“After I had my uterus removed during an emergency hysterectomy last year, everyone I knew wanted to congratulate me. I understood the intention; for many transmasc and nonbinary folks, a hysterectomy constitutes a rite of passage, an avenue to a new form of freedom — a gender oasis from being perceived as a cisgender woman. But I didn’t feel like celebrating. Both of my parents died from cancer. The surgery I had undergone was intended to prevent me from doing the same. As I recovered, there was no thrill, just an anxiety of inheritance, a plausible threat on high alert, and a lingering question: What does it mean when a change in your body produces euphoria for everybody in your community but you?”

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