We were having dinner and talking about doctors when my friend Cristina casually mentioned that she was scheduled for a prostate exam on Tuesday. Twenty years ago, I would have laughed and assumed she had misspoken. This time, I looked at her and thought, Wow! Then I thought, Good for you!
My thoughts returned to when we first met. We had a couple of mutual friends, but neither had taken me aside to say, “You know…” And that was exactly how it should be. Cristina’s story was hers to share whenever she chose.
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Some people at the table knew Cristina; others did not. The men among us all groaned because we understood what she would face at the doctor’s office on Tuesday. A prostate exam is uncomfortable and invasive, so we sympathized with her.
A few months earlier, I had heard someone on public radio refer to “people with prostate cancer.” “Shouldn’t that be men with prostate cancer?” my boyfriend, Hugh, asked.
“Trans women can have prostate cancer, too,” I told him.
He paused. “I always assumed that once you became a woman, you no longer had a prostate.”
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“If that were true,” I said, “every man would transition at 60. Hardcore playboys, Baptist ministers—no one would be exempt.”
Our prostates are ticking time bombs, after all. Who in his right mind would keep one if the only price of losing it were becoming a woman? It would transform society. There would be no more elderly fathers to care for, only extra mothers. Adult diaper sales would collapse, and the women’s restroom lines at Eagles concerts would be twice as long.
Cristina is from the Philippines, and as the evening went on, I found myself thinking about how brave she was to live openly and honestly. “Live your truth” is not a phrase I usually use, but in this case it seemed to fit. On an embarrassing, self-serving level, I also felt relieved that a box had been checked. At gatherings where such topics came up, I could say, “According to my trans friend Cristina…” I could even upgrade that to “my trans Filipina friend.” I think that is what tokenism means, though.
I was still wrestling with those thoughts when Cristina e-mailed me the next morning: “My mistake! I’m not having a prostate exam on Tuesday. It’s a colonoscopy.”
I replied, “I figured that’s what you meant.”
Story produced by Amy Wall.
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