I spent the night at my parent's place on Christmas Eve. My friend, Anika, made super delicious Indian food with my brother. We all gobbled it up before dashing off to the extended family party. My grandma ended up giving me a massive pile of really interesting, progressive books. She had some in a box already and also let me pick some from her shelf. She gave me The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins, Ain't Nobody's Business: The Absurdity of Consensual Crimes, The Subjection of Women by John Stuart Mill, The Humanist Alternative, Middlesex, one about the history of conservative thought, a slew of feminist books... she also gave me a book of poetry from an older woman named Ethal who she wants me to meet soon after reading it. Apparently this woman is about 88 years old, lives in Salt Lake City, and is "the most radical woman" my grandmother has ever known. I'm excited to read it and to meet this Ethal!
And to think, my grandma and grandpa were raised LDS, were LDS when they raised my pops, and now my grandma is here giving me communist, atheist, and feminist books! Who'd a thunk? It's the best!
After visiting the extended family's we went to see these be-dazzling Christmas lights in Murray. For years this feller there has been setting up this mega elaborate Christmas light display in his yard where he also broadcasts music to 99.9 FM (you pick it up when you get within a certain radius of his house) that correlates with the light show. Very, very neat.
Finally Christmas morning rolled around. I went out for coffee with my pops and the family pup, Ganymede, then returned home once everyone was up and ready. Various Christmasy things ensued. My mom put corny Christmas music on, we opened presents, played Uno, ate leftovers. My parents got me this uber intense "Bulldog" megaphone, which my mom explained by saying, "Harvey Milk had one!" Ha! So cute! I also got a Lifesaver Candy Book, which my brother and I receive every.single.year. It takes me about a year to eat them all.
Injection Time
Eventually 1pm'ish rolled around and it was injection time. I got into my overnight bag and grabbed a syringe, an alcohol wipe to cleanse the area, my T prescription, a Band-Aid™, and headed off to the bathroom. My first injection was done by my hormone doctor who made it look much easier than it panned out to be. This second one was slotted to be my first self-injection. I was told that I could inject it into any muscle, preferably my tricep, bicep, thigh, or butt. She had injected it into my tricep and said, "Most guys who come in here are scrawny, little things. But you're a big meaty guy, so you'll be fine sticking it in your thigh!"
I chose my right thigh as the injection point because it seems to me like it would be the easiest to self-inject:
When push came to shove and I'd exposed the needle of the syringe, it suddenly looked a lot longer and more intimidating than the syringe my hormone doctor had used. My hand started to quiver. I asked my dad if he wouldn't mind coming in to the bathroom with me since this was the first time. He was also surprised by the length of the needle and joked, "That's going to go right into your bone!" This wasn't helping, not one bit. (On a side note, I was surprised that I experienced any fear with self-injection. My doctor told me that some of her clients come in to have her inject it, and they bring her coffee or something to thank her. At the time I thought, "What wimps, it's just a needle!" Low and behold...)
I tried to suck some of the Testosterone into the syringe and when nothing would budge, we suspected it may be the syringe and got another. Our luck with the second syringe wasn't much better and my dad ended up tilting the bottle of T upside down, injecting the needle upwards into it, and slowly sucking back, allowing the super thick, goopy T to sort of drip down into the syringe.
At first the syringe was FULL of air bubbles, so my dad pushed the T goop back into the bottle, pushed out one big air bubble, then tried it again. This time it was pretty solid, thick, and air bubble free, so I cleansed the an area of my thigh with the alcohol wipe, pinched it, and my dad slid the needle in. It didn't hurt and went in easily. He then slowly injected the T. Nothing went wrong.
I'm thinking it will be easier for me to do it myself next time now that I know what to expect. I put a little Band-Aid™ on. Later in the evening my dad joked that the needle had, in fact, gone through my entire thigh and that the T had squirt out on to the floor. He also commented, "I think I'm part of a very small club now. I don't know of too many fathers who have injected their daughters with testosterone." Ha! True, true story.
After Anika, my brother and his girlfriend had frolicked off, my parents and I went out to grab some Chinese food. I LOVE GOING TO CHINESE RESTAURANTS ON CHRISTMAS.
