(trans)prose

Wednesday, I decided to check out an idea i saw in the ftm tags on binding for larger chested guys, since I can’t afford anything from Underworks.  I’ve bound with ACE bandages a few times, with my partner’s help, but it was painful and it restricted my breathing to the point where I got lightheaded after a bit.  Apparently, it can also deform your ribs and cause some pretty serious back problems.  Comfort has always been the most important factor, to me, when picking out clothing; if I can’t get the look I want with minimum to moderate discomfort, it’s not worth it.

After some shopping around, I found one of those ladies’ fat squisher shaper things (I think is meant for the tummy, but I can’t really be sure) in my size.  It’s got little rubber elastic bits along the top and bottom, to make it stick better, I guess, and it helps hold it in place really well.  I put the top a little above where my “cleavage” would begin to prevent the weird bulge I tend to get when I bind, because the fat gets pushed up towards my collarbones.  The rubber part keeps it from riding up and slicing my underarms, which I know is a complaint with Underworks binders.  I fold the bottom part up back over my chest, so that I essentially fold the binder in half, and the rubber part holds it into place against the binder.  By this point, I’m flat-ish–flatter than with just a sports bra.  I put my sports bra on over it, to keep my chest from falling out, to help hold the binder in place, and to flatten me out just the slightest bit more.  Voila!

I spent a little bit longer trying on shirts to see how well it bound my chest, was fairly pleased, although I still have to find shirts that are a bit looser over my chest.  I look like a slightly chubby guy, which is essentially what I am.

I wore it out to the local gay bar tonight for a little while, watched some drag, and had a beer.  It’s comfortable–nowhere near as hot as most binders seem to be–and I felt significantly more confident and at ease.  Best of all, my breathing wasn’t restricted.  I haven’t worn it for an extended period of time yet, so I’m not sure how it will hold up to that test yet, but we’ll see.  I think that I might do a bit of a repeat performance or two so that I can have several binders to use interchangeably.

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing in support of Caleb’s ([birth name]; [DOB]; [SSN]) request to begin hormone therapy for the transition process of female to male gender. My interviews with Caleb, and subsequent diagnosis of Gender Identity Disorder, support his request to begin hormone therapy. I am experienced in providing psychotherapy for individuals experiencing gender identity dysphoria, and adhere to the Harry Benjamin Standards of Care for Gender Identity Disorders.

I’m writing this to give a point of reference, since–compared to most pre-testosterone guys–I already have a good bit of facial and body hair.

If I shave my face in the morning, by evening I have scratchy stubble; by the next evening, I am visibly scruffy. On my chin, I have two patches of hair with a gap in the middle with one or two short dark hairs.  I develop a sparse, patchy neck beard if I don’t shave at least every two days. My sideburns will grow to about a half an inch in a little over a week–my right sideburn is fairly even, while my left is patchy. I have one or two hairs on each cheek and no mustache to speak of, save a few downy hairs above the corners of my lips.

I have a patch of hair in the center of my chest that forks off into two sparse, patchy strips which reach almost to my collar bones–again, the right side is much fuller than the left.  My areolas are thinly outlined in short black hairs.

My happy trail begins a few inches above my navel and thickens and fills out below it. The rest of my belly is smooth.

My legs and ass are covered in a thick, soft, brown carpet of hair. I feel like testosterone may change the texture or the color of the hair here, but there just isn’t any room for new growth.

I already have some back hair, a fact I find ominous and disturbing.  There’s a patch of about 10 hairs below my neck, and my partner has reported similar colonies in at least two other locations on my middle back.

The hair on my arms is short and light brown, except for one weird dark hair that appears on both of my upper arms.

Before now, I would bind my chest only occasionally using various DIY methods or with an ACE bandage.  I could never do it for long; I am so large that the material severely restricted my breathing (and yet my chest was still quite visible).

Recently, though, I was given a binder from the Big Brother Used Binder Program.  It’s a Double Front Compression Shirt (Underworks Style #997).  After some experimentation, I’ve found that the most effective and comfortable way to wear the binder is to put it on, and then to fold the binder up over itself.  This gives me twice the compression and keeps the hot, confining material off of my stomach.

While it’s much more comfortable than ACE bandages and back braces, it still hurts my back after a while, and still restricts my breathing somewhat.  Since I’m perceived as female pretty much all the time at this point, I still don’t bind very often.  I figure I’ll be comfortable now while I still can; eventually, I’ll have to bind every day.

You know, I thought it would be anti-climactic. But today feels like Christmas.

I went out for breakfast with my partner and my best friend, and we arrived at the clinic a little after noon for our 1:15pm appointment.  J, the director of the trans health initiative at the clinic handed us our prescriptions, and from there we went to the nearby Rite Aid to get them filled.

10 minutes and $105 later, I had my first vial in hand.  10mL is not a lot, for the record.  I am in awe of the potency of HRT.

My partner, J, and the nurse practitioner were all cramped into the same tiny exam room, talking about needle sizes, drawing the suspension into a syringe, and waste disposal.
The nurse practitioner taught my partner and I how to inject on each other, and said that when/if we ever decided to self-inject, we’d have no trouble doing it. We drew up the serum with an 18g needle, and then switched off for a 23g to inject. She gave my partner his shot while talking me through it. It looked really easy. Then she was going to do me and talk my partner through it.

I didn’t even feel the needle go in. I thought she’d just pressed the bevel up to my ass to show my partner where she’d be sticking it, but no, the needle was 1.5″ in my lovehandle. For the first time in her professional career, the nurse practitioner pulled out the needle, believing the syringe was empty, but there was really 1/4cc left to inject. After apologizing profusely and switching needles, my partner gave me the rest of the dose in my other butt cheek.

I’m the worst patient ever. I giggled so much that the needle was waggling around sticking out of my ass, and the nurse was laughing and pretending to be angry and my partner was kind of freaking out, which only made me laugh harder.

That was that. Another $50 and we were on our way back home. My butt is slightly achey, still. But I think that a lot of that is in my head, to be honest. An hour after the shot, I felt exhausted. I’m not sure if the adrenaline rush just went out, or if it’s my body’s strange reaction to T. I guess we’ll see. We took a 2-hour nap when we got home.

We are both on the same dose of 150mg every 14 days, but we were given the freedom to experiment with schedules and dosages until we find what’s right for us.  After a month or two, I hope to have my levels tested to see if I can’t bring it down to 50mg/week.

I’m not even worrying about subcutaneous injections at this point, because IM injection in the glute was so painless and simple.

It’s so strange to know that one of the biggest hurdles is through. That right now, chilling out in my body, testosterone is soaking into my system. That tiny bit of syrup is going to slowly change so much of my life. It made so much sense cognitively, as I researched all of this, as I saw guys further along in transition. But now that it’s in me–me–I find it really bewildering. I’m going around eating chicken sandwiches at Wendy’s and doing dishes, and my body chemistry is being completely rewired.

I feel so inside my body right now. I’m not used to paying so much attention to the way I’m feeling. I’m not sure if I’m listening for changes, for adverse reactions, for side effects, for just a general at-ease feeling. I can see how guys can think that their body is changing much faster than it really is, after so long of being dissociative, and then suddenly rocketing back into your body. It’s intense.

I’m still sleepy; I hope after a good night’s rest I won’t feel so lethargic.

I just finished what I hope will be my last menstrual cycle.  I was never previously bothered by my period, but this time I dealt with a lot of dysphoria, and my cramps were worse than they ever were.

By far, the most significant change this month has been my voice. I’m thrilled; a deeper voice is one of the main things I wanted out of hormone therapy. My voice has peaks and drops throughout the day, and I can’t sing to save my life. It only tends to crack, however, if I try to project my voice.

My existing facial hair seems darker and more noticeable, and the shape of my face has changed slightly. A few more hairs have showed up in the middle of my chin–the very visible gap seems to be slowly filling in. A single dark moustache hair has been spotted above the right corner of my mouth, along with increased blonde fuzz in the area. It seems that the hair I do have has been growing a good bit faster than I’m used to.

Other people have commented that my arms and back and shoulders seem bigger. I feel physically stronger, but that could just be in my head. I may be losing fat in my hips and butt, because it’s been difficult to keep my pants up lately.

I sleep all the time. I’m always hungry–in fact, I wish I had known how hungry I really would be so that we could’ve doubled our food budget. My face and body is mostly free of acne; I haven’t gotten any more than I normally would, that I can tell.

I’ve always had a very high sex drive, but I am definitely more willing to have sex, and able to have sex more often than I did pre-T. I’m not sure if this is just because my comfort level with myself is increasing, or if it’s a biological side effect of T. It may also help that my dick has grown quite a bit in the past month–it makes it easier to feel male during sex.

Sometime after my third shot, I woke up one morning and it dawned on me how good I feel now. I feel more social than I have ever since I can remember. I’m more quick to assert myself. I feel like I’m friendlier and I think I smile a lot more.

A pattern is starting to emerge in my shot cycle. A few hours after a shot, I’m incredibly tired. I usually do shots in the evening so that I can sleep 12-14 hours that night. For the first two or three days of my shot cycle my dick is hypersensitive and often painful to touch. My mood is fairly stable and good for most of my cycle, until usually the night before my next shot, when I usually notice a sharp increase in irritability, emotional sensitivity, and a sharp decrease in my energy level.

The clinic told me to listen to my body and adjust my dose and schedule slightly until I figure out what works best for me, so long as I don’t go over 200mg per 14 days. My prescription is for 150mg every 14 days, but I’ve gone to a 100mg/10 day cycle. I’m waiting for a bit to see how well this cycle works for me; if I still notice a drop-off at the end of the cycle after another month has passed, I’ll most likely change to 75mg/week.

The idea that one day my transition will be essentially over is scary and funny.  I’m not sure I entirely believe that someday strangers will truly look at me and believe I’m male.  It’s like I’m getting away with the most ridiculous and far-fetched practical joke ever.  I find it hilarious that people look at me and find me female, too, though.  But it’s not as funny, because I feel like that joke is on me.  The lesser of two gendered evils is the one I picked out myself.

I panicked a few nights ago while taking a shower, because I suddenly realized that my mental image of myself at the time was female.  when I imagine myself taking a shower, I see myself as a 14 year old girl.  I don’t know why, and I’m not even sure if other people have ‘mental pictures’ of themselves, so it’s hard to explain to other people.  But when I picture myself doing that particular activity, I see a woman showering.  And that is really disorienting.  All of a sudden, I worried whether or not that meant I was making a mistake in transitioning.  As if I was somehow ‘less trans’ because I was conceptualizing myself in a female body.  It took a while for me to talk myself down.

