Ever since Mrs. A was a little boy she has dreamed of getting married. She remembers growing up in Flin Flon, Manitoba, living with her mother and sister, trying on their clothes whenever they were not home, often with a vision of herself walking down the aisle in a beautiful white dress towards the man of her dreams. In her vision she couldn't see his face, only his back.
Decades later, miles away and deep in a depression created by years of feeling trapped in the wrong body, she walked into a trans support meeting at Edmonton's Pride Center, where she saw the back she had been walking towards all her life; when he turned around Mrs. A knew that standing before her was Mr. A.
They talked for hours that night. Like the gentleman he is, Mr. A left before they went too far, but not before he took the soon-to-be Mrs. A in his arms and kissed her passionately.
Within a month they were living together, giving each other their biweekly hormone injections, and within three months they were sharing the same nurses in a Montréal recovery centre after their gender reassignment-related surgeries.
Like Mrs. A, Mr. A had also been thinking about marriage since he was a kid. He knew as a little girl that he wanted to get married, but he just couldn't see himself as a bride. Mr. A grew up in rural Alberta, and he had brothers and sisters who he loved but who just couldn't understand. For example, how could a girl be excited about getting her period, he wondered. He dreaded the thought of it, so when well into his teens he still hadn't had his period he didn't bring it up. One day when his gym teacher asked why he never tried to get out of class during that time of the month, Mr. A replied, " I never have that time of the month." The teacher suggested he get it checked out, but for him it just confirmed what he already knew: he was not a girl.
Without knowing it, Mr. and Mrs. A started to slowly make their way towards each other. Mrs. A moved to Saskatchewan to attend business school. There she met a man who taught her all about transgender. Up until then she thought maybe she was a bisexual man who liked to wear panties, but as soon as she heard about the operations something clicked inside for her. When she heard that Alberta offered the procedures she began applying for any job that would take her west.
While Mrs. A was making her way to Alberta's capital Mr. A found himself in an 18-year relationship with a woman who knew that he had always felt in the wrong body. At 18 he had asked a doctor about sexual reassignment surgery but was told it wasn't possible for him.
Almost two decades later, when speaking with a new doctor, Mr. A found out things had changed. He was so happy. He ran home and told his girlfriend, but she was not happy. "The dick or me," she said. Put that way he chose what was for him a sense of wholeness—he chose a dick.
By the time Mr. A turned around that night and saw Mrs. A for the first time he had already had his hysterectomy, double mastectomy and could grow a mean beard.
Later in Montréal, the day after Mrs. A had her genital surgery, Mr. A had his phalloplasty surgery. Mrs. A got to go home first, leaving Mr. A behind. Their bodies rebelled at being apart. Not getting better, the nurses released Mr. A early, knowing that he would heal once he was home.
Mrs. A was already wearing Mr. A's college ring. Then, on June 21, 2008, as witnessed by the goddesses at Edmonton's Hellenic Hall, a bridesmaid with a penis, a best man without one and not a dry eye in the house, Mrs. A walked towards the man of her dreams.
After the ceremony it was suggested that they have their wedding photos taken at the legislature grounds. " I love this province," Mr. A exclaimed at that time in agreement, "they paid for our operations, they saved our lives."
They have made a cozy home in west Edmonton; Mr. A works in a factory and Mrs. A is in accounting. Their heart breaks with news that the province that brought them together, saved their lives and married them is the same one that will be denying their friends and loved ones the same opportunity, all to save a mere 19 cents per Albertan.
"The amount of money spent for gender surgery is a drop in the bucket compared to the cost of human lives, " laments Mr. A. "Not to mention the cost of services such as psychiatric and addiction units, emergency wards and numerous other resources that will be used if transsexuals are left without options.
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Mr. and Mrs. A used to console themselves to the reality that the only thing surgery couldn't give them were seeds with which to create life by thinking about how sharing their story planted seeds of hope in the lives of trans kids. Now they are left feeling inconsolable and frustrated. This was not the way the dream was supposed to end.
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