Yesterday I spoke with my Grandma for a bit on the phone and out of the blue she said something about my ear lobes. "You've ruined your ear lobes! Those will never close up! It's just hawrable!", and it turned out that she wasn't bothered by them in person with the jewelry in, but, "That picture in your blog, with those big holes in your lobes. It's just awful!" My grandma has been reading my blog! She then told me that she will be excited to see me grow a beard, muttered on about my awful, hawrable ear lobes some more, then continued, "Honey, I'm just worried about your safety, especially now that you'll be going into men's locker rooms and men's restrooms and such. There are a lot of dangerous, violent men in the world, and I just want you to be safe." She then asked, "Oh, is it okay to call you honey?", to which I replied, "You can call me honey all you want, grammy. Honey bean. Honey pod. Sweetie poo. Your little nugget. Little honey nugget. Anything!" Is it just a universal, by the way, that grandma's hate stretched ear lobes more than anything?
My dad expressed the same concern, about my safety. He mentioned that it's one thing to be mistaken for a man in a woman's restroom and to have someone run off and call security, but it may be another thing altogether to be alone in a men's restroom and found out as a transgender person. I told him that everything will be fine and that I'm happy. And most importantly, I'm surrounded by a lot of love and support from people who care about and support me. And also that violent, discriminatory, hateful people exist and the only way to confront that is to be out, open, and positive. Things change. Even in Utah.
Speaking of bathrooms, I did have an entertaining incident in a public women's restroom on Christmas. I scurried in and darted to one of the stalls without incident. While I was washing my hands, a woman walked in, literally stopped dead in her tracks, clutched her chest, and gasped loudly. I smiled and said, "Oh, hello!" She appeared relieved, but frazzled, then stumbled off into one of the stalls. This sort of thing isn't new for me, but it's possible that soon here my voice isn't going to be my saving grace anymore.
p.s. My adorable parents got me a camera for Christmas, which I'm now using to "photo document" changes. They went out of their way to get it for me specifically to show that they support me, and so that I could document changes. I'm so lucky and spoiled. Thanks 'rents!
And to think, my grandma and grandpa were raised LDS, were LDS when they raised my pops, and now my grandma is here giving me communist, atheist, and feminist books! Who'd a thunk? It's the best!
After visiting the extended family's we went to see these be-dazzling Christmas lights in Murray. For years this feller there has been setting up this mega elaborate Christmas light display in his yard where he also broadcasts music to 99.9 FM (you pick it up when you get within a certain radius of his house) that correlates with the light show. Very, very neat.
Finally Christmas morning rolled around. I went out for coffee with my pops and the family pup, Ganymede, then returned home once everyone was up and ready. Various Christmasy things ensued. My mom put corny Christmas music on, we opened presents, played Uno, ate leftovers. My parents got me this uber intense "Bulldog" megaphone, which my mom explained by saying, "Harvey Milk had one!" Ha! So cute! I also got a Lifesaver Candy Book, which my brother and I receive every.single.year. It takes me about a year to eat them all.
Injection Time
Eventually 1pm'ish rolled around and it was injection time. I got into my overnight bag and grabbed a syringe, an alcohol wipe to cleanse the area, my T prescription, a Band-Aid™, and headed off to the bathroom. My first injection was done by my hormone doctor who made it look much easier than it panned out to be. This second one was slotted to be my first self-injection. I was told that I could inject it into any muscle, preferably my tricep, bicep, thigh, or butt. She had injected it into my tricep and said, "Most guys who come in here are scrawny, little things. But you're a big meaty guy, so you'll be fine sticking it in your thigh!"
I chose my right thigh as the injection point because it seems to me like it would be the easiest to self-inject:
When push came to shove and I'd exposed the needle of the syringe, it suddenly looked a lot longer and more intimidating than the syringe my hormone doctor had used. My hand started to quiver. I asked my dad if he wouldn't mind coming in to the bathroom with me since this was the first time. He was also surprised by the length of the needle and joked, "That's going to go right into your bone!" This wasn't helping, not one bit. (On a side note, I was surprised that I experienced any fear with self-injection. My doctor told me that some of her clients come in to have her inject it, and they bring her coffee or something to thank her. At the time I thought, "What wimps, it's just a needle!" Low and behold...)
