Funds have been carefully calculated (in CAD) to cover the full costs of:
Hairline Rounding - $14,998
Breast Reconstruction - $13,635
Transportation to Clinic in Florida - $3958
Hotels - $3410
Laser Hair Removal - $8185
Female Clothing & Shoes - $2046
Sarah's Story
I'm Sarah, and this is a story that's not easy for me to share, a story that I've gained the courage
to share through the realization that, even if it helps a single person, that's a single person that
might not have to endure what I did and am enduring.
I write this in detail so that you might understand just how many factors there can be which may make someone feel as though they're transgender and that that's the only choice for them, even if it turns out that it's not, even if it turns out that it's something they can only live to regret.
As a young girl, I never fit into the 'girl' category. Things the usual girl would like, I didn't, and
everything the usual boy liked, I did. I had depression before I even knew what depression was,
all I knew was that I was sad all the time and even more sad if somebody I loved was struggling,
but I thought that if I didn't have a reason to be sad, I couldn't tell anybody that I was. This lead
to me missing a lot of school and a prescription for citalopram when I was around twelve.
From nine to fourteen, I had my group of guy friends, we'd hang out at school together, play
Dungeons & Dragons, go camping and swimming at one of their family cabins, but of all the people I considered friends in my life, it was my father I wanted to be like most.
Growing up I saw how he protected our family, as hectic as that family could be,
even when we needed protection from each other, but who would protect him from the weight
of it all? I wanted to be strong enough to protect him too and lessen the weight off his
shoulders, even if it was only a pound of that weight. I've always been an empathetic person, so
seeing those struggles and seeing that weight, even while they try to hide it always got to me.
My father worked a high paying job that, for him, involved a lot of travel when I was very little, so much
that I didn't remember who he was after one of his longer trips. The moment he realized this, he sacrificed that job for me, for his family. There came the realization that I meant and mean more than money to him, and it's sad to say that's not the way the world works for many people.
I'd come out to my sister and mother quite a few times in my elementary school years, before I
even knew what the official diagnosis for "I feel like a boy" was, but
when I was met with denial and confusion out of their fear over what I was feeling,
I tried for a while to push myself to dress more feminine and wear makeup in order to bury that feeling, hoping it'd go away.
When puberty hit, I wasn't excited, I dreaded it, I didn't want to be ogled or looked at like women are, going as far as saying that it made me feel disgusted isn't an understatement.
Sure, I had my crushes like everybody else, but I still wanted to be one of the guys. When the 'boy' activities came and I couldn't go because I wasn't one? That got to me all the more, because I'll easily pass on getting my nails done a hundred times over going fishing to this day.
I was fifteen when I publicly began my transition and started testosterone. I'd tried a children's
hospital to see about getting prescribed testosterone, and when they told me I needed to see a
therapist first, which my family couldn't afford, it was as easy as going to another clinic, being
referred to a Doctor and having a ten minute conversation with that Doctor to leave with a testosterone prescription.
The only real question asked was if I was sure my dysphoria wasn't a result of anything else. I'd thought, "Well, I'm disgusted with being looked at as a girl, I love doing everything a boy does, so my 'dysphoria' must be gender dysphoria", so my answer was no. Even then, I was a kid, barely fifteen, I wanted what I wanted and I wasn't going to put a lot of thought into it.
I had check-ins with a youth practitioner since then, asking me how I was feeling. She switched
me over to fluoxetine from that citalopram that I'd been taking for a few years because of the
constant headaches it gave me, and I'd recently stopped taking it because of that. When I came
to see her, that depression was back, so we'd talk in another month once the fluoxetine kicked
in to see how I felt then.
A month later, I felt great, I kept feeling great, happy, but it was this false sense of happiness
where I knew that underlying source of sorrow was still there, undealt with. In fact, I was happy
enough to not even really care about dealing with whatever it was, or maybe that was also the
fact that I felt like a robot, not much emotion outside of that false happiness.
