A similar logic undergirds other arbitrations of what qualifies as essential versus elective - what is necessary and lifesaving, or what is cosmetic and ephemeral. The label is both a blessing and a curse, given at the will of the capitalist state. In many cases, the designation “essential” is a marker of being undervalued and underprotected, as in the case of food workers. In our newly adapted coronavirus vocabulary, categories like “essential” or “elective” (whether as work, services, procedures, or excursions) are political and fraught. She was in immense psychological distress, and this surgery was the answer, even though - unlike other transition-related treatments, including gender confirmation surgery - her insurers insisted it was “cosmetic” and therefore not “medically necessary.” The rest she had to come up with herself, which she managed through crowdfunding. Only part of Vivian’s FFS was covered by her insurer. And since it’s rarely considered “medically necessary,” FFS isn’t covered by most employer insurance plans or public medical programs. That’s not including the cost of recovery, which can be substantial, time-consuming, and incompatible with a regular work schedule. Typically, it costs between $30,000 and $50,000, which is far out of reach for the average transgender person. I’m gendered correctly every day.”īut FFS is expensive. “The psychological benefits are immense,” she said. Since her surgery, however, she’s been thriving. In her words, the dysphoria she experienced was so severe that it became a daily struggle to go about her day. When we spoke on the phone in March, she told me about childhood memories of crying while looking at herself in the mirror though she didn't think she was ugly, she knew the face she saw was just not hers. “It is absolutely lifesaving,” said Vivian, a 26-year-old white trans woman in Illinois, who had her FFS in 2019. The procedure makes the difference between someone passing and someone being targeted for anti-trans harassment, and it helps alleviate the dysphoric discomfort associated with being scrutinized and misgendered. Among many of them, it is considered a matter of life or death, or, at least, a gateway to a much better quality of life. Different practitioners, aesthetic preferences, and ideas about what it means to be beautiful, feminine, and normal have all impacted the field, making it increasingly popular and desirable for transfeminine people with varied transition goals. The surgery changes the size of bones and the distribution of fat to bring a patient’s appearance more in line with conventional ideas of beauty, femininity, and “normalcy.”įFS has changed substantially since its initial development. Despite its origins, FFS as it’s performed today is very similar to other facial procedures adopted by cisgender women. The concept and treatments were developed with transfeminine patients in mind in the 1980s, led by a San Francisco–based surgeon who devised measurements for a “normal” female appearance by surveying anthropological skeletal records. But less than a week before her appointment, the hospital suddenly designated it an “elective” procedure - along with many other transgender surgeries that were postponed, some of them indefinitely, due to the pandemic.įacial feminization surgery, or FFS, describes a set of complex procedures designed to “feminize” the face. At the beginning of March, her facial feminization surgery was deemed necessary by three separate medical providers. In an essay for Esquire, writer Harron Walker describes an unexpected impact of COVID-19 on her transition.
0 kommentar(er)