I have a female-appearing body.  I most likely will always appear somewhat female.  But I believe that even what we think of as “female-appearing” and “male-appearing” is completely constructed, and there are always variations.  The person I see showering in my head could just as easily be a male-appearing person, if I adjust my thinking.  For that matter, the person I see showering in my head is male, simply because I am male.

I still wish I could’ve had top surgery first.  I hope that a miracle happens and I can have it soon.  I love the changes I’ve experienced so far from the testosterone, but I feel like I would enjoy my body so much more, enjoy my puberty so much more, enjoy my life so much more, if I was doing all of this without breasts.  My hatred of and anxiety about an entire–rather large–section of my own body terrifies me sometimes.  When I’m falling asleep, I often feel like I’m going under general anesthesia.  I’m so convinced that when I wake up, they’ll be gone.

It’s really affecting the way I dress.  I’m changing sizes a lot these days, as my metabolism is sort of, as E says, being put through a blender.  My arms and shoulders are developing muscle that is pretty well-defined and noticeable for someone who isn’t working out.  I’m happy with most of my body, most of the time.  But the way my chest looks in the clothes I prefer to wear is really depressing.  Button down shirts and dress pants make me feel fat and female.  Sweaters emphasize my chest in a way that has brought me close to tears on more than one occasion.  It’s been the biggest self-image problem I’ve faced so far.

I feel like I’d be passing most of the time, even this early on, if I’d had top surgery.  I haven’t been binding much, oddly enough.  I’m not sure why, exactly.  I suspect it’s because I’m afraid that I won’t ever pass, even when binding.  I like having some control over how I’m read.  I like knowing that I’ll be read as something when I leave the house.  I like being able to tell myself that if I was wearing my binder, that this person or that person would have done this, or wouldn’t have said that.

I’m just afraid they’re too big, too hard to bind, too uncomfortable.  I’m afraid that it’ll be years and years and years before I can afford to have surgery, that I won’t pass without it, and until then I’ll exist in this in-between space where I more-than-occasionally fear for my physical and emotional safety.

I like having a choice.  I don’t like non-consensual genderfucking.  I don’t like the gender panic I’ve been having every time I need to take a piss–it’s so ingrained that it happens even when I’m in my own house.

I’m tired of thinking about gender all the time.  I want to just relax and watch my sideburns develop.

My voice has continued to drop steadily, and I love it.  At this point, my voice is read as male fairly consistently; I’m amazed at how quickly the transformation happened.  My voice still cracks often, and my singing voice is still unreliable.  When I’m perceived as male, I think that I’m perceived as gay (which is fine with me, since I identify as bisexual).  I figure this is because of my lisp and my use of my hands when speaking.  Also, I think I unconsciously tried to use a more monotonous voice to seem more male.  Now that I don’t have to do that, my voice is much more expressive.

I must look different, because I am passing extremely often–even without binding. I need to shave at least every other day, and I have a lot more facial hair than I did two months ago. I have a peach-fuzz mustache, my chin continues to fill in and creep up towards the sides of my mouth.  My neck is super hairy; I have very visible neck whiskers if I don’t shave. Sideburn production is well underway; I’m considering growing them out in the coming month. My cheeks are growing hairs along the top edge of where my beard should be; it’s as if they’re outlining the beard before coloring it in.  I’m not having too much trouble with acne, although I usually have some on my shoulders. 

Holy crap I’m hairy. One morning in mid-November, I looked down and saw that my entire belly was covered in darkening peach fuzz. My happy trail is expanding outwards and converting those little hairs, and I don’t think it’ll be long before my tummy is completely covered. I’m getting a few more odd hairs on my chest, and I think the patch in the center of my chest is growing.  Perhaps the hair on my lower back is darker or thicker, as well.  I feel like my hair is changing texture, as well–thickening, darkening; fortunately, it’s still soft so far. The size of my shoulders and arms are still commented on every now and then.  

My sex drive is still high, and my dick has grown a lot as well.  I haven’t been able to use my front-hole for sex, though; it’s been too sensitive.  It’s not too much of a loss, though, since I had only been using it for a few months.

I have a shorter temper than I used to, and also that I am more inclined/able to express that anger than ever before.  Also, I find myself completely unable to cry.  If I’ve cried since beginning injections, I can’t remember it.  Situations and feelings that once would’ve made me cry usually register as irritation or anger.

Within a shot or two of my “one month” update, my moods and energy had leveled considerably and so I’ve kept my dose and schedule at 100mg every 10 days.  A few hours after my shots I do still tend to be very hungry and sleepy.  My mood and energy and appetite are stable, but are a good bit higher than they tended to be pre-testosterone.  Since beginning HRT, I’ve only menstruated once–a few days after my first shot.  I do cramp sometimes, and I’ve had occasional hot flashes, but that’s all I’ve heard from my reproductive system lately.

My voice changes seem to have slowed considerably; I don’t think it has changed at all in the past month. I was ill for the latter part of December and the beginning of January, and once I was no longer hoarse, I was irrationally worried that my voice had risen in pitch.

I’m thinking that perhaps my jaw is getting a bit more defined, but that could just be me being hopeful.  I’m not sure how much my facial hair has actually changed in the past month, but I have figured out a grooming plan I can deal with, thanks to an electric beard trimmer (a holiday gift from my best friend).  For most of my face, I just use the clippers without the guard, which is short enough to make it look less patchy and pitiful, but long enough to be soft rather than scratchy. I use a short guard for my goatee, because I always miss it when I shave it.  I’ve let my sideburns continue to grow, and I use the clippers without a guard to square them off.  I’ve managed to stop the acne in its tracks for now, thankfully.

I haven’t noticed any significant body fat redistribution, or any real muscle development. Colonies of hair, though, are popping up left and right, especially just below the back of my neck–it’s gross, really. My chest hasn’t gotten much new hair that I’ve noticed, but my belly continues to get fuzzier. My feet and toes are also getting hairy. I have a small patch of 8 or 9 dark hairs on my upper right arm (where I had only a single dark hair pre-testosterone).

My sex drive has definitely lowered lately, and I’m not sure why. My appreciation for bodies and people remains high, and my self-esteem is okay. But sex (especially being touched) has become much less of a priority, and I feel like I can either take it or leave it, and that I’d usually much rather take a nap or read.  It could possibly have to do with the fact that I am incredibly self-conscious about my chest. If I thought that taking T would help make the wait for top surgery more bearable, I was sadly mistaken.

I’ve noticed, and people have commented, that my moods are very level.  I’ve always been incredibly grounded, but these days I can occasionally come across as stoic.  It’s not a change I like, but it’s definitely true that I am much, much less emotional. I also tend to speak less, although I am still much more social than I ever was pre-T.

I’m still on the same schedule and dosage, and I’m still hungry and sleepy for the first day or so afterwards.  Hot flashes have almost disappeared, and there’s no sign of menstruation, thankfully.

My voice reads consistently as male at this point.  On the rare occasions when my voice (over phone or intercom) is read as female, I suspect that it has more to do with my female-patterned and expressive speech than on my actual pitch.  Oh well–I refuse to be monotone.

I feel like my face has started to lose some of the puffiness it’s had for a few months, and I’m so very relieved by that.  I’m getting a few more mustache hairs, and my cheeks have more fuzz on them.  More of the same, really.

Since I haven’t been working out as I’d planned, there hasn’t been an increase in muscle mass.  My chest and stomach are definitely hairier, and a few more odd hairs have shown up on my back (!!!). The hair on the tops of my feet and arms has definitely gotten longer and darker, too.

My sex drive is still lower than when I first started my transition.  My dick has probably quadrupled in size, and I’ve had a harder time getting used to it than I thought I would.  It still throws me off whenever I see it or touch it, and I’m strangely self-conscious about it.  I’m hoping this will change for the better soon as well.

Over the past month or so, I’ve had to accept that there are some things about being on testosterone that I don’t like.  It was hard to do, considering what I went through to begin HRT.  I’ve had to accept that I experience emotion differently, and it’s harder for me to talk about my feelings.  I’ve been making a conscious effort to try to be more at home in my mind and body.  It seems to be working, since I’ve been able to cry again, and I’m having an easier time with verbal and textual communication.

I haven’t been thinking much about transition lately, and mostly there isn’t much to say.  But my position on things has changed slowly and significantly.

I am perceived as male.  100% of the time.  It’s been a long time since I worried which bathroom I belong in.  I’m even starting to get pretty good at understanding male social codes.  I’m completely relaxed about pronouns, and I still prefer male pronouns.  Sometimes, I’ll realize that someone I’m getting to know has absolutely no idea that I’m not birth-assigned male.  And I like it.

I don’t particularly feel like a man.  I don’t really know what that feels like.  I do, however, know that this makes me happy.  I’m not sure if I’m genderqueer, exactly, except in the sense that I see gender as mutable, arbitrary, and often nonconsensual.  If I appear gender-variant, it’s only in the sense that I don’t look straight–in sexual orientation, not gender.  I’m only visibly genderqueer in the sense that the social markers of queer sexuality are often perceived as gender-cues.

And maybe that’s what it’s about for me?  Maybe it’s not about gender identity at all.  I’m not a masculine woman.  I’m an androgynous-dressing, feminine-acting, non-woman.  When I’m read as a queer guy, I feel affirmed.  And I just want to be read as something that comes reasonably close to how I see myself socially.  And I am, now.

These days, the most awkward social situations for me are ones in which I am perceived to be the straight-male half of a socially-sanctioned heterosexual relationship.  I’m not all that upset about being perceived as a straight dude–I find it silly.  But I hate for any of my female-assigned partners (none of whom identify as female or straight) to be read as straight because of me.  But it’s not like being read as a lesbian couple was doing them any favors, either.

I’m not a man.  I’m definitely not a woman.  I might not really be genderqueer.  I don’t really identify as transsexual.  But I like the way I look, and I like where I am right now.  So, I must be moving in the right direction.

Not too much has changed for me in this past month.  I’ve been consistently perceived as male for more than three months now. My voice changes seem to have stopped for the moment, which I’m a little disappointed about.

My mustache is coming in painfully slowly.  My goatee is creeping up my chin, and my neck beard runs from one ear to the other (I keep it clipped as short as possible).  I still have only a small amount of acne, although there’s an occasional breakout.

I’m hairy as hell; I haven’t been minding it as much lately, but since it’s getting warm, I’ll probably be more self-conscious about it soon.  Fat migration is definitely in full swing, as all of the fat in my body seems to have concentrated in my stomach.  Acne on my back and shoulders is an issue, and it’s much-aggravated by my binder.  Not binding is simply not an option anymore, so I’m concerned about how I’m going to handle binding during the intense heat of summer.

