How I came out to the Canadian Armed Forces
When I was posted to Kingston instead of Montreal, I was devastated. I was happy in BC, and was also happy to go to Montreal. Vancouver had a gender clinic and so did Montreal, so either one would be fine with me although I preferred to stay out west. Kingston had no support structure, and was not a very friendly place for anyone "out of the norm". It had a military and a redneck feel at the same time, but some days it could have a cosmopolitan feeling, although that was rare.
After a couple of months living in the barracks (what we called the shacks) I was getting more and more depressed. I was in transsexual hell. I was in a small room with little privacy and in a city and base I didn't want to be. The depression got to be so bad that one night I was sitting on my bed in that small room and thinking on what to do. I noticed my bayonet on my desk, and I picked it up and unsheathed it. It was sharp, pointy and long. I started crying more. I turned the blade towards my face. And I started leaning forward. I was going to kill myself by falling forward on my bayonet and impaling it in my brain. At literally the last second I threw the bayonet away, cried some more and told myself that I was going to live. I was going to do what I had to do no matter what others thought of me. It was better than death.
The next day I talked with my Lieutenant (LT) in his office. I told him I was transsexual and suffered from gender dysphoria, and that I wanted to change sex. He was stunned, he had never dealt with anything like this before, but he was very professional about it. The LT told me he would help me get any help I thought I needed, and that he would keep this to himself until I told him it was okay to tell the commanding officer (CO) of the Squadron and the CO of the Regiment. He made an appointment for me to speak with a Medical Officer (MO).
I told the doctor my story, and she was quite receptive and inquisitive. She wanted to learn more on the subject to better understand how to deal with this. She asked if I had any references and later on I sent them to her. She made an appointment for me to speak with a military psychiatrist in Ottawa at the National Defence Medical Center (NDMC).
I spoke with the military psychiatrist a few weeks later, and explained my situation to her. She asked many questions, and took a lot of notes. After the session when I had returned to Kingston, my MO told me that I was now diagnosed by the military as gender dysphoric and specifically transsexual. An appointment was made at the gender clinic in Montreal, as I flat out refused to go to the Clarke Institute. After explaining why, the doctor agreed with me.
I went to Dr. Assalian's clinic in Montreal in November 1997, and my father accompanied me there. The session felt like an interrogation, there were 3 doctors there including Dr. Assalian, and they had me sit in front of them as they asked questions. One doctor seemed a little too interested in my hand movements as I spoke and wanted to know if I could explain them. I told her I couldn't, that it was just part of me, I usually did it unless I was teaching. Again, they diagnosed me as transsexual and recommended treatment and therapy.
Things were very hush hush with respects to me being transsexual in the military. The only ones that new were a select few, and the ones who needed to know such as my CO's, Operations Officer, Sergeant Majors, the Base Surgeon, and my doctors. I worked as a male and lived as a female starting in June 1998, when I moved into my own apartment on base. No one knew that I was a transsexual that didn't need to know.
Some people did find out, when I was pulled over by the military police at the gate and told to step out of the car. I was dressed as a female in jeans and a t-shirt, with my wig of course. My make-up was minimal. I was dressed casually and just went out to pick up a few things. There is a tattoo of a tiger on my right forearm, and it is very distinctive, I haven't seen another like it in that area. So some people found out as I was being embarrassed by the military police for no other reason than a regular check. Yeah, right, and I'm Cleopatra, Queen of the Nile.
There was another transsexual in the military, Sgt Sylvia Durand, and the first time I knew about it was when the military announced it would pay for the surgery. They did not mention her name at that time. I saw a ray of light for me, and hopes were getting high. Then I heard the comments. They were generally not nice. I was hurt, and the comments were eating me inside. No one knew that there was "one of them" in their ranks. I couldn't tell them, for fear of injury. I did feel like screaming out to them one day, "Will you all shut up! There's more than one in the army and I'm one! SO SHUT UP!" but I didn't. I cried for a full week it seemed at home. I didn't sleep or eat.
On
November 7, 1998 I received a call from the Ottawa Sun newspaper. They
wanted to do an article on me. They had seen my website and found it interesting
that there was more than one transsexual in the Forces. I said I would
agree to do an article, and they ended up making an appointment to do it
the next day, as the questions couldn't be answered well over the phone.
They contacted the Regimental Commanding Officer for a comment, and he
then called me. I did not give them his name or the unit I was part of,
and I certainly didn't give them his number. The phone didn't stop ringing
that Saturday until late in the evening. The next day I
drove
a crew to the airport in Ottawa and then came straight back to the unit
to meet with the CO, OpsO, and the Adjudant. They wanted to make sure that
if I did do the interview I would not mention anything that could hurt
the Forces or others in the unit. I assured them I would be professional,
and this was not my first interview with the media. When I got home and
later met with the reporter, the interview went well. I still hadn't slept,
and as things turned out I wouldn't until the Tuesday night.
On November 9th the article came out. Whoever didn't know would know soon enough. When I got to work I was told to wait outside or in the canteen somewhere while the Major talked to the Squadron about what was happening with me, and the unit's other Squadrons were doing the same thing. I sat outside and must have chain smoked 5 cigarettes. When they did come out, one person came to me and shook my hand, telling me that I was brave and had a lot of guts. That simple gesture meant a lot to me. Many of the others avoided me, and since they were leaving for the road that was fine by me for that day.
A lot of the people I worked with didn't accept what I was going through and didn't agree with it. Others did, and even a couple who were making comments about Sylvia later said that it really doesn't hit home until it affects you personally, and then you have to think on it. Others came around a little, but some still avoided me like the plague.
My
superiors were supportive throughout the whole ordeal. They gave me as
much help as possible, and did whatever they could short of playing favorites.
(I didn't want that kind of treatment, I just wanted to be treated properly).
For all those people who think that the Canadian Armed Forces does not
care about its people, I say think again.