'Inside Out' - Sarah Wong beautifully captures the lives of transgender kids

 "At the end we’re all the same - souls who want to be happy and live compassionately." - Sarah Wong

Huffington Post journalist James Michael Nichols asked Dutch photographer Sarah Wong a very simple, but significant questionin his article -

"Why, as a photographer, is providing these stories and experiences visibility so important?"  

And she answered perfectly.

"...It's very important for society to see these images - there's nothing sensational about transgender kids. Again, at the end we’re pretty much the same: we’re all souls who want to live happy and give meaning to our life and others..."

With the help of Hollywood (and stars like Laverne Cox, Andreja Pejic, Caitlyn Jenner, Isis King, Conchita Wurst) - the public has become MUCH more accepting of people who identify as transgender. Slowly, mainstream TV series are even stepping up to the plate. Hollywood and inclusion? Two words I bet no one would have put in the same sentence 10 years ago.

The point of this post is, basically, society is finally starting to recognise the importance of visibility for minority groups. Positive visibility in the media (usually) translates to eventual acceptance. So - why can't this be the case for people with a disability? We'll cover that in an upcoming post.

Sarah Wong's beautiful images can be seen in her book: Inside Out: Portraits of Cross-Gender Children. Along with words by Ellen Visser.

Available through Amazon.

The Walking Dead

Sometimes it starts the night before..before you've even shut your eyes in preparation for 6-8 hours of sleep - you're anxious about how you're going to wake up. With a dull aching, all consuming headache? Sore from head to toe? Unable to string a legible sentence together for a few hours because your asphasia has reared it's ugly head again? Your joints seized up like someone three times your age? Or simply looking like an extra from the Walking Dead. Stroke fatigue is a real and deadly thing - no, I'm not going to savage you if you're in my presence but I will look and act like a zombie when suffering from it. It's not infectious or contagious, it's just something to be aware of. The shit thing about stroke fatigue is, it's not improved by rest. It's just part of life for survivors. Sometimes, it feels as if you're literally stuck in mud field (like a rain-drenched Splendour or Glastonbury) but there's no Interpol, Radiohead or Rufus on stage - it's just you and your exhaustion. You're trying to get outta bed to start the day, whether it be work or play ahead, but motivation and physical stamina just evades you. Every single thing is an effort - even typing...like right now - my left hand feels like a dead weight, because that's the side that is used for everything. No equality here. While the right-side basks in the Melbourne sun, ol' lefty does all the work.

Dressing is an effort with fatigue - sometimes I wonder "Seriously, it would be so much easier if I could walk around like Miley - no effort involved". Walking is an effort with stroke fatigue - the tram should come to my front door, I shouldn't have to walk to it..and dare I say, even shopping is an effort - have you seen the size of the Chadstone? Hooray for online shopping. Now that's just the day-to-day activities that you can't avoid - work is on a whole different level. Six years of uni and nothing prepared me for the toll working (when it's not your own business) was going to have on my health. Whoa. With uni, as most of you know, if you get a decent timetable - you have the option of staying up late and 'studying', then sleeping in until 9 or 10am. You're pretty much in control of the pace you want to set the day at. Working? You're on someone else's clock. Last weekend my body had a tantrum - I awoke on Saturday morning and couldn't move for a couple of hours - literally. Had to stay in bed until my breathing and my back, neck and shoulders would let me move. Lucky I had Kat Moss keeping me company, and my beautiful friend Emily doing a grocery run for me. A home call doctor had to come out and hand over painkillers with a stern look on his face,  "Your body is NOT normal! Stop treating it as if it's normal!!". Thanks doc. That saying - I'm lucky that I CAN work. Two great jobs - so that time, effort and mountains of work at uni did  pay off (as much as I complained while doing it). It's ironic, I started 10 years ago, stuck in hospital in Brisbane after a brain injury that led to a stroke - and nowafter all these years I'm working for the Stroke Foundation in Melbourne. Funny where life takes you.    

A wise young lady once said on this blog "adjust to your limitations" (thanks Meg). Regardless of your situation, that's something we should all learn to do. It's not a bad thing - it is what it is. FOMO (fear of missing out) plays a massive part in everyone's lives..thanks in part to Insta and FB. When you're having 'one of those days' - log off and read a book.   

FINDING FEMININITY...WITH A CLAW

The claw is my right hand. Yep, that's how I've lovingly referred to it for years. However, it's not so claw-like since my most recent surgery where they insterted a metal plate running from my elbow to my wrist, then put pins into the joints of my fingers to stop them 'clawing'. Yes, sometimes I beep at airports. In 2015, when flying out of Brisbane the female security guard actually said "Next time, I recommend you not have so much metal on you". NOTE TO SELF -  cut off arm, remove resin plate from skull and don't forget my passport. Easy.

So, as I've said in past posts, having a mandatory style overhaul because of paralysis was kind of hard to adjust to. Feminitity, by definition, is made up by a set of attributes, behaviors, and roles associated or portayed with/by women...but sometimes, it's the 'superficial' things like hair, nails, makeup and clothes that determine whether a women feels feminine. My long hair had to be 'removed' multiple times for surgery, but it's now grown back...mysteriously white blonde, not the brown hue it was before ;-) Although, it frustrates me everyday that I can't tie it up. If anyone knows a secret technique for bunning or ponytail-ing hair with one hand - pleassssseee share. Now, from hair to hands. A woman's hands, fingers and nails can say a lot. She's terrible at applying fake tan or she takes care of herself. Not everyone is amazing at applying nail polish but when you can't actually try and fail to do your nails yourself, it's annoying. For years I've waited until a steady-handed friend has come over and then I've proceeded to casually drop into the conversation "oh while you're here, would you mind painting my nails?"...Even that gets tiresome. So just before I moved to Melbourne, I started getting my nails done. Acrylics on my left-hand and just a manicure/polish on my right. $20p/ month to make me feel a lil' more 'feminine'? Yep, done. Some girls have their heels, I have my nails. 