I took some measurements and compared them to measurements I took before starting HRT.  I’ve gained an inch in my neck and two inches in my shoulders.  My biceps are half an inch bigger than before, and my chest (under-bust measurement) has gained two inches.  I’ve gained an inch in my waist, but lost an inch in my hips.  Finally, I’ve gained an inch in my thigh.  With the exception of my waist, all gains appear to be muscle.  My shoe size has also remained the same, although I had hoped my feet would grow a bit (as rumors suggested they might).

In the past month, I’ve grown slightly more comfortable with my dick, but have been battling weight/body issues. I feel fat, although I don’t think I’ve gained much (if any) weight over these past months.  At the same time, people have commented that I seem to be losing weight, from my butt and legs especially.  I know this is part of the process, and I know that I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, especially because the extra weight in my gut helps hide my chest.

Another very eventful month in my personal life, but life on the transition front is still pretty boring.  My partner had been doing my injections, but as of this past month, I’ve been self-injecting in the glute.  It involves a bit of contortion, but it’s worth it to know that I’m managing my own healthcare.

I’m almost positive that my jawline is more defined.  My facial hair comes in faster now, and it’s still pleasantly soft.  I have to clipper my mustache these days, along with my cheeks and neck-beard, because my whiskers are all quite noticeable.  I’ve noticed that more and more of my facial hair is coming in red; I don’t know whether to attribute this to my Irish/Scottish heritage, or to my spending more time outside now that it’s warm.

A few days back, I gave in and clippered my torso to about .25 inches.  I suspect that I’ll have to get a lot better at manscaping, since there’s no indication that the growth will stop any time soon.  I’m starting to get more noticeable hair on my chest, and my belly fur has spread out and now covers most of the available acreage.  On the back-ne front, I’ve been trying wearing an undershirt underneath my binder (per internet recommendations), and I’m waiting to report on the results of this tactic.

I seem to be getting back a wider range of emotions. I’m able to cry, at least a little bit, when I’m sad. I accept that it’ll never be the same as it was pre-T, though. I may not be as able to express my grief and sadness these days, but I am much better able to expess anger and frustration. To me, it seems to be a fair enough trade.

From Julia Serano’s website:

subconscious sex

A subconscious, intrinsic, self-understanding that all people experience regarding their own sex embodiment. Cissexuals tend not to notice or appreciate their own subconscious sex because it is concordant with their physical sex (and therefore they tend to conflate for two). In contrast, trans people tend to be excruciatingly aware of their subconscious sex (as it is at odds with their physical sex). Trans people most often describe their subconscious sex as an intrinsic, inexplicable, deeply felt understanding that there is something “wrong” with the sex they were born into, or that they should be (or wish they could become) the other sex.

That nicely sums up some of my more current theories about myself.  Namely, I don’t feel like I have any sort of gender trouble whatsoever.  I’ve never had a particular attachment to any gender identity; my gender expression hasn’t changed in any meaningful way since I was first able to pull on my own shirt.  I was no more or less fine being treated as female than I am being treated as male–which is to say, I think that the social roles that men and women are expected to occupy are largely bullshit, and I intend to ignore them completely, except to challenge misogyny where I find it.

That’s the biggest thing I’ve noticed lately–that the trans people I know haven’t changed, and don’t intend to change, their gender expressions.  As a female-assigned person, people saw me as fairly “masculine”.  These days I’m perceived as an adequately (if not particularly) masculine man.

I’ve noticed that I’ve tended to describe my experience as “body dysphoria” rather than “gender dyshoria”.  My gender is still pretty stable–it doesn’t amount to much of anything, and I don’t really care too much one way or another.  But mybody is the problem, because my very visceral sense of myself, and of my internal rightness, is male.  My embodiment feels wrong.

I definitely can’t say that I wouldn’t have a problem if I had a male body but continued to be treated as a woman.  But that’s only because people aren’t treated as women for the hell of it–they’re treated as women because their bodies are perceived as female.  And for my dysphoria to be mitigated, I feel like I need to perceive my own body as male, and have other people treat my body as male..

I’m sure now that my face is changing shape again.  I have something that resembles a jawline, and my cheekbones are visible.  I seem to be rapidly losing more of the puffiness that appeared in the first months.  My facial hair continues to do its thing–really slowly.

The back-ne isn’t quite so bad these days, but my shoulders are still in a constant state of breaking out.  I’ve been losing some weight lately.  At my last doctor’s appointment, I weighed 195lbs (at my first, I was 200.4lbs); I wish I had a pre-T weight, but in general it’s not particularly healthy for me to keep scales around.

I got health insurance through my job in the last month.  For the first time in a long, long time, I have access to medical care. I got an eye exam and glasses, and I have a primary care provider who has taken over my testosterone prescription and prescribed me Wellbutrin, which has been working wonderfully. He also is willing to help try different avenues to get my insurance to cover my top surgery, and the situation is such that I may be able to afford surgery in a matter of months rather than years.

On my first doctor’s visit, I had my T levels checked for the first time. It was the 6th day of my cycle, and my levels were at 334.  When I came back on the 9th day of my cycle, my levels were tested again, and they were at 422. I’m not exactly what could’ve caused me to have a higher level at the end of my cycle than at the middle, but I wonder if it could be the introduction of Wellbutrin. Either way, my levels are lower than I expected, so I don’t anticipate lowering my dose any time soon. Apparently, all of my blood work is normal, including my cholesterol, and my blood pressure is fine.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot, so I’m going to try to flesh it out a little bit.

At this point in my life, I am almost universally perceived as a man.  Even to people who know my history, my thoughts/actions/experiences are considered to be male.  Not because of a conscious identity, but because of social reality.  I don’t have to establish and reinforce my not-female identity like I did 10 months ago; it’s just given to me.  It’s a type of privilege, and I recognize that.  When I act in ways that are gendered “feminine”, I’m considered to have a non-traditional masculinity rather than having “residual” femaleness.  It’s easy to convey to others that I don’t subscribe to traditional misogynistic masculinity; it rarely even requires words.  I feel that I am closer to women as a [someone perceived as a] man than I would have felt if I had been a male-identified [person perceived as a] woman.

This is confusing; let me try again.  I don’t have to establish my difference from women; I don’t have to separate myself from femininity and womanhood. It’s taken for granted.  When I express myself now, I feel like I am considered by women to be a really great guy–an especially nice guy, a feminist guy, a guy who is building community with women.  If I had claimed a male identity before, I would’ve felt like I was forcibly separating myself from a community that I was a part of (for all intensive purposes).  It would have felt like I was leaving a community with which I shared many common struggles in order to ally myself with a community that is the source of many of those struggles–a community I wasn’t a part of and knew nothing about.

And I just didn’t feel like a man, and I didn’t know what a man felt like.  Now, though, inasmuch as I know what it’s like to be any gender, I feel like I know what it’s like to live as male.  I am still just as profoundly uncomfortable with the sexism and homophobia and violence that are the hallmarks of traditional masculinity.  But I do and will look like a man, be treated like a man, receive male privilege, challenge heterosexism as a queer man, and combat patriarchy as a feminist ally.

I want to live my life as the kind of man that I wish all men would be.  I think that, at long last, is my working definition of what it means to be a man.   And I am one, and I’m alright with that.

This past month, a newly post-op guy from Livejournal FTM mailed me a bag full of his old binding materials.  Until this point, I’ve only had a single binder from the Big Brother Used Binder Program.  I now have two more Underworks Double Front Compression Shirts (Style #997), and an Underworks Tri-Top (Style #983).  While the DFCS is the most effective method I’ve tried, the Tri-Top is one of the most comfortable.  I wear it when I work out, or with loose t-shirts to give my back a break.

While the back-ne has been mitigated somewhat thanks to the new binders, the shoulder-ne is disgusting, and hasn’t seemed to improve despite my best efforts.  I worked out three times a week pretty consistently; unfortunately, I’ve had to stop because of binder-related back pain and asthma. I weighed myself a few days ago, and I was 187. People have commented on my weight loss, and I’ve noticed myself–it’s hard not to, though, since my pants keep falling off at inconvenient times.  I actually like working out, and I can’t wait until I can enjoy it without the pain of binding.

Binding is really starting to take a toll on my back, and I’m too uncomfortable to leave the house unbound, even though I still pass.  For example, I went to get a smoothie a week or so ago in only a sports bra and a loose polo.  While I was still gendered correctly, the cashier was obviously staring and thinking that two breast-shaped aliens would explode from my chest at any moment.

I also went to a birthday party that was drag-themed, and I wore a cup bra and a ridiculous poofy dress. I even stayed costumed for quite some time, which means I was in a dress for longer than I have been since I can remember. I wouldn’t have been able to do that even two months ago, so I feel it speaks to my increased confidence and comfort.

I’ve been having a harder time self-injecting lately. I’ve never had to put off a shot or anything, but I’m not really able to think about what I’m doing until after the needle is in my muscle. I’m not afraid of needles, so I’m thinking it’s that I’m upset at the idea of having to do this type of maintenance for the rest of my life.  Once I have surgery and change all my documents, I’ll be able to stop thinking about gender and transition all the time… except for a reminder every 10 days.  I am disappointed that the FDA has put off approving Nebido (a 3-month long shot of T that’s been used in Canada and Europe for a few years now) for up to two years.

I should probably shave my face these days, instead of just using my beard trimmer without a guard. My stubble is always visible, so I never look particularly professional. I’m just not ready for all that maintenance! Also, I don’t want to aggravate my skin any more, since I’m trying to keep the acne at bay. Fortunately, this isn’t an issue at my job.

Voice Clip : 10 Months HRT

The acne on my back and shoulders still seems to be slowly improving. I think my furriness is becoming an important part of my self image–probably a good thing considering how hairy I’m becoming. I was really unsettled earlier this month when I had to clipper my chest and stomach for pre-op photos for my surgeon and insurance company–without my fur, my body felt significantly more female than it has in a long, long time. I clippered my leg hair on a whim and noticed how much more defined my muscles are these days.

My sex drive is quite high these days, and I am enjoying front-hole sex for the first time since I began HRT. I’ve also noticed some fairly significant dick growth over this past month.

I moved into a new place recently, and I was shocked at how much stronger I am than I was pre-T. I hadn’t noticed too much of an increase in strength after the first month; I guess it was a gradual change. I have definitely become more able to lift and carry heavy things for a longer period of time, and I recover from exertion a lot faster than I did prior to HRT.

