More Tax News

Quelle coincidence! Last week, I metioned Rhiannon O'Donnahbain's fight to claim her SRS and related expenses as IRS deductions. Back in 2007, after losing her case, she filed an appeal. Finally, the other day, a US Tax Court ruled in her favor, saying, in essence that Gender Identity Disorder is actually a debilitating disease and the surgery and other transition-related treatments are necessary to cope with it.

I first learned of this decision from the blogs of A.E. Brain and Diana. (You can read the decision on this PDF file.) Soon afterward, I called the IRS to find out whether I could file the same deduction on my tax returns. The rep with whom I spoke admitted that she didn't know about the decision until I called; that's probably true for any number of other tax professionals. However, she promised to talk to one of their specialists in medical deductions and her supervisor to find out not only whether I can take the deduction this year, but also what documentation I will need to do so.

One commentator said that the ruling will not only put trans people on a more equal footing with everyone else; it could pave the way for having the surgery and related treatments covered under medical insurance. That may well be, and I hope it comes true for the trans people following me. To my knowledge, the only insurance that covers most or all of the cost are the policies given to employees of San Francisco city and county, and the state of Minnesota.

Speaking of money: I am so happy that Ms. O'Donnahbain fought and got her settlement. However, I wonder how much time and money she invested in lawyers: After all, the latest verdict has come almost a decade after she had her surgery.

Well, I guess it was a good thing I didn't start to do my taxes last weekend. And it's kind of ironic to hope that the IRS contacts me soon. But, stranger things happen all the time.

What I've Become, What I'm Becoming

It seemed that today everyone was having a crisis of one kind or another. Someone's dog died; someone found out her husband has been cheating on her; another's car broke down. And students got disenrolled from courses and were begging me to sign them into classes that are already bursting at the seams. Luckily, my department chair offered to be the "heavy" so that I wouldn't have to tell the students "no;" luckily for her, the college said I couldn't sign students into two of my courses because the rooms in which they're being held are small, and if even another student is added, fire code regulations would be violated. Not to mention the things a student (or his or her family) can do if something happens to the student and they find a good lawyer.

This was supposed to be my "easy" day this week. Do you wonder why I'm tired and cranky?

At least I had one really good conversation with Tess, an adjunct faculty member who's also teaching at another college, working on a PhD, taking care of her aging father and dealing with an ex-spouse. I guess my life isn't so hard after all.

Anyway, she and I have been having more and longer conversations lately. Well, as happens in conversations, "way leads to way" and she asked me one of the more poignant questions anyone has asked me lately. "Are you trying to 'fit in'?" she wondered. "Or do you want to live in a trans subculture and be an activist? Or something else?"

After thinking about it, I said, "All of the above." I wasn't trying to be ironic (As my Inner Valley Girl says, "I'm sooo over that!") or even coy. On one hand, everything I've done for the past few years, including the surgery, has been directed at my goal of living as the woman that I am. On the other, I've become the woman I am through some means that are very different from what those who have XX chromosomes must do in order to become women. I cannot live in my past, but I cannot deny it, either.

Plus, having focused so much on myself makes me want to help others, especially those who are following a road like mine. At the same time, although I have always been female in my heart, mind and spirit, the woman I am now is still fledgling, and will probably be so for some time.

I described some of this for Tess, and added: "Well, you know, I have been accepted by other women--and, for that matter, by men, too--mainly to the degree that I fit into their expectations of a woman who's more or less my age. And I feel that my presentation is, for better or worse, a pretty accurate representation of who I am."

"Well, you did get a chili pepper on Rate My Professors and were called 'the best-dressed professor at this college.'"

"I enjoy getting dressed. And I knew early on that it would help me to 'pass," and, later, to be accepted."

"Well, that's generally true. You dress for the position you want."

"True. And I don't want to live in a gender subculture. But I also want to have the choice to become who I need to become. And I'm still learning what that is."

"That's what life is."

My conundrum is this: Because I'm a transgender woman, I have to learn about and redefine, not only myself, but what's around me. Sometimes I even have to create the terms by which I define myself because even the terms of other women won't always do the job. And, as near as I can tell, other women must do the same thing.

Also, while other transgender women have shown me that it's possible, if difficult, to do what I've been doing, I can't always use them as models. Christine Jorgensen tried to fit into society's expectations of a woman in the 1950's, going so far as to study nursing because it was one of the few professions available to women at that time. She looked like a movie star of her time and married a handsome man--just as women were expected to do in those days. That meant, of course, that she had to be a heterosexual woman, as that was understood at the time.

Following her, Jan Morris and Renee Richards were able to continue in their careers after their transitions and surgeries. They had a few more liberties than women of Jorgensen's generation had, but they still saw--as society saw--their "success" as women in terms of how they were able to blend seamlessly into the female race, and into society generally. Of course, Richards' fame (or infamy, depending on how you look at it) prevented her from doing that, at least to some degree. Jan Morris was never quite as famous, so while people who heard of her knew that she was a transsexual (That was the term used in those days.), she wasn't seen in terms of her past to the degree that Richards and Jorgensen were.

I don't have the looks that Jorgensen or even Morris had, so in that sense, I wouldn't be seen as "successful" in my transition as they were in theirs. But I have more options and terms for defining my womanhood than they had. The question Tess asked reflects a way of seeing my gender identity that is changing and even passing: I think that within my lifetime, it won't have to be a choice between being a "woman" and being a kind of genderqueer. I'm still learning what I will become; perhaps it will help someone else learn about his or her path. Within my lifetime, perhaps, someone will be making choices and defining him or her self in ways I can't even imagine, and someone will ask that person about something that has yet to be named. Perhaps I will have had something to do with that, if only in the smallest and most peripheral way.

