The strangest part of acquiring my green card was the medical exam, which culminated in an inspection of my breasts and “external genitalia.” Underwear lowered to my knees, I stood behind a curtain as the doctor glanced down for a second before nodding his approval. A nurse who’d come in just for this moment, apparently as a chaperone, told me that they weren’t looking for signs of ill-health but only trying to ensure that I hadn’t suffered genital mutilation and, more to the point, that having said I was a woman, I was in possession of the requisite parts.…