Also, I visited my therapist to ask her for a letter for surgery when the time comes, and to check in. She agrees that I have no need for therapy at this point in my life, but that I’ll keep checking in with her on occasion. When I get insurance approval for surgery, we’ll meet again to discuss the specifics of my letter.

Dr. Medalie’s secretary Valerie called me today to say that my requested surgery date is available, and to give me more details. So, that’s it: my top surgery is scheduled for 7:30am on November 24th. That’s 97 days from now, by my count. It’ll be shot day–my 420th day on T.

Only recently have I been worrying about the results. It’s the first time I’ve wished that I could come out of this with a flawless male chest. It’s hard knowing my chest won’t be perfect. I’m chubby and will probably have dogears because of that fact. I may never feel parts of my chest again. If it was just the scars, I could probably handle it a lot better–I’ll be furry enough soon that nobody will ever know anyway.

My nipples will probably never work like they’re supposed to. It’s sad that I have to trade nipples I am self-conscious about for nipples that I will probably still be self-conscious about.

On the bright side, my chest muscles seem more pronounced lately, though I haven’t done anything. It increasingly seems like I just have these random, ill-placed breasts hanging off of an otherwise perfect male chest.

I scheduled my chest surgery for just over two months from now! I’ve made a gigantic paper chain counting down the days.

I’m still not shaving, although it’s purely obstinance that’s keeping me from it. I always look scruffy, and I should really be using the beard trimmer every day.  There are a couple of darkening hairs outlining where my “soul patch” will eventually be, and the hair on my cheeks is darkening a bit more, though it’s nowhere near as thick as the hair elsewhere on my face. I did notice a while back, however, that I have one or two hairs on the upper part of my left cheekbone.  Creepy.

I feel much more solid these days. Especially in my arms, I feel that my muscles are more defined, although I haven’t been working out. There are a few hairs showing up on the backs of my hands, and my chest and belly fur is filling in quickly.  The acne is gross, but I think I’m just going to have to accept some level of it for a while, until my puberty has run its course.

I’ve been fairly comfortable in my body, most of the time. I am more comfortable being shirtless and/or without a binder around my closer friends, so long as I am in my house. Binding, of course, is incredibly physically and mentally painful. But I have found myself more and more comfortable with my partner touching my chest–I’ve even enjoyed it. I think this is partly because I know that my partner sees my chest as a male chest, and my breasts as simply a part of my body. Also, I resent my chest less than I ever have. I think that they’ve always been the point upon which I fixed all of my body dysphoria– for whatever reason, they’ve been the symbol of my femaleness. But, now, they just feel out-of-place and vestigial. They’re uncomfortable, but not because they make me female, or because they make me appear female (to myself or to anyone else), but rather because of the huge disconnect between them and the rest of my body. I look–I am–male. I just also have breasts, and I relate to them in what I imagine is a similar way that cissexual men with gynecomastia relate to their chests. While I am as certain as I possibly can be that I won’t regret having chest surgery, I’ll admit that it was much easier to send these guys to their deaths when I hated them.

My sex drive remains high, and I find myself attracted to more and more types of people. Most notably, I am increasingly attracted to more masculine-appearing men (beards, body hair, broad/square body types) and to feminine-appearing women (I am suddenly intrigued by long hair). The total number of people in any given room that I will find attractive has increased, too.

I went to the university’s “Gender Chat” on Tuesday.  Not to process gender issues of my own, but to think about gender issues in general, and because it’s comforting to me to hear other folks’ gender-related thoughts.

When K and I first showed up, I think I was quickly introduced to the new LGBT director, and that made me think about K and his relationship to my gender and my transition.  I’ve always made it really clear that, at this point in my life and in our relationship, it’s important to me that K feel able to disclose my trans status when/if he wants to, to whomever he wants to.  And I think he believes me.  I’m pretty sure, anyway.  But, I’ve definitely noticed that he’s become as ambivalent about when/how/if to disclose as I have.  I worry some that it’s more about making me comfortable than making himself comfortable, but K of course is capable of meeting his own needs in this regard.  Still, I wonder about our visibility/invisibility.

It’s pretty straightforward outside of queer spaces–it all depends on how K is being perceived.  We’re either gay men, or a kinda funny looking straight couple.  People usually seem to think we’re pretty precious, either way.  But inside queer space, we’re looked at for longer.  People who assume K is a lesbian are baffled, and once they see how gay I am, usually just end up confused and fascinated.  People who know K’s a trans guy focus directly and pointedly on me.  I think it’s to figure out if I’m a cissexual gay man who’s actually okay with dating pre/no-ho pre-non/op guys (you know, a PINK unicorn, even more rare than the regular unicorns who will date post-transition trans men), or a trans man, or what.  That annoys me slightly.  I guess I could interpret that as “I’m okay with however we’re perceived, so long as my trans status isn’t brought up”.

So, I wonder how the director perceived me.  She’ll know eventually, probably, if I hang around.  But figuring out when to disclose is weird and new, and I don’t want to look like an ass, like “Hi, I’m Caleb–would you like to hear about my genital configuration?”  And, of course, there’s the fact that I don’t really like talking about it all that much anyway.  It was especially strange because I wasn’t sure if the person I was actually talking to (who is a newly-out trans woman) knew, and I definitely wanted to give her the secret handshake or whatever, so she’d know there was a community here.  Even if it is a bit of a sausage party… sort of.

In introductions, I didn’t think to continue the “name + pronoun” intro that K had tried to start, although I really should’ve thought to; I’m not really interested in othering people whose gender reception and pronoun preference don’t match just so I can enjoy my new privilege.  I was just too engrossed in thought, I guess.  Oh, and then I didn’t come out at first, because there were three people there (two facilitators and a student) I wanted to feel out first.

It’s almost like being drunk on power.  I have the power to have someone I just met never, ever know that I am not a cissexual man.  And it’s hard coming out sometimes, even in a situation in which I want to, like gender chat.  I’m not sure if I’ve written about it here, or just spoken about it in private conversations, but disclosing is different than coming out, by miles and miles.  Coming out as trans meant seeking respect for my identity.  It meant giving someone to whom I’m disclosing to know more about me, to get a more complete and accurate idea of who I am as a person.  It was a lot like coming out as queer.  It was kind of empowering in a way.

Disclosing doesn’t make me feel that way.  Disclosing to people I assume are cissexual has, in general, more cons than pros.  The pros are mostly that I get to know whether the person I’m coming out to is a transphobic douchebag I wouldn’t want to be friends with anyway, and that the person won’t be confused when I talk about things like my boobs, my puberty, my menopause, my uterus, my ovaries, my ex-lesbianism, my intimate familiarity with things that most guys know absolutely nothing about.  That’s about where the good bits end.  Someone finding out that I lived as female-ish until about a year ago causes most cissexual folks to start painting a mental picture of me that’s 1) inappropriate and 2) wrong:

My body becomes scrutinized, and if one more fucking person congratulates me on how “real” or “bio” or “genetic” or “magickal” I look for a transsexual (read: woman), I might start congratulating them on how trans they look.  Especially feminine cis women–they all look like femme trans women to me, anyway.  It’s so nice that they can go around looking trans to me, despite being [usually] uterus-laden imposters.

No, I haven’t had any surgeries.  Yes, binding fucking hurts.

No, you had it right the first time.  I’m faggy in the same way as a cis queer guy.  It’s not a holdover from my “natural” womanly mcvaginaness.

No, I’m not dating K because I only date other trans people, nor am I dating him because only other trans people will date me.

No, my family doesn’t need to be praised from the rooftops for not disowning me because of my decision to transition; if you wouldn’t be supportive and understanding of a trans family member, that makes you an asshole, it doesn’t make my family angelic.

Because the male-female spectrum exists de facto, “coming out” put me more towards the male end, which felt more accurate; “disclosing” puts me more towards the female end, which feels less accurate.  The way I’m perceived now is almost exactly how I perceive myself, and how I want to be perceived (fantasies of waking up one morning and having the body of my tall, thin, twinky, genderqueer fag roommate aside).  It’s not as easy to convince myself to go through all that when I don’t usually get anything out of it, except someone thinking that we’re BFFs and that I’ve really opened up to them.

K and I went to The Grill late that night and talked, and I think I’m getting somewhere with my genderqueer stuff.  I’ve been examining my genderqueer identity lately, because I’m the type to pick at a bug bite or a scab.  And there’s some stuff about all this that just sits wrong with me, and I want to figure out if “genderqueer” is a vestigial identity at this point, or if it’s just evolved.

When I was living as female, before I transitioned, being genderqueer, for me, meant a freedom to express masculinity/maleness in a way that resonated with me, without invalidating or repressing my feminine qualities.  Even when I knew I would transition medically, I still identified with “trans-masculine” genderqueers and lesbians/queer women.  We looked alike.  Our experiences were a lot alike, or so I felt.

That’s just not the case at this point in my life.  My maleness is now affirmed by basically everyone I interact with.  These days, my non-binary identity is more about my expressions of queer maleness and femininity.  The genderqueer issues I wrestle with myself cause me to identify pretty strongly with genderqueer-identified people whose gender expressions/presentations usually align with binary maleness/masculinity.

Despite all the theory, I’ve never really seen too much breaking down of binaries, and the idea of the “spectrum” sort of looms large.  I feel like “transmasculine” people and “transfeminine” people are quietly pushed to either side, according to birth-assignation.  I feel like if my trans status is known, I’m pushed to the wrong sort of side–like I’m seen as the far-end of the female masculinity spectrum.  And, I know that tons of guys who ID as genderqueer totally see themselves this way, which is fine.  I just don’t.  Maybe a part of that separation is because the genderqueer community is so heavily female-assigned and currently-or-formerly-lesbian-identified?

I think that may be the root of the anti-cissexual male sentiment that shows up/peeks out sometimes in my conversations with other genderqueers.  And I’m not very comfortable with that idea.  At this point in my life, the only essential difference between me and a cissexual guy is what’s under our clothes.  And I’ve seen trans guys get away with so much misogyny and so much bullshit, and even if they’re called on it, they get the benefit of the doubt.  The possiblity that cissexual men may make those exact same mistakes is used as the reasoning for their exclusion.  I’m not interested in being a part of anything that would include me but would exclude cis men, because, as someone has pointed out, that is so literally phallocentric.

I haven’t noticed any significant changes in months. These days, it’s mostly just waiting for patches of hair to fill in. 

