Page 38 of Full Split
After the paperwork, we start filtering into the hallway for medical screenings. They call us one at a time. When it’s my turn, the team doctor, Dr. Zem, greets me with a firm handshake and steady eye contact.
She’s kind and straight to the point, which I appreciate.
“I don’t care about testosterone,” she says almost as soon as she closes the door. “I care whether you’re healthy and fit to compete.”
We go through my medical history. Past surgeries, injuries, medications. She makes note of all of my surgeries, including mymastectomy and hysterectomy in 2020, and metoidioplasty in 2021, but she has more questions about an old ankle injury from high school than anything else.
The most she comments on any of it is to compliment my top surgery scars.
“I had reconstructive surgery after a double mastectomy, so I have a deep appreciation for good work,” she tells me. “Gender affirming surgery comes in many forms.”
“I was lucky enough to have a great surgeon, and there wasn’t much tissue to remove,” I tell her. “Though there was enough that keyhole wasn’t an option. Large chests run in my family, and I started developing early. It’s actually why I was able to start puberty blockers when I did.”
“Good call,” she says. “Early intervention makes all the difference. And I’m sure that wasn’t easy to get, especially in North Carolina.”
We share a smile. For a second, it feels like she really sees me. “I had a supportive parent that did her research and took me hours out of state to get the right treatment. I know that’s not everyone’s experience.”
“And because of that, you’re here now. A gold medal gymnast on the national team, and looking ahead to a path of greatness,” she says. “I see a future Olympian in front of me.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I laugh.
“Oh, I’m not,” she says. “I was there, Niles. I saw you compete. I was at last year’s meet too, and I’ve been doing this a long time. Based on what I’m seeing here,” she says, handing me my chart,“as long as there are no catastrophic injuries or illnesses, I see more than one Olympic medal in your future.”
She gives me her card with instructions to have my general practitioner call if there are any issues and tells me I can reach out anytime. I like her a lot, and meeting with her makes me feel a lot more comfortable and confident about the road ahead.
After that, I get fitted for gear—leotards, warmups, shoes, grips. The works. It’s surreal. We have lunch with the other gymnasts, then move on to individual meetings with the high-performance staff to discuss the upcoming intensive training camps, which is where they’ll make final determinations, but I’m told they’d like to see me compete at the World Championship.
Weston says he got the same talk.
Could life get better?
Maybe. I could do without the mental health check-in, especially when I’m invited to do a one-on-one with the head shrink, Dr. Gafkin.
She asks a lot of questions I expect. My mental state, sleep, anxiety, burnout, but eventually she starts zoning in on the pressures of the competition, specifically the very obvious differences in the pressures I’m feeling compared to the other athletes. It occurs to me that if I don’t open up at all, she’ll only push more. Or worse, think I’m lying and put me on some kind of watch list.
“The pressure is real, it always is. And it’s a bit different this year,” I admit. “But I know how to handle pressure. And overall, I feel good. Confident.”
“How is the pressure different?” she presses.
“It’s… heavier, I guess. And it’s more frustrating, because it has little to do with my actual skills.”
She keeps digging and asks if it has anything to do with a certain teammate stirring the pot.
I smile, tired but honest. “I’m used to people being jerks, but I’m not going to let them intimidate me. I’m going to continue to work hard, every day, to make sure everyone knows that I belong here.”
“Do you feel like you belong here?”
“Absolutely,” I say confidently, without a beat. “But I also know that, because of who I am, I’ll have to work harder to prove that I belong.”
“How so?”
“Being transgender was never something I hid, especially from the USAG or any organization I was competing in. It wasn’t until it got leaked to the media and used for political fodder that anyone cared about anything other than my skill and my merit. But now?” I continue. “It’s not enough that I earned this spot. It’s not enough to be good, or even great. I have to be undeniably the best just to keep going. So, yeah, the pressure is different, but I’m determined to show the world what I’m made of.”
She nods. “Well, I think you’re doing a remarkable job of handling yourself. But don’t minimize and overlook the amount of effort it takes, not just to be a great gymnast, but to do the mental gymnastics involved in overcoming this pressure. Take care of yourself, and make sure that you have a healthy outlet for those frustrations.”
Don’t worry, doc. I have a tall, sexy, dirty blond hunk of Daddy to take out all my frustrations on.
I like Dr. Gafkin, but this was easily the most exhausting part of the day, and I hope I don’t have to come to these meetings often. I already have a therapist and enough people to challenge my way of thinking.