You guys might be thinking, is she serious? Of all the issues facing women, she chooses to talk about nails? But it is an important issue that the health care industry never considers - beauty and disability. They're not meant to go together. Well, yes they are in fact. From the moment I could decide which colour gym pants to wear to rehab (and the coordinating hat), I wanted to regain control over my appearance. If I applied mascara, my eyes would be the focus, not my shaved head and so what if I was in a wheelchair, that didn't mean I couldn't wear a LBD! Girls will be girls and ladies will be ladies - the rules of style and beauty don't go out the window if you've got a disability. Everyone you encounter on your recovery journey has the same goal, to get you back to what you once were - speech, mobility and general motor skills. Feeling beautiful and feeling confident, whatever it takes to achieve that, is just as important.

THE PEG LEG...

Yes, that's right - I said that. 'They' say turning something serious into something funny is often the best way to deal with a situation. That's the case for certain people anyway. So, in my case, this has proven true. I experiemented with everything to try and get rid of this leg brace (pictured), although Kat Moss seems to like it. Everything meaning years of physio, exercise, electric-pulse machines, acupunture, botox and finally, a tendon transfer surgery where they moved the tendon on the back of the troubled ankle around to the front of my foot. Eww. Hemiplegia (or right-sided paralysis) means the muscles on the right-side of my body (from head to toe) are serverly weakened - the message from the brain telling those muscles to work, isn't transmitting. Anyway, I've accepted I'll have to wear this foreign thing that prevents me from rolling my ankle or plain stacking it in public. Often mortifying, often hilarious when I happens. A slight bump in the road, sticky surface and crack in the pavement can cause a world of pain. Most recently on the tram. The brace doesn't always do the job but, really, I'd be a constant Gillard if I didn't wear it.

Walking, travelling, dancing, climbing stairs and exercising as much as I do, my brace tends to wear out every few months. That means a trip back to the hospital or an over-priced podiatrist visit to get a new one. Two weeks after I moved down to Melbourne, that's exactly what happened - mine broke. You kind of go into freak-out mode when you realise you're relying on a little piece of plastic for independence. The Alfred Hospital told me I'd have to wait seven months for an appointment because my situation wasn't classed as 'high-priority' (ummm...what) or pay $500 to buy one 'off-the-shelf''. So a day of investigation later, I found some lovely manufacturers of said-brace in MELBOURNE who sent me out two for $120. Nice profit you're making Alfred. For those in a similar situation, email me for the details.    

Returning to the title of this post, yes, that's often how my family and I refer to the 'the leg' - the peg leg. This doesn't work for everyone and that's fine. When my two-year-old nephew started walking around the house like a drunken sailor (in an attempt to imitate me) I finally saw the funny side of it. It kinda puts things into perspective.      

A GIRL'S WARDROBE - THE TRIALS & TRIBULATIONS

Sometimes it's the 'trivial' things that affect you the most. My brain injury (let's call it the B.I. from now on) inadvertently forced me to change not only my writing hand (but I love now being a member of the lefty club) but also my entire outward identity - my style. A lot to comprehend when you are a 19 year old girl, who's also a journo student wanting to write for Vogue. I've got long legs and used to show them off in little skirts, little dresses, little shorts and sky-high heels. I was simply a young girl. A young girl with almost waist-length hair and a habit for spending most of my money of clothes and shoes.

Waking up from a coma with a shaved head was the start of my transformation. Over the following year it was shaved before most operations so the surgeons could reopen the nasty scars on my skull. Every time my hair would start growing back - they'd take a big chunk out of it. You could almost say I started the trend of half-undercut pixie style hair, all the way back in 2004. Ha.

When the occupational therapists and physios finally got me out of the wheelchair and 'walking' - I assumed I'd be wearing heels again in no time! I think I ignored the subtle sideways-glances between therapists whenever I verbalised this goal. Velcro sneakers were the hospital's recommendation. Plenty of people benefit from wearing these and that's great - but going from heeels to velcro was hard to bear. Right-sided paralysis is the reason - i.e. no muscle working in my right ankle or foot. Long story short - I refused to wear velcro (stubbornness can be a good trait) but I grew tired of waiting around for the nurses to tie my shoes in the morning...so I had to teach myself. It is possible. I still get the shocked looks from people when I do it. If something like shoelaces is preventing you from leaving your hospital room - you find a way around it.

Just like the laces, unless I wanted to greet the male nurses and therapists with bare nipples in the morning, I had to work out how to do up my own bra. It's pretty simple, lay the bra on the bed, do the little latch-thing up and put the bra on, already fastened, over your head. Easy. Anyway, enough about my morning rituals. Basically, I've had a style transition from being a 'girly girl' to a kind of an androgynous/red lipstick/b&w/skinny jeans/leather/boots/cons/minimalistic/classic/tees/tights/occasionalbrightcolour/60s shift dress wearing girl - if that makes any sense. Which I'm sure it doesn't. My wardrobe is 77% black and warm - that's why Melbourne and I are a perfect match.                          

I've always wondered if 'all of this' would be easier if I was a tomboy who didn't care about material things like their wardrobe - specifically high-heels. Then I stop angosing over it and realise, it'd be hard regardless of the situation you're in. You just have to work around those difficulties and find your own solutions. Forgive me for using this corny cliche but it's so appropriate here - 'where there's a will there's a way'.