Speaking of patches, my soul patch has probably doubled in size in the past month, giving it about 12 hairs under my chin, with about 8 more rising up from my chin to meet it. My mustache is coming in at about the same rate, with random hairs getting longer, then turning darker and thicker. My cheeks are still ever-so-slowly filling in. My facial acne is still concentrated in the areas where new facial hairs are thinking about sprouting; most of my problems are on my lower cheeks and my upper lip.

I feel like my belly is changing shape lately. I’ve had a pot belly ever since I can remember but now it’s getting more pot-like, and reminding more and more of my father’s and my uncles’ bellies. I’m quite self-conscious about it, and I’m incredibly worried that it’ll be even harder after surgery, because it’ll be more noticeable to me. I’ve still got some acne on my shoulders, after a brief period of improvement. My dick has gotten a good bit thicker, too. As far as body hair goes, my chest and stomach are covered, and it looks like I’m going to get more hair on the backs of my hands soon.

Mentor, OH : pre-op

Once I get back, I’ve been approved for 6 weeks of paid disability leave.  While money will be tight, this will give me the opportunity to travel during K’s semester break, spending part of the holiday season with his family, and part with my family (who live several hundred miles away, making our visits rare).  I’ll be returning to work on January 5th, if everything goes according to plan.

Dr. Medalie’s secretary Valerie was fantastic about answering emails promptly, answering all of my questions, and helping me navigate things with my insurance company.  During our phone consultation, Dr. Medalie was really helpful–and I had a lot of questions.  Here are some of the highlights:

K and my friends threw a “Bye Bye, Boobies” party in my honor.  I had an ice cream cake decorated with boobs and “cut here” lines, and some friends painted me a “Boob Voyage” poster.  I may have disturbed some of the folks who didn’t know me particularly well when, instead of cutting the cake, I removed the nipples from the boob cake and put them to the side.

E and I were accompanied to the airport by K and E’s partner J.  I’m glad J was there–I don’t know how I could’ve left K standing there alone.  I couldn’t even turn and look at him.  The flight made both E and I nauseous, probably due to our brilliant idea of eating omelettes for breakfast.  Everything went smoothly–checking in for our flight, getting our luggage, picking up the car, and checking into the hotel.

The hotel is small and simple, with two full-sized beds, a TV, a table and chairs, and a kitchenette.  It’s warm, though, thankfully; it’s freezing here.  I could never live this far north.

Surgery is only a few hours away.  I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.  It occurred to me that I’m going to bind tomorrow morning for the drive to the surgery center… where they’ll 1) know that I’ve got boobs, and 2) be cutting them off.  I MUST be making the right decision.

We made it to the surgery center perfectly on time.  I signed in and sat down in the waiting room.  For some reason, it was really strange to me that there would be a waiting room.  A nurse came and took me and E back, where my vitals were taken, and my street clothes and all my body jewelry were put in a locker.  I was taken even further back into the building and sat onto a hospital bed where E and I waited for Dr. Medalie.

The surgeon came in and we all made small talk while he drew on my chest in a purple marker.  I felt self-conscious of having E and some stranger seeing my bare chest, even though I knew it was silly.

Then, E went out to the waiting room, and the anesthesiologist came in to speak to me.  I was joking with him that, instead of being nervous about the surgery itself, I was more worried about the IV, since I figured I wouldn’t really feel anything after that anyway.

He said that, if I liked, I could just go back to the operating room, and I could be gassed on the operating table.  I was actually really curious about how the OR would look, so I walked back, trying to keep my bare ass covered by the gown.  It was pretty small, and clean, and there was a big table in the middle of it for me.  It had a big leather strap, which I assume was to strap my legs down; that made me nervous, so I stopped thinking about it.

I hopped up onto the operating table and laid my head back.  One of the nurses put these really warm things around my legs, presumably to improve circulation.  Then a mask was put over my face, and they turned on the gas–which smelled pretty gross.  I started to get really nervous, so I began to silently chant “Nam Myoho Renge Kyo”.  I made it through two of them, was too tired to start another, mumbled something to the nurse, and then nothing.

I think I woke up once in recovery, registered that I was alive and that I wasn’t in pain, exchanged a few words with a really nice nurse, and went back to sleep.  The next time I woke up, E was next to me.  He told me that the whole surgery had taken almost exactly two hours, and that Dr. Medalie had come out afterwards and told him that it was “a piece of cake”.  I think a little bit more pain medicine was given to me intravenously, and I was given two Vicodin.  I was really freaked out by the IV, and I was glad when it was taken out.

Soon after that, E helped me get back into my clothes and helped me put my body jewelry back in.  I waited for him to pull the car up to the door and help me outside and into the car.  I had never felt so tired in my life and I was freezing cold.  I remained awake for the entire drive back to Mentor (around 45 minutes, I think), because I was terrified of us getting into a car wreck and my chest being damaged.

I spent the rest of that first day sleeping in four hour shifts, only waking up to use the bathroom, empty my drains, and take more Vicodin. I noticed a rapidly purpling bruise peeking out of my post-surgical vest on the back left side, up by my armpit.  It was the only place I felt pain, because the foam that was between the binder and my chest stuck out a little on that side and would press into the bruise whenever I put my   My throat hurt massively, presumably from the breathing tube.

I was more coherent today, taking fewer pain killers, playing around on the internet, and even leaving the hotel for a bit with E for coffee and dinner.

I drained 30cc on each side. The fluid smells disgusting. It’s pinkish red, and often has a film of transparent clear liquid on top.

I can’t really wrap my mind around the fact that underneath this binder and the foam, there aren’t any boobs. I’ll never see those boobs again. I look an uncomfortable lot like a sausage in this binder.

I took something to help me poop, because apparently pain killers make one constipated. I also picked up some arnica gel for the bruise on my left side. E is putting it on me when we empty the drains.

There is a blood loogie in one of my drains. It’s so gross. It’s just dangling there, halfway out of the drain and halfway into the bulb–shivering.

Also, arnica gel totally works. My bruise is already several shades lighter than it was yesterday. When I woke up this morning, I hadn’t drained much, except my left side drain had 15mL of disgusting yellowish fluid (lymph?) in it.

I feel physically a lot better; I’m awake for longer periods at a time, and feeling less queasy. My throat still hurts horribly, and my torso is a bit sore, but I’m not in any pain, really.

Getting in and out of bed without using my arms is difficult. My abdominals are getting quite a workout these days.

I have never felt so disgusting in my entire life. I’ve never been the kind of guy who has to shower every day, or even every other day. Still, I’m wondering how much Great Clips would charge just to wash my hair. I’m already looking forward to my first shower, when I can just scrape the grunge off of my body.

My throat hurts and my chest keeps tingling weirdly–the nerves are reconnecting, I guess. The drains are driving me insane, but my left side is still draining about 30cc per day.

I did poop today, though. Supposedly, that’s a good thing. But I’d almost rather be constipated; it’s really difficult to reach around and wipe my own ass.

Cognitively, I know that surgery is over. But I can’t see my chest yet, so it doesn’t feel real. It just seems like I’m feeling really shitty and out-of-it, and surgery hasn’t happened yet.

And then sometimes, it sinks in briefly, and I get excited at the prospect of looking normal in a few weeks.

E and I went out again, and someone asked for my ID when I presented my card, since I don’t look like I could be [birth name]. But, I haven’t been able to afford to change my name yet, so I’ll just have to keep making that Johnny Cash joke for a while longer.

Over the weekend, I gradually felt better leaving the house more frequently. I felt bored and irritable and ready to be back at home. On Sunday (November 30th), E and I even ventured into Cleveland proper to meet up with some acquaintances and have dinner.

At one point during the weekend, the toilet in our room pretty much exploded. The hotel staff couldn’t find their plunger (?!), so we were just moved next door.

We checked out of our hotel in the morning, and headed into Cleveland to waste time before the follow-up appointment. The post-op appointment was actually at the main Metrohealth Hospital, which turns out to be the size of a small city.

After finding our way to the right waiting room, we waited for what seemed like forever. Then, we were taken back by Andrea, the nurse, and she undid the binder without much fanfare. I felt really delicate and exposed.

Then, she ripped off the foam. It was the most painful part of the whole surgery experience, and it was painful. Very, very painful. In the middle of my chest, I didn’t feel much, but on either side, under my armpits, I was very sensitive, and it was excruciating. I cursed, felt dizzy and nauseous, and lost a good bit of my chest hair.

Next, she removed the surgical tape, which didn’t hurt at all. And my chest was just… there.

First Look

I’m not going to lie: I freaked out. I had to lie back, and I was brought some water. Andrea was worried that I regretted having surgery, but I didn’t. It was just shocking. And it smelled bad, and it looked so raw, and like my chest was barely being held together. Andrea left me and E alone for a few minutes while she found another nurse to help her remove my drains, because she wanted to remove them both at the same time.

The drain removal itself wasn’t too bad. Andrea pulled out the right side, and I didn’t feel it at all. The other nurse didn’t do as good of a job, and I felt a sharp pain at the end and bled a little bit.

And that was it. I was given further instructions, and shown how to dress my incisions and my nipples, and helped back into my binder, which fit much, much more loosely than it had with all that foam under it. Then, I wobbled back to the car.

On the way to the airport, E and I stopped at a Goodwill, where he helped me try on some shirts, some of which I bought. Everything fit beautifully! We returned the car and waited for our flight to board. Our flight ended up being delayed for a few hours, and the plane was pretty small. By the time we landed, I was grumpy and aching and exhausted, but I was home!

K was waiting for me, and he ran up to me and hugged me (gingerly) as soon as he saw me. It was so great to see him again. It reminded me that I still have 5 more weeks off of work to heal, and spend time with him over the holidays. We met up with J and had pizza, and then E and J went to spend some quality time together, and K took me home.

My first shower felt great, but it was unsettling. I was really nervous about taking off the binder, and about K seeing my chest. He was a lot more comfortable with my chest than I was, and he helped me get the binder off, take off the bandages, and got me into the shower. He washed my hair and my back and arms, and then left me to spend some time with my chest. The shower helped a little; I felt more composed and a little calmer when he helped me put the Bacitracin on my incisions and nipples and helped get me re-bound.

I know I needed this surgery; I know I didn’t want breasts. I feel great whenever I have my clothes on. Without my binder on, though, I feel really disconnected from my chest, and really scared. I hope this gets better.

8 days post-op : front view

I hung out with some folks without my binder on, while it was washed. I left the stuff over my nipples, and then took those off right before I re-dressed them. I feel much more in my body.

Today, when I was changing the dressings and showering, I noticed that it does seem like it’s my skin holding my chest together, and not just the sutures, skin glue, and my binder. I’m feeling a lot more connected to my chest, as evidenced by the fact that I didn’t feel queasy while I was unbound and a little afterward. Yay!

