minutes into the recording) - that reading (or listening to the audio recording of) "Bad Twin", the manuscript found in the wreckage by Hurley, and subsequently read (well, nearly) by Sawyer might prove enlightening...

But, no. Not today. I have a better suggestion for you to use with your reading energies today. Which is to go to the Mommybloggers site, and read the interview they've just posted with Liz, of Badgermama.

There's a reason why I've diverted this post. There are a few lines of dialogue, early in "Bad Twin", that really spoke to me:

"Of course you're going to take the job. Why not?"

"It really should go to a major agency. It's way too big for me."

"Don't think like that," said Manny. "In fact, it's just the opposite. The big jobs are always handled best by one determined person. Look at the labo(u)rs of Hercules. Were they done by Hercules, or by five hundred little pissants that reported to Hercules?"

"Okay," said Artisan. "But he was Hercules."

"Everyone is Hercules," said Weissman. "It's just a matter of finding the task that brings it out."

A few days ago, I was asked by the Mommybloggers founders (Jenny, Jenn and Meghan, amazing women all) if I would write "a few words of praise" about Liz. I was happy to do so (and honoured to be asked, truth be told - they must have known the high regard in which I hold her). My thoughts, together with those of other avid fans, appear here. As part of mine, I said:

For me, Liz's defining moment was her blogging as a relief worker, in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. Her compassion towards those she worked so hard to help - coupled with her resolve to help them, whatever obstacles were placed in her (and their) way - was truly inspirational.

In the interview itself, Liz says this:

I learned a lot about my privilege as a white middle class person, and about my potential for leadership. I sure learned a lot about racism and class in the U.S. I learned about disaster and crisis situations. I guess I learned some things that people in the army must learn, or people who run refugee camps. I learned some ways to speak to power and to make things happen.

In many ways I realized that some of my own personal qualities that make me not very fit for my middle class daily life, that those qualities make me excellent in an actual crisis situation. My ability to break the rules, to understand and see through rules, was very important. Part of that ability comes directly from my privilege and sense of entitlement. Another part of it comes from my experiences of situational poverty, and from being a bit of a rebel, a criminal, a bad girl, a woman, a punk, and a revolutionary. I felt like a superbeing, because I knew the inside, but I also know the outside. That meant I could cross lines, where other people didn't even see that lines existed. How powerful!

As far as I'm concerned, Liz *is* a superbeing - she's certainly a super being - and my idea of the embodiment of Everyone is Hercules (even though, like me, I'm sure she'll cringe a little that it had to be a male character that was used in that analogy, in the book).

I find myself at an incredible place in my life - and I can sum it up no better than to say, I'm looking for the particular task that will bring out *my* Herculean nature.

So, if you're twiddling your thumbs before tonight's showing of "Lost", why not go and discover something of the force of nature that is Liz?

Suggested reading / viewing:

• "War without end" - the US Government's removal of habeas corpus, from a mother's perspective;
• "Losing habeas corpus is a big deal" - a call to action;
• Daniel McVicar's video interview with Liz at BlogHer 2006;
• The entire series of her Astrodome posts - start here and read forwards.

I like to think I'm a balanced individual ("I have chips on *both* shoulders, boom boom!") - so, inasmuch as I have been thinking about death a lot, recently, so too have I been thinking a lot about life.

I don't know when I first became aware of Ray Kurzweil. Certainly I was aware of Kurzweil music synthesisers from the mid-eighties, and I became aware of his work in speech recognition when I developed a keen interest in such technologies in the mid-nineties. I even picked up a copy of his third book, "The Age of Spiritual Machines" when it was first published, in 1999. It didn't make much of an impression on me, then - to be honest, I was preoccupied with launching a business, at the same time as my ten-year marriage was about to end, with my revelation of my gender issues.

Fast forward nearly six years, and (as I've written previously) I developed a liking for the music of Our Lady Peace - particularly their album "Spiritual Machines". Inspired by Kurzweil's book, it managed to avoid the worst excesses of the "concept album", familiar to many of us who remember the progressive rock movement of the seventies or eighties. Anyway, I was motivated to track down another copy of Kurzweil's book, and really read it.

He's not the first person to speculate on how the future will pan out - and I'm sure he won't be the last. Where his work succeeds above others (in my opinion) is in the clarity of his analysis of past and present events and trends, coupled with the ability to *imagine* how disparate technologies (particularly nanotechnology, computers and artificial intelligence) could combine. If even a small fraction of his predictions come true, in the timescales discussed, you realise that we are not many years distant from a time when such technologies could so drastically enhance the scope and potential of individual lives, as to change the very nature of human life itself.

