Two interesting links
Aug. 2nd, 2004 12:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
conulyBoth about intersexuality (this is the second link).
One of every 2,000 babies is born like Hartman's, with genitalia that are neither female nor male, making them what are known as intersexuals. Though the condition is as common as Down syndrome, it is shrouded in secrecy. That means few people ever hear of it - unless errors in fetal development force it upon them.
By age 4½, Kelli had undergone three feminizing surgeries and endured hundreds of stitches. As if that weren't painful enough, Kelli began telling her mother she was actually a boy named Max. Sometimes she would giggle and confide: "I'm tricking everyone. They think I'm a girl, but I'm really a boy."
When Hartman asked Kelli what it felt like to be a boy, the girl shrugged and said, "I don't know. I just am."
One morning when Kelli was 8, she padded over to her mother and, through tears, blurted: "Something's wrong and you know what it is and you won't tell me!"
Finally, Hartmantold Kelli the truth she had been warned never to reveal. Instead of weighing Kelli down, it seemed to relieve her. The outbursts subsided; the confusion did not
_____
Nothing is more fundamental to human identity than gender. It is the first pronouncement in the delivery room, the most conspicuous attribute of a stranger, the most essential aspect of one's sense of self. It influences how we speak, gesture, walk, and argue. It guides everything from comfort with eye contact to expressions of love.
Yet more often than people realize, genetic or hormonal errors blur the distinction between male and female. An estimated 1 in 2,000 babies is born each year with ambiguous genitals: a nearly invisible penis, an enlarged clitoris, or ovaries as well as testes. Surprising as it may seem, the condition is as common as Down syndrome or cystic fibrosis, but it is cloaked in far more secrecy and shame.
For years, medical wisdom held that the best treatment for intersexuality was swift surgery, refashioning genitalia to conform to one sex or the other. Believing gender identity was malleable as long as anatomy matched the assigned gender, doctors warned that failure to reconfigure babies' genitals would leave children bewildered and vulnerable to ridicule. They told parents to forever keep the diagnosis hidden from the outside world and the child herself.
But over the last 10 years, intersexuals have slowly stepped from the shadows, resentful of the silence and the surgery imposed on them. They say that "fixing" unusual anatomy to avoid social stigma is akin to lightening an African-American's skin to escape discrimination. Intersexual activists support early gender assignment, but argue that doctors should avoid performing "normalizing" surgeries until the child is old enough to choose his or her own identity.
These days, the American Academy of Pediatrics still urges cosmetic surgery for children with non-standard genitalia, but there is sharp dissent. No comprehensive data are available on how intersexuals fare with or without surgery, though studies are under way. Not only is medicine deeply divided, but so are the people for whom intersexuality is deeply personal.
"The advocates say, 'No surgery till the child is old enough to decide,'Ÿ" says Kelly Leight of Essex County, who runs a national advocacy group for people with her daughter's condition. "But the parents say, 'Tell that to my daughter, who would have a bulge in the front of her bathing suit bottoms whenever she went swimming.'
"Parents say avoiding surgery sounds good in theory, but what about all the snide comments from relatives and classmates? There's no question terrible mistakes were made in the past. But there are no clear answers, and it's possible mistakes are being made now."
One of every 2,000 babies is born like Hartman's, with genitalia that are neither female nor male, making them what are known as intersexuals. Though the condition is as common as Down syndrome, it is shrouded in secrecy. That means few people ever hear of it - unless errors in fetal development force it upon them.
By age 4½, Kelli had undergone three feminizing surgeries and endured hundreds of stitches. As if that weren't painful enough, Kelli began telling her mother she was actually a boy named Max. Sometimes she would giggle and confide: "I'm tricking everyone. They think I'm a girl, but I'm really a boy."
When Hartman asked Kelli what it felt like to be a boy, the girl shrugged and said, "I don't know. I just am."
One morning when Kelli was 8, she padded over to her mother and, through tears, blurted: "Something's wrong and you know what it is and you won't tell me!"
Finally, Hartmantold Kelli the truth she had been warned never to reveal. Instead of weighing Kelli down, it seemed to relieve her. The outbursts subsided; the confusion did not
Nothing is more fundamental to human identity than gender. It is the first pronouncement in the delivery room, the most conspicuous attribute of a stranger, the most essential aspect of one's sense of self. It influences how we speak, gesture, walk, and argue. It guides everything from comfort with eye contact to expressions of love.
Yet more often than people realize, genetic or hormonal errors blur the distinction between male and female. An estimated 1 in 2,000 babies is born each year with ambiguous genitals: a nearly invisible penis, an enlarged clitoris, or ovaries as well as testes. Surprising as it may seem, the condition is as common as Down syndrome or cystic fibrosis, but it is cloaked in far more secrecy and shame.
For years, medical wisdom held that the best treatment for intersexuality was swift surgery, refashioning genitalia to conform to one sex or the other. Believing gender identity was malleable as long as anatomy matched the assigned gender, doctors warned that failure to reconfigure babies' genitals would leave children bewildered and vulnerable to ridicule. They told parents to forever keep the diagnosis hidden from the outside world and the child herself.
But over the last 10 years, intersexuals have slowly stepped from the shadows, resentful of the silence and the surgery imposed on them. They say that "fixing" unusual anatomy to avoid social stigma is akin to lightening an African-American's skin to escape discrimination. Intersexual activists support early gender assignment, but argue that doctors should avoid performing "normalizing" surgeries until the child is old enough to choose his or her own identity.
These days, the American Academy of Pediatrics still urges cosmetic surgery for children with non-standard genitalia, but there is sharp dissent. No comprehensive data are available on how intersexuals fare with or without surgery, though studies are under way. Not only is medicine deeply divided, but so are the people for whom intersexuality is deeply personal.
"The advocates say, 'No surgery till the child is old enough to decide,'Ÿ" says Kelly Leight of Essex County, who runs a national advocacy group for people with her daughter's condition. "But the parents say, 'Tell that to my daughter, who would have a bulge in the front of her bathing suit bottoms whenever she went swimming.'
"Parents say avoiding surgery sounds good in theory, but what about all the snide comments from relatives and classmates? There's no question terrible mistakes were made in the past. But there are no clear answers, and it's possible mistakes are being made now."