8 days post-op : left view

8 days post-op : left nipple

Also, I’m perfecting the art of bandages. Four maxi pads seem to do the trick, and between me and K rearranging them, I can get them in a pretty comfortable place. The super-long “heavy flow” pads seem to be thick enough to make me feel safe, and keep me bound tight.

8 days post-op : right view

8 days post-op : right nipple

December 3, 2008
 

Re:  [birth name]
SS# [social security number]
DOB: [birth date]

To Whom It May Concern:

This letter is in regards to my patient whose date of birth is [birth date].  Psychological and medical testing has been carried out to determine this patient’s true gender.  In the case of [birth name], this was determined to be male.

Sex reassignment surgery has been completed on November 24, 2008 and [birth name] is not of the sex recorded on the original records.

This letter should qualify [birth name] to be legally considered male within the guidelines of the particular jurisdiction in which this individual seeks to legally change his gender status.

I declare under penalty of perjury under the laws of the state of Ohio that the foregoing is true and correct.

Sincerely,

[signature]

Daniel A. Medalie, MD
Assistant Professor of Plastic Surgery
MetroHealth Hospitals and Case Western Reserve University
phone: [number]
fax: [number]

I’m hardly swollen at this point, although I have some faint bruising from the liposuction.  The rest of the skin glue came off today in the shower.  I can only see a couple of sutures left, and a bunch of purple marker that I’ll get off later.    

I could drive as of yesterday.  I’ve also been able to have sex, thanks to creative positioning.

My incisions are narrow, smooth, and pink.

My left areola has almost completely peeled, and it’s that creepy pink color.  My right areola just started shedding that disgusting, gooey grey scab/skin in the shower today, and it’s probably 1/3 pink.  I really hope that after this initial peel, there is no more scabbing/peeling.

The maxi pad bandages drive me absolutely up the wall.  After an hour or so, they itch like mad.  I’ve been spending an increasing amount of time outside of the binder between dressing changes.  So, today, I’m giving myself a break.  I’m covering my nipples, of course, but I’m going to leave off the binder for a few hours.  If I hurt or swell up, then I’ll put it back on.  Otherwise, I think I can handle binding at night and in the evening, but letting my skin breathe in the mornings and afternoons.

Sleeping in my binder and on my back is making me breathe funny–sleep apnea style.  I haven’t been able to fall asleep as fast or stay asleep for long enough since surgery, because I usually sleep on my stomach or on my side.  I’ve almost constructed a way to sleep kinda sorta partially on my side, by putting a pillow under half of my back.  It’s pathetic, but it helps.    

I just went to brunch with K wearing only nipple gauze and some loose shirts.  I felt like I’d left the house without pants.  And kind of angry and mournful about binding and breasts and access to surgery.  It’s so simple to just throw (or gently wrestle) on a shirt and go out.  It’s so painless.

I’m so glad that I’m post-op, even though my chest still freaks me out in its wound-like state, with its numb areas and hypersensitivity, and its limiting effect on my range of motion and reach.  But it’s the best result I’ve seen so far, especially on a chubby guy.  Maybe I only think that because it’s mine, but I think that’s valid.

It’s amazing to think that my medical transition is basically over, since I have no plans for a hysterectomy or genital surgery at this point in time.  I still have to change all my documents over, but that seems really minor after the past year.

21 days post-op : front view

My nipples are doing something that (I hope) amounts to turning back to their more usual brownish color.  My left nipple remains more prominent than my right one.

I stopped using the binder at 17 days post-op; I couldn’t take it anymore.  There’s still some swelling in places and some occasional fluid seeps through what’s left of my scabs.  On my side of the bed, there are little spots of blood and chest goop.

I’m having reactions to the sutures still.  They’re coming to the surface and poking out of the incisions, where I grab them and try to slide them out.  I pulled out like 3″ of suture from my left side a few days ago–which is a record length.  It was awesome and disgusting.

My incisions are thin, but getting redder, which is supposedly normal.  The scars are supposed to be at their reddest and hardest from now until 3 months post-op.K has been great about helping me with scar treatment.  He rubs shea butter on my chest and nipples twice a day.  At first, he was doing it because I was too freaked out by my chest to even look at it. Nowadays, it’s become something of a sweet romantic gesture.

21 days post-op : left view

21 days post-op : left nipple

Nowadays, I can sleep on my side fairly comfortably, so long as I can get my arms and the end of my incision in the right place.  I’m almost comfortable on my belly.

I am so happy with my chest.  It still freaks me out occasionally, but it’s becoming really rare these days.  I love just throwing on a shirt and leaving the house.  And being able to take off my shirt and not be indecent.  And the way I look in shirts, giant belly or not.

21 days post-op : right view

21 days post-op : right nipple

I’m just not stressed when I leave the house anymore.  I’m not in physical pain all the time from binding.  I feel happier than I’ve felt since I can remember.  Now, I’m just waiting anxiously to see the final contour of my chest, and waiting for sensation to come back in a couple of areas that are still holding out.

It’s the best decision I’ve ever made.

6 weeks post-op : front view

I’m going back to work on Tuesday.  At this point, my range of motion is almost completely normal.  I can sleep fairly comfortably on my stomach and sides.

I still have bruises on my sides from the liposuction, but they’re very light; I probably wouldn’t notice if they didn’t hurt sometimes.

I’m still having some gross suture reactions.  A few days ago, I thought I had a chest pimple.  But when I popped it, something like two tablespoons of pus and lymph and chest surgery shit came out of that one single pore.  It was truly disgusting.

The incision lines at the sides of my chest are soft and pliable, so I’m hoping I won’t have dogears.  There are some hard, thick areas of scar tissue on the incision lines below each nipple (the darker section).

Scar treatment remains the same: Palmer’s shea butter twice a day.  I also do some scar massage while in the shower, usually.

6 weeks post-op : left side

6 weeks post-op : left nipple

There’s a bit more fatty tissue on my left side than the right. My right pec is completely flat–almost concave.  If this doesn’t resolve itself over time, I may eventually have a revision.  Of course, everybody says my chest looks perfect; the flaws are only glaring to me.

Sensation seems to be returning slowly.  The left side is no longer hypersensitive, and I’m only numb for about an inch in each direction from my nipple.  My right side isn’t faring as well.  I’m numb from the incisions to a little past my nipple; it’s an area probably 2″ high and 6″ wide.

6 weeks post-op : right side

6 weeks post-op : right nipple

Aesthetically, my nipples seem good. Brown is starting to show up over the pale pink color that was there originally when the scabs came off. I have distinct nipples, although my left one is more pronounced than my right one.

I have a few chest hairs that seem to have survived the grafting and therefore come right through my nipple.  And I don’t mean around the edge of the areola–I mean they’re coming up between my nipple and the areola.  It’s really unsettling, and I hope those follicles die–soon.

6 weeks post-op

I stuck my hand under my hoodie and my shirt just to check on things–usually it’s nothing, or maybe a little bit of fluid from the gross suture reactions which are still happening in a few places along my incisions.

My hand came back covered in blood.  I ran to the bathroom, ripped my shirts off in the stall, and snatched up some toilet paper to catch the blood dripping down my stomach.  There was a lot of blood.  I cleaned up, stopped the bleeding, and shakily left the restroom to find a worried K.

The worst part is that I have no idea why that happened.  I think that there may have been some collected blood under one of the scabs, and it just burst randomly.

While it was disgusting, it fortunately doesn’t seem to have done any damage at all.  It just scared the living shit out of me, grossing me out profoundly in the process.

8 weeks post-op : front view

At 56 days post-op, I feel completely at home with my chest. I have a hard time imagining ever having had breasts, especially when I look at myself in the mirror. All that forcing myself to walk around shirtless has paid off.

I’ve been back at work for 2 weeks. My range of motion is 99% normal. I’m getting antsy to do all the things I couldn’t do before because I was self-conscious about my chest.

For now, I feel very much post-transition. I don’t have the money for a name change quite yet, but that just feels more like cleaning up a small mess after you’ve built something huge and intricate.

I still have some puffiness on my left side, but I’m hoping it will resolve itself over time.  If not, I’ll consider a revision.  

The left side has been healing better than the right side overall.   The scab visible in the left-side photo is the scab from which I poured blood the other day.

8 weeks post-op : left view

8 weeks post-op : left nipple

On the right side, sutures continue to surface, as evidenced by the angry redness in the photos.  I have about three dry, brittle scabs that I’m hoping will clear up soon.  At least the redness is beginning to thin out and remain concentrated around the incision instead of spreading out all over the place like it was doing.

My left nipple is less prominent than it was a few weeks ago.  The pigment is coming back to my areola quite fast.  Where the brown is returning, the nipple is also smoother and less raised than the pink parts.  In creepy news, though, I have a hair coming out of the spot where my nipple meets my areola.  That follicle had better die soon if it knows what’s good for it. 

8 weeks post-op : right view

8 weeks post-op : right nipple

No weird hairs coming out of my right nipple, though, thankfully.  There’s less pigment returning in this one, and it remains pretty raised.  I’m not too worried, though, since this one held onto its goo-scab for a lot longer than its easterly counterpart.

3 months post-op : front view

At this point, I consider my chest fully healed.  I’m finally comfortable doing all of the things I did pre-op.  I sleep on my stomach, I can reach high above my head, and I can lift heavy objects.

I had thought all the sutures had been excised, but I discovered one last centimeter a week or so ago.  It came out when I was scratching an itch on my left side.

Already, some sections of my scars have faded significantly.  The areas that bore the brunt of the suture reactions are red and slightly raised.  I’m worrying about it, of course, but I’m trying to bear in mind that this is supposedly the time when my scars are at the height of their thickness and redness.  Hopefully, it’ll all be downhill from here.

3 months post-op : left view

3 months post-op : left nipple

During showers, I massage my chest firmly, making sure to move the skin in all different directions.  I’m hoping this will increase blood flow and encourage nerve regrowth, as well as break down and smooth out the scar tissue.

3 months post-op : right view

3 months post-op : right nipple

I’m continually reminding myself that although I’m past the initial stages of healing, I should expect my chest to improve over the long-term.  Anecdotal evidence suggests that sensation returns over a period of years.  It’s much too soon to tell if I’ve suffered permanent nerve damage.  Much of my right pec is still numb, although I can usually feel pressure.  My left pec is a bit better, but nowhere near where I’d like to be.

From now on, my chest surgery updates will consist mostly of photos, unless I have something of particular substance to report.