He didn't leave it there. His latest book, "The Singularity is Near" looks in detail at how those technologies will enable us to overcome many of the limitations of human biology. If you haven't the time or inclination to read either (or both) books, you can obtain an impression of the man and his thinking by listening to two recordings on IT Conversations, specifically "When Humans Transcend Biology", his keynote address at Accelerating Change 2005, and his interview with Moira Gunn (as part of her Tech Nation programme) during the same conference.

In summary (and in my words, not his) - within less than forty years, mankind's understanding of biology, cognition and intelligence will be so complete that we will know how to overcome the biological limitations which constrain health, life-spans and intelligence - *and* the technologies that would be required to overcome those limitations will not just be known - not just available to a select few - but will be *widely* available.

Whether you buy into those projections or not - what if it were to pan out that way? I'm 42 years old - what if, by the time I'm 81, the physical effects of ageing can be held at bay - would I have long life... long youth... or long old age?

Hold that thought for a moment.

Another writer who considers the future, from a biological standpoint, is Brian Stableford. A biologist by training, his work is unabashed fiction. He, too, has posited futures where life-spans can be vastly extended. His six-volume "Emortality" series plots the development of nanotechnology to enhance lifespans - although that technology needs to be applied from the moment of conception. But what if access to such technologies is *not* equal? In the fourth volume of that series, "Architects of Emortality", a sub-text to the main story is that extreme wealth and privilege might buy even greater longevity, for one's direct descendants - how would such long-lifers (whose lives might run to thousands of years, treat (and be treated by) those whose lifespans only measure in the hundreds of years.

Hold *that* thought for a moment.

It isn't a new subject for fiction. Robert Heinlein considered it, years ago. Starting with Methuselah's Children, he conjectured a world where one man's despair at dying from premature ageing prompted him to endow a foundation to encourage (i.e. bribe) families with documented longevity to inter-marry and inter-breed, in the hope of strengthening those genes responsible for longevity. Fast forward a few hundred years, and that is the result. How would those with a "normal" lifespan respond to the sudden realisation that long-lifers walked among them? In that book, with fear and hatred - to the extent that the families in question flee from Earth. Having sought, without success, a new home in the stars, they return to Earth - where many years have passed since their departure (due to the time dilation effect of near-light speed travel). Those left behind on Earth, thinking the long-lifers held some secret, devoted their efforts to finding that secret - effectively developing techniques for life-extension.

So, whether by breeding or by scientific intervention, long life was there for all. For me, though, the better questions were asked in "Time Enough For Love" - when you can live for such vast spans, at what point will that life cease to be a joy, and become a burden? How does someone who has tired of life discover anew the impetus to live on?

If there's a theme behind these individual visions of the future, it is that mankind can, through science, overcome the biological limitations of the human body. Whether mankind *should*, though...?

This is where my interest in all this conjecture comes in. Suppose Kurzweil's visions substantially come to fruition - how would I feel, living in such a world? I'm encouraged that so much of his thought focuses not just on extending life, but in *expanding* it. My own life provides me with an ideal thought experiment. Seven months ago, current medical techniques were able to free me from a physical limitation which had destroyed my quality of life. If my life could have been extended at that point, without addressing that limitation - that would not have been long life - it would have been a living hell.

And every day since, I know a different truth - that I could have died at any point since, or at any time in the future, and I would have died happy and fulfilled - *will* die happy and fulfilled. I don't know that I, personally, would live happier for living longer. It seems to me that it isn't how long I live that matters - it's how *well* I live that matters, to me.

Take that thought in conjunction with those I expressed in that previous post, and there you have it - whatever insight I have to give on "life and how to live it". If my life has any meaning, any significance, then I suggest it is in terms of my impact (for good or ill) on those around me. And while the magnitude of that impact might be increased if I live longer, that doesn't necessarily follow.

So, if Kurzweil's projections come to pass, then maybe I will live to see them - maybe I'll even live to benefit from them. But I won't feel angry or resentful if, in fact, they don't benefit me. Science and medicine has already benefited my life. I'm not greedy for more.

I've been thinking about death a lot, recently - let's face it, there's a lot of it about. It strikes fear into many - causing heartache and suffering when it occurs, particularly when it relates to those who are close to us.

This has shown up in my daily reading. Jo Spanglemonkey has written, at length, about her feelings as her mother's terminal illness meant that she would soon have to face life without her - while Grace Davis has revealed that her father may not live much longer. For both of them, this imminent parting has stirred up strong emotions - and maybe the necessity to face up to, or resolve, "unfinished business".

I've experienced the death of people close to me, too - I've felt the strength of emotion, of pain, at the loss of loved ones. I've also experienced the sense of closure that comes from the death of unloved ones. But I don't think, in either case, that I view death with t