I was on a zoom call last week with old friends. One has a late teenage daughter. A young person walks behind my friend in the kitchen where she is. She calls the young person over. Appears to be another teen girl with an open plaid shirt, short hair, and what looks like a bunch of ace bandages wrapped across her chest. "This is Kyler (name slightly changed, you get the idea). "He just had his top surgery yesterday. He's staying with us because his parents aren't supportive." Everyone on the zoom call is "Ooh congratulations on your journey," and I am feeling sick. Sick because I have been at high risk of breast cancer for most of my adult life and have had multiple surgical biopsies. Sick because every six months I sit in a room full of scared women waiting to be tested again and I know we aren't all going to make it. Sick because I know a breast is a living organ that fed my children, and because I know that when I was a teenager I sometimes hated my breasts, too, because they attracted predatory men. And sick because this is such a crazily futile act that has its failure written in its very performance. No man has surgery scars from having his breasts removed so he can look like a man. He just is a man. Am I unreasonable to think that this child will regret this decision?