4 months post-op : front view

At day 120 post-op, almost half of my incisions are mostly flat and pale pink.  There are a few pretty red areas, and there is a short segment on my right incision, under my nipple, that’s quite raised and red.

Contrast and redness are exagerrated in photos, especially in the case of my nipples.

I’ve been slacking a bit on the scar treatment; I’m down to shea butter once every day.

Almost all color has returned to my nipples. I’ve been thinking of getting my right nipple pierced at some point, because it’s not quite as perfect as my left nipple, and I suspect it’d distract from their differences.

4 months post-op : left view

4 months post-op : left nipple

4 months post-op : right view

4 months post-op : right nipple

My partner, K, decided to go back to omnivorism recently, and I’ve mostly joined him.  I’ve distinctly noticed a couple of things, though, about maleness and food.

First, whenever I order something vegetarian and K (who is usually perceived as female, FYI) orders something with meat in it, I am usually offered the meat dish.  This has happened twice in two days.  The first time, with a barbecue sandwich at a pizza place, and the next time today at a local Thai restaurant–both places which we frequent, and where I’ve consistently ordered vegetarian meals.

Vegetarianism is very, very feminized.  It makes me feel weird to eat meat, in a strange way.  It makes me feel like I’m butching up.  Even though I really, really like chicken and fish.

Also, people assume things that they didn’t assume before.  At Panera, the cashier assumed I wanted chips with my meal, instead of the other options.  When folks thought I was female, that rarely happened.  This might’ve been a coincidence, but I suspect that the cashier wouldn’t have assumed that a woman would automatically choose the least healthy/low-fat side option.

Weird.

5 months post-op : front view

It’s 153 days post-op. At this point, I don’t really mark the passage of time anymore. I am certainly not taking my new chest for granted, though. We don’t really get a spring down here; it’s always just summer all of a sudden. 

I’m not completely comfortable having my shirt off around strangers yet, but I occasionally drive home from work without a shirt on, or scurry out to check the mail in only some pajama bottoms.

But there’s nothing like walking or riding a bike or sitting outside on a hot day without four layers of lycra binding down over 6lbs of breast tissue.

5 months post-op : left side

5 months post-op : left nipple

Additionally, I think I’m starting to regain some sensation in my right nipple–although just barely. The only feeling I get is slight pain/discomfort when it’s pinched or rubbed firmly, such as when I am massaging shea butter onto my chest.

5 months post-op : right view

5 months post-op : right nipple

There’s a spot on my left nipple (just where the nipple meets the areola) which tends to be irritated due to a single hair that tries to push through in that area.

I don’t know when I became uncomfortable describing myself as “FTM”. I’m not sure if it’s internalized transphobia, but it might be (although, I have no trouble describing myself as “trans”). It just doesn’t feel like an honest way to describe my experience.

I was a lesbian-identified bisexual, and that feels fine to say. But “female” is something that was put on me, from the beginning. I chose gender words I was comfortable with, of which tomgirl remains my favorite. I think that one of the reasons I’ve lost interest in being a part of most trans panels and the like is that I don’t want to refer to myself as “FTM” or “female-to-male” or any of that other nonsense.

I had originally thought that I would be able to pick up the forms to file for a name change at my county’s courthouse. Wrong. They couldn’t even suggest where I could find those forms. My understanding is that this is because employees of the court are unable to offer anything that could possibly be construed as “legal advice”. My suspicion is that this is to discourage pro se representation. Like many people seeking name changes, I am unable to afford a lawyer; even if I could, a legal name change is a fairly simple process, even with these procedural hurdles.

After some extensive searching, I came across a free Family Law resource from the Legal Aid Society of Orange County. The online application took me step-by-step through the process of filling out and filing for a name change in my state. I was surprised to come across this free resource, since most others I found cost at least $50.

The Forms:

The first form was the “Petition To Change Name (Of An Adult)”. I filled out my then legal name, some personal information (address, phone number, county of residence, etc.), and my new name. Then, I was asked to provide the reason I sought a name change. I stated that I had used my new name professionally and personally for over two years, and that I am changing my name to conform to common use. To my knowledge, there is no reason to mention gender identity or transition status in your petition. Then, I certified that I was not changing my name with the intent to defrauding another of any rights (namely, the right to any money that I owe them) by signing and dating the form.

The next form was the “Verification”, in which one of the court’s notary publics would confirm that I had appeared in court on that date, swearing under oath that the information I presented in my petition was correct. I filled out the name and date in advance, but I was to wait and sign the “Verification” in front of the notary.

Then, I filled out the “Notice Of Petition To Change Name”. This was the text of the ad I would have to run in my county’s newspaper. This legal notice had to be published in the court-approved newspaper once a week for 4 weeks. I provided my then legal name, the date I filed my petition, and my new name. The ad also instructed anyone who wanted to object to my name change to appear in court within 30 days of my filing.

Finally, I filled out the “Final Decree Changing The Name Of An Adult”. This would be the Court Order changing my name, in which the judge asserts that everything appears to have been in order, my ad ran for a month, and there have been no objections filed. It decrees that my name shall be changed from my old name to my new name (I filled out my old and new name in the blanks), and that I’m not allowed to use the name change to defraud anybody of their rights. There was a space for the judge to date and sign the decree. According to the folks working in the Superior Court Clerk’s office, this saved me a good bit of time in the end, since the judge only had to sign the document.

The Legwork:

In late March, I brought all four of those forms to my county courthouse and went upstairs to the Clerk of Courts (which, apparently, is the same thing as the Superior Court Clerk). A notary looked over everything, confirmed that everything looked in order, and put it all in a folder. She signed my “Verification” form, and then I paid her $82–$80 for court filing fees and $2 for the notary. I was told to call back in about a week (they were busy) to get my case number.

A week later, I called and got my case number. Then, I realized that I’d left my “Notice Of Petition To Change Name” with the notary (I’m not sure whether I was supposed to or not). I printed out a new one, and went off to place my ad in the paper. I was directed to a very nice woman whose entire job seems to be to oversee legal notices. She took my “Notice…” and looked it over to make sure it seemed right, and then directed me to sit in the lobby and wait for her to type it up.

She brought it out after about 15 minutes and asked me to confirm the information, which I did. I probably should’ve looked more closely at the rest of the text because she had actually made a minor typo, but it doesn’t seem to have mattered in the least. I then paid her $80 to run the ad. She wrote the dates during which the ad would run on my copy of the ad. She said that I’d be mailed a “Publisher’s Affidavit” after the ad had run for the last time.

In late April, I received the “Publisher’s Affidavit” in the mail, complete with a little newspaper clipping of my ad. This was to verify for the judge that I had run the ad. I brought it back to the courthouse and dropped it off with another notary at the Clerk of Courts. She told me to call back in a few days to make sure it had all been taken care of. Once that was finished, I could stop by the Clerk’s again, where I could get as many certified copies of my name change decree as I wanted for $2.50 per copy.

I was surprised and pleased to learn that, in my county, a petitioner for a name change is not required to appear before a judge. On April 29th, 2009 my name change was legalized. I paid for 5 notarized copies of the “Final Decree”.

Driver’s License:

On May 5th, 2009, my partner came with me to the county DMV. I brought with me notarized copies of both my surgeon’s letter and my name change. At the desk, one employee looked at my documents to make sure I had all the required documentation. Then, she gave me a paper with a number on it, as well as a form and instructed me to fill it out with my new name, address, and gender.

My number got called before I could even begin filling out the paperwork. The woman at the counter was polite and no-nonsense. I filled out my form while she examined my documents and license. I gave her the completed form and she returned my documents and license. She confirmed my new name and address (thankfully, she never used my old name), gave me back my number and the form (which now had her stamp on it) and told me that my number would be called again in a few minutes, and that when I got my new license, I should double check that everything had been changed correctly before I left.

A couple of minutes later, I was called up to a new desk. A woman asked for my number, my stamped form, and my license. She typed the new information into her computer and told me that my new license would be free. Apparently, in my state, driver’s are allowed one free corrected license. I’m sure it’s typically for address changes, or for name changes due to marriage, but I guess it applies in this instance too. I was told to sit down and my name would be called.

A new picture of me was taken, which surprises me, since I still look like myself, although I was only a few months on testosterone when my last picture was taken. As with all driver’s license pictures since the beginning of time, the camera operator took the picture before I had any idea what was going on. Minutes later, I was leaving the DMV with my new license in hand.

Social Security:

On May 14, I arrived at the Federal Building with my new driver’s license, a notarized copy of the court order for my name change, and my surgeon’s letter. Just in case, I also had brought my original birth certificate and my old social security card. I waited about 20 minutes in the Social Security Administration office, before an older man took me back to his cubicle.

When I said I needed to correct the name and gender on my records, he said “Dare I ask why?” I was very nervous that he would keep me from changing my records. While he was typing in my new information, he asked me personal questions about my transition. I think he noticed that I was uncomfortable, so he assured me that he was asking out of personal curiosity, rather than as an employee of the SSA. I relaxed a bit, and he told me all about that Discovery Health documentary about intersex folks, and his neighbor with prostate cancer that’s on estrogen therapy, and about how brave I am for doing what I’m doing.

Twenty minutes later, he wished me luck, and I left the building. A paper in my new name assured me that my new social security card would arrive within two weeks, and instructed me to destroy the old one upon receipt of the new one.

Selective Service:

People who were assigned female at birth are exempt from registering for the Selective Service. I could have chosen to request a Status Information Letter, which would tell anyone who needed to know (such as some potential employers, or a financial aid office) why I hadn’t registered. This is the only option for trans men who became legally male for selective service purposes after their 26th birthday.

Since I’m still a few years shy of 26, getting an exemption seemed to me a lot of hassle for no reason. On May 15, I visited the Selective Service’s website, and registered. It only took about 30 seconds. On May 30, I got my selective service card in the mail. In the event of a draft, I would be found unfit to serve anyway due to my trans status–which is fine by me.

Birth Certificate & Passport:

I haven’t changed these yet.  To change my birth certificate, I will need to submit copies of my surgeon’s letter and my court order, along with a copy of my social security card, driver’s license, and $25.

I’ve never had a passport, so instead of changing anything, I’ll just be applying for a new passport with only my new information.

Bank:

I had gone in to my bank’s local branch on May 1, 2009 to have my name changed on my accounts. I wanted to change my account information as soon as possible, so that I could have my checks and my debit card be in my new name. This was especially important because I didn’t want to have a bank card that had a girl name on it, and an ID that didn’t match.