The Only Other Yarmulke In The Room

Two things about meetings: They always seem longer than they actually are, and the most verbose and monotonous people will do most of the talking. Is that some hitherto obscure corollary to Murphy's Law? If I am the first to report it, will it be called Justine's Corollary?

The meeting followed a day on which I met two of my classes--both of them Intro to Literature--for the first time. In the first one, two young Orthodox Jewish men sat next to each other at the front of the room, all the way to my left. I could see that one of them is rather self-conscious and shy: Perhaps having to wear a yarmulke and dress, well, like an Orthodox boy in a world that could be hostile made him so.

Anyway, as I was calling the names on the roster, I came to "Menashe." The shy young man's friend responded. A few names later, I saw "Lior" and looked at the shy young man. Process of elimination: His was the second Jewish name on the list, and he and Menashe were the only two Orthodox Jews in the class. At that moment, I felt a little embarrassed--both for me and him. I realized, too late, that I probably made him feel a bit more self-conscious, at least for a moment, than he already felt.

After the class, I saw them in the hallway. Menashe asked me about the assignment for the next class (on Wednesday) and we got to talking about other things. Finally, Lior mentioned that when I called his name, I just automatically turned to him.

"I'm sorry about that."

"That's all right. What made you do it?"

"Well, after I called Menashe, you were the only other Jew in the class. And when I came to your name, I recognized it as a Jewish name, so I figured it was yours. I'm sorry if I embarrassed you."

"No, you didn't." He was being unnecessarily deferential. "I mean, you did what you thought was best."

"And I goofed." Then, tongue in cheek, I added, "We as professors are supposed to know everything. But sometimes we do stupid things."

"No, it was no problem..."

Then he told me he was impressed that I knew about the names Menashe and Lior. I mentioned that I have never been very far from Jewish people and, in fact, taught in a yeshiva. They were both impressed, something I wasn't expecting. "All I ever do is the best I know how to do."

"Yes, I can tell," Menashe said.

This exchange made me think of the times people have gotten my pronouns wrong. All you can do is to realize that most of the time, such mistakes are exactly that. On the other hand, I've had a couple of people call me "he," "him" or by my old name out of anger or malice. I've learned to be patient with the former. As for the latter, there really isn't much I can do, except perhaps to distance myself from that person.

But today, I got something right for what may have been a bad reason: the yarmulke fit the name, or something like that. Sometimes I think that there's even more to be learned from that than there is from simply getting something wrong or right.

No Deduction, Just My Life

"Can you deduct that?"

If you live in the USA and you've been reading this blog, you know what that question refers to. "That" is the cost of my surgery and the question refers to my tax return.

Someone asked me that question and that led me to do some research. I suspected the answer was "no," but I figured it would be worth checking out.

Alas, my suspicions have been confirmed. Even though someone challenged the IRS on this question a couple of years ago, their rule--or, more precisely, the way they interpret and implement their rule--hasn't changed.

Actually, one transgender woman argued that the cost of her treatments was deductible under the IRS guidelines. Rhiannon O'Donnahbain, from what I understand, is still appealing the verdict that said she couldn't. The IRS claims that sex reassignment surgery (SRS) is a cosmetic procedure, and that such procedures are deductible only if it is necessary "to improve a disfigurement related to a congenital abnormality, disfiguring disease or accidental injury." (I found this in J.K. Lasser's Your Income Tax, 2009-2010. Who knew that transitioning would lead me to reading stuff like that late at night, when I should be getting my beauty sleep!)

Anyway...Considering what a small percentage of the population we are, those of us diagnosed with Gender Identity Disorder have a "congenital abnormality," in the strictest sense of the word. That our bodies don't reflect our gender identities sounds something like a disfigurement, if you ask me. If you are among the great majority of people who never has to think about whether you are an "F" or an "M," and simply cannot imagine being anything but whichever one you were identified by, try to think of what it would be like if your genitals--indeed, your body--did not match your identity. I'm not talking about wanting to be better-looking or stronger or whatever; I am talking about what, for most people, is the most basic component of their identities--which, of course, is exactly the reason why most of you, and most of them, never have to think about it.

To put SRS, and the prerequisite treatments, in the same category as liposuction, Botox treatments or breast implants (which, by the way, the IRS allowed an exotic dancer to deduct) is ludicrous. But that is what the court's decision in Ms. O'Donnabhain's case does. She says that the treatments and surgery saved her life; I would say the same for my own treatments, surgery and life. Just about any other trans person would say the same thing. In fact, of the trans people who don't transiton, nearly one in three commit suicide. That statistic includes two friends of mine. It might've included me, too. As it happened, I abused alcohol and other substances in my youth and went through a series of relationships that didn't work because, in essence, I was trying to relate as someone I wasn't. Plenty of other trans people have similar stories. If the treatments and surgery put an end to those problems, how could they not fit into the IRS, or any other, guidelines?

Today I am still astounded at how decades of depression and self-loathing ended literally overnight when I started my transition and how my mental health has improved from there as a result of my surgery. Of course, that's way better and more important than any deduction the IRS will or won't allow: as far as I know, such a deduction, while good to have and a signal of fair and equal treatment under the law, is not itself a reason or purpose for living.

So, for now, I can only say something like c'est la vie to not having a deduction. I don't have the time or resources to challenge that; I hope that someone else will and that future trans people will have that deduction and other things that would make us equal, under the law, to everyone else. For now, I am happy to have had the operation, and will try start the support group for transgenders 45 or older that I have discussed with Tom at SAGE, and to help Dwayne with the shelter he wants to open for homeless lesbians and trans women. Those are the sorts of things you do when you're a "lover, not a fighter," but have been forced to be an advocate and activist.

So...no deduction. At least I have what I can't deduct, and the life it is giving me.