When I turned sixteen, it was finally time for top surgery. With the Doctor I'd gotten referred to,
it just so happened there was a spot that just opened up in a month for me to get the procedure.
My parents weren't necessarily on board, they weren't on board when I'd started testosterone
either, and society really seems to want parents who "aren't on board" to look bad. Even as I
knew that, they still loved me unconditionally, were patient, tried their best to understand and
were there when I needed them most as family should be.
Love is unconditional, and you don't send those in need of that love away when they're struggling. If they did, I don't think I'd be here right now and I'm very thankful to have had that.
Even after the surgery that I didn't have to pay a dime for, even after five years of testosterone, I was happy. I worked with an arborist, ran chainsaws, and I looked in the mirror and felt right with the man that I saw, even when it took losing so many people that I'd called friends to get there. Eventually this all changed though. It was only in 2022 that I started to question, started to have hints of doubt, and started to ignore any hint of doubt, one of the biggest reasons being because I believed it was too late.
When I decided to go to this church in my hometown, one I'd recently started going to, the
Pastor spoke of exactly the situation I had gotten myself into, as though God had decided to
reach out. I'd prayed for that guidance, as I was lost on what to do and if I really could continue
on like I was.
After that, I then stopped taking fluoxetine. I wanted that false sense of happiness gone,
because I'd rather be sad with the chance of working through that sadness,
than resign to a faux medically induced sense of "joy". That doubt got
stronger and that feeling of depression came back even worse. I couldn't look in the
mirror without crying, and worst of all, all the love and support I'd found in transitioning, I
couldn't find in detransitioning.
If a child with decaying teeth asks you for candy, do you hand them that candy, parents? No, and maybe they'll tell you they hate you for it, but they'll understand why you didn't in several years and love you more for it.
Why? Because you took them to the dentist, you got their cavities filled,
their teeth cleaned, you told them you loved them and only wanted to make sure
their teeth were healthy before they got any sweets. I use this analogy because that is NOT what
the government and healthcare has done for me, so let me rephrase that analogy to fit what
they did. As a child with decaying teeth, I wanted candy, so my parents (the government)
not only gave me candy, they dropped a whole Halloween's bag worth in front of my
face without a care in the world for the state of my teeth, even though they knew something
was wrong. My uncle (doctors) gave me even more because my parents said they'd pay him for it, and
when my dentist (parents) tried to question him and say maybe he should wait until I don't have
any cavities, my aunt pulled me aside and told me how awful it was that the dentist wasn't
supporting my choices, especially because I was ABSOLUTELY positive that my teeth wouldn't
get any worse. Now, my teeth have rotted out of my head and the government, doctors and advocates are
nowhere to be seen to help me with the consequences.
All I could see was the tens of thousands of dollars that I didn't have to feel like Sarah again and
the fact that I felt I'd never have that. It sent me into a deep pit of depression and isolation, and
I couldn't stand the idea of asking for help out of a situation I'd gotten myself into, even if it was
when I was a kid. I realize only recently that it's okay to need and ask for help, and it becomes
easier knowing that I can help others with my story just as I ask for help too.
To the young transitioners, I can't stress this enough, this is a life altering decision that you can
rush into far too easily, but if or when your mind changes, the government WILL NOT help you out of it.
I was in your shoes for twenty years, and now that I'm twenty-one, everything changed. I know it might be hard, I know you feel the way that I did, I know dark thoughts are on the table, but you are loved. You NEED to know what you're doing and why, whether or not your gender dysphoria is self consciousness in disguise, trauma induced or maybe a feeling like you're born as the wrong gender because you don't want to be sexually looked at as your current one. Don't rush into it like I did without going through that list of possibilities, and make sure you don't let society's standards of what certain genders can and can't do or wear ever change who you are.
To everyone in general, you are not alone, I love you. If people can hate and judge for no reason, then I can love for no reason. Even reading this, you've helped me, and to know there are people out there who'll help me through the many physical changes I'd like to revert to be able to see myself when I look in the mirror again is more than I could have ever dreamed of. God bless you, I'm thankful for each and every one of you, my family.