I am friendly with the cashiers, and they know my situation. Their procedure had recently changed, and the head cashier could supposedly change my name herself, having seen my court order, without me needing to speak to one of the branch managers. Everything went through, and I went home. I got a call a few hours later from one of the branch managers, who left a message asking me to call back.

Apparently, the maintenance order to change my name was returned. They thought at first that I would have to close all my accounts and re-open them. I was pretty pissed, because I figured that this wouldn’t be happening if I weren’t trans and were just changing my name after a marriage or divorce.

After playing phone tag for a week, I went back into to local branch after work on May 8. I brought my court order and my surgeon’s letter, just in case. This time, she made copies of my new ID and my court order. This way, they could process the change even though I hadn’t changed my social security records yet.

After about a week, I noticed that the correct name was shown on my online banking account. My cards and checks arrived in the mail soon afterwards.

College Transcripts:

On May 19, I went to my former university’s registrar’s office to change my records, and to have a transcript sent to my future school in the correct name. I filled out a small form while one of the Registrar’s employees made a copy of my new ID. He stapled the two together, stuck them in a box, and entered my new information into the computer. After paying for the transcript I requested, he assured me that it’d be sent out tomorrow in my new name. The whole process took about 5 minutes, and it took effect immediately.

Employer & Health Insurance:

I work for one of the largest US corporations, so I had to fill out a form and fax it in to corporate. My name was changed in the system within a week, and they forwarded my updated name and gender to my health insurance, who promptly sent me new ID cards.

Credit Reporting Agencies and Creditors:

I wrote a formal letter to Experian, TransUnion, and Equifax, identifying myself by my old name, my social security number, my birth date, and my address. I gave them my updated information, and a copy of the court order for my name change. Equifax sent a letter to me in return, asking that I provide a copy of a state or federally issued photo ID in my new name, which I sent them. My name was changed on all accounts with no further issue.

I sent the same formal letter (with the minor addition of my account numbers) to my creditors, and my name changed on most of my accounts by the next mailing.

PayPal:

PayPal has an online form for changing the name on my account. I submitted scanned copies of my court order and driver’s license, and my name was changed within a few days.

Utilities:

The Water Business Office made a copy of my new driver’s license and the court order, and my name was changed in their system and I was out the door in less than 5 minutes.

Another shot day.  It feels like it’s every fucking day.  If Nebido (or whatever they’re going to call testosterone undecanoate, since the FDA has decided that “Nebido” is an unsuitable name) is approved on September 2, and if it’s available right then (obviously not the case), then I’ll have 10 shots left, including today’s.

I wonder how long it takes for newly-approved drugs to be covered by insurance companies.  I can only imagine how much each dose will/would cost me out-of-pocket.

But whatever it is, I’d find a way to pay it.  An 8-12 week shot cycle.  Can you imagine?!  That is–at minimum–two months without having to do the grunt work of maintaining this body.

I wonder sometimes, about what would happen if I just stopped doing shots.  Would I lose my beard?  My back hair?  Would my voice rise a bit?  Would I lose some of my belly?  Would I get weaker?  Would my anxiety increase?  Would I have a regular period?

I don’t know if I could handle menstruating again.  I didn’t mind it too much when I did it every month, but now the idea freaks me out, kind of a lot.

If a long-lasting injection isn’t an option, I’ve been looking into TestoPel, which is the only FDA approved testosterone pellet.  The only doctors who do it nearby are urologists.  They’re covered by my insurance, but I don’t know whether they would be willing to treat a trans male patient.  It would be quite expensive, considering I’d have to have a lot of blood work done at first, plus whatever the cost of the medication is and the cost of the procedure.  I’m going to get as much information as I can, though, because more options is better.  Supposedly, each dose can last up to 6 months.

Options like this would, I think, improve my quality of life significantly.

6 months post-op : front view

Today is 190 days post-op.  I’ve got sensation, at least a little bit, in most of my chest now, with the exception of my nipples and the area between my nipples and scars.  It’s improving slowly over time.

I actually got a zit/ingrown hair under my areola sometime last month.  It was really gross, and I got irrationally afraid of my nipple being fucked up permanently.  It’s fine now, of course, but I hope it never happens again.

6 months post-op : left view

6 months post-op : left nipple

There are only a few tiny bits of my areola that are lacking pigment.

6 months post-op : right view

6 months post-op : right nipple

Updates will no longer be monthly, as there is not much to see or say. Expect another at either the nine-month or one-year mark.

I finally feel like the bulk of my transition is behind me.  I’m moving on with my life, and trans-related stuff is taking a backseat to other things.

I’m finally back in school, working towards an Associate’s Degree in Nursing at my local technical college.  My tuition and fees are covered by scholarships and the Pell Grant, and my Granny is giving me extra money each month so that I can afford to work less hours and go to school full-time.  I’ve not disclosed my trans status to anybody at school, and it’s been a really affirming and amazing experience so far.

I’m planning on writing a post at some point about my changing attitudes towards disclosure/non-disclosure.

I think that over the past few months, my body has changed some–it’s barely perceptible, but I’ve noticed.  My voice has lowered somewhat.  My usual speaking voice hasn’t changed, but I’m able to talk in a deeper register more comfortably these days.  Also, I’m able to hit lower notes when I’m singing now than I could a few months ago.

The hair above and below my lips is starting to fill in more darkly.  I should have a full beard before long.  These days, I tend to wear a short beard, with my mustache and “soul patch” shaved off.  I think it suits me pretty well–much better than the sideburns/goatee thing I wore for so long.  The beard is somehow more feminine, and I like the way it looks combined with my hair, which I’m growing out.

I got the results back from the lab work I had done in late September on the 4th day of my 10-day shot cycle; my serum testosterone level was 314 ng/dL, which is on the lower end of normal.  I’ve been on 100mg every 10 days for my entire time on HRT, so I’ve decided to experiment with a  140mg/10-day cycle (which is pretty close to the standard dose of 200mg/14-days) to see if I experience an increase in energy or a more stable mood.  I’ve only done one dose this way so far, so we’ll see how it goes.

Two years ago, I couldn’t imagine wanting to be “stealth” in any part of my life.  Being trans occupied a lot of my time and energy, and it was a really important part of my identity.  Neither of those things are true now.

Back then, though, I couldn’t escape it.  Every time I got dressed, or answered the phone, or introduced myself, I had to think about it.  Whenever I met someone new, I had to weigh the pros and cons of telling them.  If they knew, then there was a chance that they might respect my name and pronouns.  If they didn’t, I wouldn’t have to worry about being on the receiving end of transphobia, or suddenly being asked to do Trans 101.  That’s a lot to deal with when you  really just wanted to do some local volunteering.

Because it was such a big part of my life, and because cis people couldn’t really relate to most of the things I was going through, finding community with other trans people was a huge priority.  It was really affirming to go someplace and be asked what pronouns I use, or to not have people assume they heard me wrong when I introduced myself (“Kayla?”).

At the time, the most ideal situation I could imagine was to have somebody know that I was trans, and respect my identity anyway.  Today, things are completely different.  When I’m getting dressed, I don’t have to squeeze myself into a binder; I don’t think about whether the pattern of my shirts minimizes the size of my chest.  People automatically assign me the correct pronouns, and no one is surprised by my name when I introduce myself.

At first, it felt like I was getting away with something when people respected my identity.  I felt like I was “passing” as male.  Once the novelty wore off, though, I was simply left feeling comfortable.  Much of my social anxiety disappeared.  I still let most people I met socially know that I was trans, but it was primarily just out of habit.

I’ve gotten really used to being treated simply as male, without any scarequotes or footnotes.  And the longer I live this way, the more right it feels for me.  My transition is over for the foreseeable future, and my body dysphoria has lessened significantly since my chest surgery.  At this point, my trans-ness exists as a treatable medical condition that is essentially no different from male hypogonadism.

Eventually, disclosing my trans status (or having my trans status disclosed) to acquaintances started feeling less comfortable.  I began noticing that I was treated differently by folks who knew my medical history–and not in a way that made me feel more understood and respected.  I started to feel like it actually limited people’s ability to understand me.  For example, most folks (who don’t know I’m trans) attribute my femininity to my queerness.  So do I.  I look, speak, and act like an effeminate queer man because I am one.  Instead of taking my gender expression for what it is, many people who know my trans status assume that it’s really some sort of residual femaleness.

In actuality, I don’t feel that I ever was female, and I don’t think that most things have anything whatsoever to do with my transness.  But as soon as most cis people are made aware that my birth assignment isn’t what they had expected, they relate pretty much everything back to my being trans.  Learning “the truth” tends to bring them further away from really understanding and respecting me than they would’ve been had they not found out.

When I enrolled in school back in September, I enrolled without disclosing my history to anyone. It hasn’t come up, and it hasn’t felt relevant to bring it up.  Sure, there are lots of opportunities to tell people.  I just don’t see a reason to.  I get plenty of chances to talk about being a survivor of family violence, too, but that’s hardly ever relevant, either.  People can get to know me professionally and personally without ever knowing many intimate details of my life.  They might be surprised if they learn some of those things later on, but people are always finding out what happens when they make assumptions about other people’s experiences.

Not so very long ago, I thought that it’d be dishonest for me to interact closely with someone and not disclose–that I’d be hiding something, or lying about my past or present.  Instead, I feel like I’m being seen for who I am, without other people’s misconceptions about gender or transition getting in my way, for the first time in my life.  It feels great.

As my life has gotten busier, my involvement in local and online trans community is taking a backseat to other considerations.  I don’t know to what extent I’ll be “out” or “stealth” in the future, but I suspect I will always keep my medical history private at work in school.  At this point, most of my close friends know my history, but I can’t even remember the last time I disclosed to a cis person outside of an activism setting (actually, it was probably when I corrected my Social Security information).  If this trend continues, I might eventually find myself almost completely stealth.  It’s still not something I’m particularly looking for, but I’m certainly not opposed.

After 26 months on a 10-day injection cycle, I’ve decided to switch to a 14-day schedule.  The few shots that I’ve missed have never had a noticeable effect on me, and I feel like my body is pretty stable… so, I figure, the fewer shots, the better.  I’ve had more than 80 shots since 2007.

Aveed (the new name for Nebido/testosterone undecanoate) is still stuck in FDA limbo, and I’ve slowly started to prefer the idea of the implant to long-term injections.  Namely, Testopel would minimize highs and lows in my testosterone levels, and after the initial start-up cost, I suspect that the cost and maintenance would be about equal to (if not less than) Aveed or Cypionate.

However, I’m waiting to explore these options until this summer, when things with school and work have calmed down significantly.  If the doctor in my area won’t treat me, I’m fairly positive that the urologist in the next town over will.