I tried to suck some of the Testosterone into the syringe and when nothing would budge, we suspected it may be the syringe and got another. Our luck with the second syringe wasn't much better and my dad ended up tilting the bottle of T upside down, injecting the needle upwards into it, and slowly sucking back, allowing the super thick, goopy T to sort of drip down into the syringe.
At first the syringe was FULL of air bubbles, so my dad pushed the T goop back into the bottle, pushed out one big air bubble, then tried it again. This time it was pretty solid, thick, and air bubble free, so I cleansed the an area of my thigh with the alcohol wipe, pinched it, and my dad slid the needle in. It didn't hurt and went in easily. He then slowly injected the T. Nothing went wrong.
I'm thinking it will be easier for me to do it myself next time now that I know what to expect. I put a little Band-Aid™ on. Later in the evening my dad joked that the needle had, in fact, gone through my entire thigh and that the T had squirt out on to the floor. He also commented, "I think I'm part of a very small club now. I don't know of too many fathers who have injected their daughters with testosterone." Ha! True, true story.
After Anika, my brother and his girlfriend had frolicked off, my parents and I went out to grab some Chinese food. I LOVE GOING TO CHINESE RESTAURANTS ON CHRISTMAS.
Yesterday I spoke with my Grandma for a bit on the phone and out of the blue she said something about my ear lobes. "You've ruined your ear lobes! Those will never close up! It's just hawrable!", and it turned out that she wasn't bothered by them in person with the jewelry in, but, "That picture in your blog, with those big holes in your lobes. It's just awful!" My grandma has been reading my blog! She then told me that she will be excited to see me grow a beard, muttered on about my awful, hawrable ear lobes some more, then continued, "Honey, I'm just worried about your safety, especially now that you'll be going into men's locker rooms and men's restrooms and such. There are a lot of dangerous, violent men in the world, and I just want you to be safe." She then asked, "Oh, is it okay to call you honey?", to which I replied, "You can call me honey all you want, grammy. Honey bean. Honey pod. Sweetie poo. Your little nugget. Little honey nugget. Anything!" Is it just a universal, by the way, that grandma's hate stretched ear lobes more than anything?
My dad expressed the same concern, about my safety. He mentioned that it's one thing to be mistaken for a man in a woman's restroom and to have someone run off and call security, but it may be another thing altogether to be alone in a men's restroom and found out as a transgender person. I told him that everything will be fine and that I'm happy. And most importantly, I'm surrounded by a lot of love and support from people who care about and support me. And also that violent, discriminatory, hateful people exist and the only way to confront that is to be out, open, and positive. Things change. Even in Utah.
Speaking of bathrooms, I did have an entertaining incident in a public women's restroom on Christmas. I scurried in and darted to one of the stalls without incident. While I was washing my hands, a woman walked in, literally stopped dead in her tracks, clutched her chest, and gasped loudly. I smiled and said, "Oh, hello!" She appeared relieved, but frazzled, then stumbled off into one of the stalls. This sort of thing isn't new for me, but it's possible that soon here my voice isn't going to be my saving grace anymore.
p.s. My adorable parents got me a camera for Christmas, which I'm now using to "photo document" changes. They went out of their way to get it for me specifically to show that they support me, and so that I could document changes. I'm so lucky and spoiled. Thanks 'rents!
I hate needles.
ReplyDeleteHate.
Needles.
thank you for that lovely visual of the thigh area. i can tell it is pretty close to what your thigh looks like.
ReplyDeleteI always thought the peezee is a good item to have. Public bathrooms are just ew anyhow and dropping trou along long stretches of rural montana highway can be most embarassing when you can't really stop, pick up pants, and hold it until some 18-wheeler full of cattle passes by.
ReplyDeletehttp://pee-zees.tripod.com/
dscokween: Ooo, I've never heard of the peezee before. Looks pretty spiffy. Thanks.
ReplyDeleteI was considering getting something from DJ Knows Dicks, however, since the bright yellow of the Peezee might stand out a bit at a urinal. Then again, you could also stand to pee at a toilet in a stall. Hmm!