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14th February 2023
concrete-online.co.uk/category/features/ | @ConcreteUEA
40% of you have seen a doctor based on ovarian or uterine related issues. Just 7% have seen a doctor based on testicular or penile related issues.
Enduring healthcare Libby Hargreaves Editor-in-Chief
Gynecology is the department everyone with a uterus dreads visiting, b u t we can’t avoid. T h e f r a n t i c frenzy to hide your pants in a pile of crumpled clothing, the cold chill of the speculum and that awkward waiting period before the doctor explains your examination results. These moments alone are enough to make anyone dread returning, but the added stress of an incurable disorder? I think most people with periods have heard the term endometriosis floating about, not quite sure what it means, but as someone who had always experienced heavy and painful periods, it was something I had researched at several points in my life. Despite this, I simply
What trans Josh Richardson
Features Writer
Back in 2017, I came out as trans and started medically transitioning in 2019. While my medical transition was basically complete, I’m still discovering things about myself and becoming more confident in who I am. Becoming a drag king has certainly helped this growth. The first few years of transitioning were tough, as I’m sure it is for most people. I was constantly second guessing myself and worried about if I was “passing”. “Passing” means you look and act like a cisgender person, and your transness is not identifiable. For a lot of trans people, being able to pass affords you safety and a freedom to interact in society with less anxiety. For me, the fear of not passing caused me a great deal of stress which led me to develop mental health issues. For the first three years of my transition, I was in Surrey, a place that isn’t particularly open-
50% of those surveyed have visited the doctor for sexual related issues.
When asked if you believed these medical professionals took you seriously, a quatre (25%) of you said no, with 21% answering ‘I don’t know’ and just 54% having confidence that their doctor took them seriously.
endometriosis: gynaecological is endlessly traumatic
didn’t think I could have it- my pain wasn’t bad enough, everyone experiences the same so why am I complaining? From my mum telling me to simply ‘go for a walk’ to resolve the ‘aches’, to hearing my classmates in school could go a whole day with only a small tampon without leaks; I knew my experience was different, but thought somehow it was my fault, that I was doing something wrong. It wasn’t until late last summer that I saw a GP. I had noticed a few new symptoms, that I didn’t actually connect with endometriosis until a few appointments later- my GP thought I may have a cyst in my abdomen as I had woken up several times in the early hours screaming in pain, clutching my side. Nothing I did could resolve the pain, it simply calmed down after a while. If you know me, it’s probably clear I like a certain level of control in all aspects of my life, so to have no control over
my own body was especially scary. A few appointments later, I find myself in the emergency gynecology department. I had become feverish and my pain had worsened, my GP was worried it was a sign of infection. What ensued was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life; the sounds of women in pain, extensive personal questioning, the male doctor putting his hands on me without giving me time to object, a trans-vaginal ultrasound I was under the impression was going to be external...it’s safe to say I cried. The sonographer empathised with me as she gave me the diagnosis, understanding the complex emotion involved in the hospital visit. The male doctor then came into my room seemingly with the sole purpose of invalidating my experiences and emotions and gave me several packs of codeinean addictive opiate. You can imagine my distress when I
booked a follow-up consultation and was told all 12 specialists were male. I felt it would be an endless cycle of this initial awful experience. I left feeling confused, but somewhat relieved. We finally had an answer. I could do more research, find the best diets, lifestyle changes and get specialist consultations. The reality hit me a few days later: half of those with endometriosis experience fertility issues. Early menopause, ovarian cancer and a whole host of comorbidities such as PMDD were suddenly real risks. It put me face to face with choices I should be able to make much later in life. I knew then, that I wanted to carry children...but what if I never got the chance? The maths didn’t add up; I’m 20, suddenly being advised to conceive before my egg quality decreases (at around 30), but that leaves just 10 years to kick-start the career of my dreams, become financially stable enough to care
for an infant and be sure my partner is someone I want to raise a child with. A rejuvenating weekend away led me to a tough truth- I had to change my choice in career. Though I want to believe women can have it all, a young female journalist on changeable shifts chasing the next big story simply isn’t who I want to be when I raise my children. I don’t want to worry what my career will look like when I return from maternity leave, I need it there waiting for me. Despite it being huge, the choice was an easy one and I’m already feeling the benefits to my mental health. Now, I’ve come to terms with my diagnosis and carry a Tenns machine with me to keep my pain to a minimum at work or in lectures. I’m on the waiting list for surgery and feel much more at peace with the future, though I wouldn’t wish this experience on anyone.
it’s like being a male drag king
minded - it’s a place where your only option as a queer person is to move somewhere elsewhere when you’re old enough. I was part of a LGBT+ choir in my hometown, but I was only out as gay, not trans. At this point in my transition, my voice had dropped and my face looked more masculine, allowing me to pass as cisgender. There were times in the choir where the people I’d sing with would whisper transphobic comments to me about the other trans members of the choir, not realising that I was also trans. When the choir went on holiday for Christmas, I didn’t return; I didn’t feel safe.
When I was applying for universities, going to a city that was queer-friendly was one of my top priorities. After being accepted into UEA, I was very excited to slot myself into Norwich’s queer community and finally feel accepted. My boyfriend, who’s a drag queen, had been following the Norwich drag scene for a while, so from what I’d heard, I would feel at home here. From attending my first Norwich drag show in 2021, I never thought it would be me up on that stage
one day. I’d enjoyed watching Drag Race but it was my perception that you had to be a drag queen to be a successful artist, and the dragrelated media didn’t help lessen that view. My dysphoria at that time wouldn’t have allowed me to wear feminine clothing, so I settled for just being a fan of drag - performing as a drag king didn’t even cross my mind. It wasn’t until I started going to local drag shows that I realised just how encompassing drag can be because everyone can do it. My “drag awakening” if you will, came from seeing Prinx Chiyo in 2021. He started his performance wearing a rhinestone chest binder and finished the performance proudly displaying his top surgery scars. When I saw this, I realised that could be me up there. Cut to the present day, I now perform as Blue Monday, an eighties, goth inspired drag king, with my transness playing an important role. To me, and I’m sure many others, drag is political; by its very nature, drag is a way for queer people to break out of heteronormative
“I get to celebrate myself and how uniquely awesome it structures and be free from the pressures of behaving in a certain way. With this in mind, drag shows are one of the only places I’m able to witness unapologetic queerness take centre stage and be celebrated. The societal view on trans people unfortunately becomes more hostile with each passing day; it’s terrifying to see how much some people hate your very existence, but drag gives me a space to be authentically me. I try to use the little platform I do have to make statements about trans issues whilst embracing my trans body and playing with ideas of masculinity that I find hard to express elsewhere. I get to celebrate myself and how uniquely awesome it is to be trans. With Ru Paul’s Drag Race being so mainstream, people are more aware of drag now - but only specific
types of drag. Drag Race is still yet to cast a drag king, which is surprising considering its success. Ru Paul moulds his contestants to fit within his ideals of drag favouring those with long luscious wigs, pretty makeup and feminine silhouettes etc. These ideals have seeped into the audience’s minds and created the illusion that drag kings aren’t as interesting as drag queens. So, drag kings, especially those that are trans or non-binary, aren’t given the same opportunities and must work harder just to be visible in their own community.
I am so grateful for the Norwich drag scene who see the value and importance of drag kings. They’ve taken me under their wing and I feel so safe and so cherished here. As queer people, we often must find where we belong and people who are like us. There are people in the Norwich drag scene who I consider my chosen family and I wouldn’t be where I am without them. There seems to be a drag king “revolution” happening in Norwich, and I couldn’t be happier about it.
