Did you ever wonder just how much difference your voice can make in how people perceive your gender?
During my recent trip to the hospital for pneumonia and ARDS, they put breathing and feeding tubes down between my vocal cords for 28 days. By the time they removed the tubes, the right vocal cord cartilage was pulled loose, so that the cord doesn't completely close off the airway, and it doesn't vibrate for speech. As a result, I whisper loudly on one side (uses a lot of air), and talk with the left vocal cord. The left one overcompensates trying to make the speech, stretches too tightly, and ends up either in a woman's mid-range in the day, or in the third basement first thing in the morning.
The first trip out since my release from confinement was to the liquor store to buy wine for a guest dinner. I was wearing sweats and the studs I usually wear. No make up. No wig--just my windblown, short guy haircut, and tenny runners. I picked up a bottle of wine, walked up to male clerk and asked, "Is the brand pretty decent wine?" Hardly looking a second time, he replied, "Yes Ma'm, you'll like that." I didn't bother to explain to him, but I hoped he at least thought I looked kind of butch.
Same day, I went to the hospital to get some lab test reports for my physician. I walked up to the receptionist and showed her the abbrieviations for the five test reports I needed. She looked perplexed and turned to her co-worker, and said, "Where should I send this lady for these lab test reports." The second receptionist looked at my, and said, "She should go to the medical records section downstairs."
Downstairs at the medical records section, I handed the clerk the list of lab tests and asked for the reports. She turned to another clerk and said, "These are lab tests; shouldn't she go over to the lab section to get the reports?"
Now the problem of making motel reservations for the Claw and me has always been a problem. Everyone on the other end of the phone assumes correctly that I'm a guy no matter how much I try to raise my voice. So I usually cure that by introducing myself as "Mrs. Marsh", and that settles that.
Two days ago I called the Medicare administrators to follow up on one of the many claims that follow 77 days of treatment. The claims technician on the other end of the line asked for my social security number and name, and pulled up my records on the computer. There she saw my male name, my social security number and "(male)". She stopped in mid-sentence and said, "Ma'm, is your husband at home?" I replied that I am my husband, but if she wants to talk to my wife she's welcome to.
If the cartilage fuses and heals in the three month expectancy period, I'll be back to looking and sounding like an old guy to whom sex and gender don't mean a heck of a lot. But if it doesn't heal and I'm stuck like this forever, I'm going to start a low-fee reservations call-in service for TVs who want to attend exclusively women's events. It's a dirty job, but somebody has to do it.
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