This afternoon, I left work early and made the journey to my local teaching hospital to see the shrink who deals with transgendered people. I was accompanied to the waiting room by my local support group friend Dawn, with whom I spent the rest of the afternoon, and to whom I am very thankful for providing some moral support.
His normal job involves certifying that a patient is really trans and not a nutcase, before referring them on to the next step in the path to transition. I sat down in his office and told my story the way it is, and he indicated he'd be happy to send me forward, but for my stated desire to avoid it at all costs. Too big, too married. So I came away with the diagnosis I wanted which gives me some protection, but not much else beyond "Come back when you've gone potty".
There wasn't much else to be expected, but it would have been nice to find something more on offer that I didn't know about. As it is, it's difficult not to have pessimistic moments about the downhill slide.