Published November 4, 2024

This afternoon I was back on what I’ve taken to calling The Authentic Small-Town Oregon College Campus. My eye clinic closed its downtown Portland location, so I have a bit of a drive now when I need eye care.

I’ve talked a little bit about that. There’s more to come. But I want to talk about today.

Today, I have to say, was a good day. Good drive, good visit, good photos. And a great outcome with my wildly expensive contact lenses.

Before being diagnosed with my corneal abnormality, I would not have appreciated the scenery the way I did today.

Once inside, things were even more lovely. I got one of the best indirect compliments a trans woman can receive.

First, this was me as they saw me.

Yes, Wonder Woman was with me. Anyway …

The specialists at this eye clinic treated me from 2010 to 2014, my first four years in the Pacific Northwest, before a change in jobs and insurance forced a change in eye care. I was in good hands for the next seven years or so, but I was glad to be back with my old friends in early 2021 and every day since then. If I go into detail, I’ll cry, so let’s just focus on today.

My new eye doctor, who treated me for the first time a month ago, was fitting me with the new lenses. The lens specialist and optometry professor I’ve spoken glowingly about for 14 years walked into the room to check on how things were going.

“Have you met Carly?” the doctor asked him.

“No, I don’t believe I have,” he said, looking at me.

“You have,” I said, “but I looked a lot different and had a different first name. As you can see, a lot has changed.” I gestured with flair toward myself, head to toe, as if I were a spokesmodel calling attention to the prize on a game show.

I mentioned a couple of names that would jog his memory.

“Oh wow,” he said. And we were off and running.

Like old times, but better

He didn’t miss a beat, trading “she” and “her” pronouns with the doctor as they discussed my eyes and my lenses. We caught up on our lives and situations since the last time I had seen him, and he celebrated how much better life is for me now.

We agreed that being in the Pacific Northwest makes such a huge difference for that.

That he didn’t recognize me, well, as you might imagine, that was extra special for me. We are who we are, no matter how we look, but it was good to know that aspect of my transition has made that much of a difference also.

I got home and saw this at the apartment door of my hallway neighbor.

I remembered how grateful I am that she’s here. “We’re here, we’re queer!” she yelled in the parking lot when we met. I’d expressed how happy I was that another person from the LGBTQIA+ family would be in the building.

I can’t think about tomorrow yet

Writing this column reminded me of writing a column for the Baton Rouge paper for the morning of August 29, 2005. We didn’t know what our world would look like starting the next day. I feel the same today.

I had a horrible nightmare last night. My subconscious mind may have been trying to prepare me for the worst. People have been pretty shitty to me. I don’t know if I can handle worse.

Can’t think about that right now. Won’t think about that right now. I’m going to stay in today as long as it will have me.

I have to say it was a good day.