Injection Day went very well and it was definitely the trans bonanza I'd hyped it up to be. The support group was good. It didn't feel like there was enough time and it's only my second time going, but so far it's really comforting and nice to just be around others who are going through different, yet very similar, experiences. It feels safe, reassuring, helpful.
Immediately after the support group there was the TransAction (a local trans-advocacy group) meeting, where there were an amazing amount of people - around 20-30. It's refreshing to be around so many others who care about the "T" portion of LGBQT and really desire to see more education, visibility, and bridge building in regards to it.
So yes, that was super spiffy. Then Jude and I went to dinner and stuffed ourselves silly. Well, more like I did while she hung on to whatever scraps she could. I've been VERY good at controlling my ravenous appetite. Or so I think, anyway... or I'll claim. Gina showed up and expressed bundles of enthusiasm in regards to wanting to be there during my injection, so we went to her place (which was just down the street) where I got my hormone goods ready (vial of T, syringe, alcohol wipes...), then we sat on her bed and watched the little injection video on my blog to get all hyped up and prepared.
On to the bathroom, where I dropped my pants. This turned out to be entirely premature because it took FOREVER to get the thick, goopy testosterone into the syringe, even after Jude rolled it between hiz hands for some time to warm it up. Currently I just have a slew of 25g needles, but I'm going to ask the pharmacy about getting some 18g needles just for the initial getting-T-into-syringe portion. Then I could attach the 25g head for the actual injection.
Jude and I spent some time tilting the bottle (while I'm sitting there with my pants down on the toilet, lid down), tapping the syringe to get the air bubbles to rise to the top, pushing them out, sucking more T in, repeating that process... repeatedly. Eventually, after much patience, the T was in the syringe. This really shouldn't be the most difficult part of the process, but I think it just might be.
I then wiped the injection point on my thigh with a little alcohol wipe, held the syringe, pointed the needle towards the injection point... closer... closer... just an inch away... and then.... started to shake. Gah! Much less this time, but still. Jude, my mighty backup plan, then took the syringe and after a lot of "Just stick it in! Like a dart! It'll slide in like it's butta!" and her whimpering and my looking away and Gina pressed against the wall all wide-eyed, the needle went in. Easily, painlessly. However, Jude got a little excited about making sure all of the T had gone in and continued to press down, so I took the syringe, double-checked it had all been injected, then slid it out and put a little Band-Aid™ on.
It really is bewildering to me that my hand starts to shake in regards to self-injecting. I've been pierced a gazillion + 1 times. I've been dermal punched and scalpeled. I've donated plasma. I've had shots. But, there's something about my sliding a long, thin needle in to my thigh, in to all of that muscle tissue... it makes my stomach knot up a little and causes my hand to shake. It feels like I'm violating a very strong instinct to NOT self-harm.
It reminds me of having the hardest time putting contacts in for Halloween the year before last. I was hell bent and determined to do this since, what is a zombie without horrible veiny diseased zombie eyes? So I go to the eye doctor to get a prescription for my special FX contacts. He hands me some sample contacts to place in. Next thing I know, the second my finger would get near my eye ball, I'd start to gag. Literally. So I'd try again. Gag. He ended up sticking them in for me, which was an excruciating process.
THEN comes the worst part - removal. He tells me, "It's no problem! Just slide the contact over to the white part of your eye and pinch. It will be a piece of cake!" After trying, gagging, tear oozing, he sends in the hot receptionist I'd been attempting to flirt with earlier to get them out for me. Oy'. This encouraged me to do my best to NOT look like a wimp, but, despite this incentive, it ended with me sitting in a chair and her leaning over me, my head pressed back against the wall, gagging, breathing rapidly, tears dripping down my face, and PoP! contacts come out.
After this, I still bought those special FX contacts. I spent 4 days straight trying to get over the gag reflex in order to get those terrible thick things in (I love zombies). And finally, one day, 2 weeks later, I got one in. Then, inspired by this victory, I got the second one in! I postponed the removal process for as long as I could and, around 3am when I just.couldn't.do.it, my friend Nicole had me sit, lean my head back, and pinched them out for me.
It wasn't until this year that I was able to actually pinch those things out myself. STILL, the moral of this story is that, despite gagging, tear oozing, or shaking, I WILL do it. I'm not a wimp! It's just... a bit, of a process... some times, to violate instincts like, Don't poke your own eye ball. or Don't stick sharp objects in to your thigh.
Jude was adorably enthused about the whole injection shindig. She asked that, even when I'm able to do my own injections, if she could still do them some times. I told her, "Of course!" Jude also rationalized it by saying, "I'll be a pro at it in no time! It's so fun! And the likelihood of my having a boyfriend one day who takes T is so high that I can woo and impress him with being a pro at injections!" HAH! True, true.
By the way, during lunch today my co-worker, Patty, commented on being able to see my 'stache.
Immediately after the support group there was the TransAction (a local trans-advocacy group) meeting, where there were an amazing amount of people - around 20-30. It's refreshing to be around so many others who care about the "T" portion of LGBQT and really desire to see more education, visibility, and bridge building in regards to it.
So yes, that was super spiffy. Then Jude and I went to dinner and stuffed ourselves silly. Well, more like I did while she hung on to whatever scraps she could. I've been VERY good at controlling my ravenous appetite. Or so I think, anyway... or I'll claim. Gina showed up and expressed bundles of enthusiasm in regards to wanting to be there during my injection, so we went to her place (which was just down the street) where I got my hormone goods ready (vial of T, syringe, alcohol wipes...), then we sat on her bed and watched the little injection video on my blog to get all hyped up and prepared.
On to the bathroom, where I dropped my pants. This turned out to be entirely premature because it took FOREVER to get the thick, goopy testosterone into the syringe, even after Jude rolled it between hiz hands for some time to warm it up. Currently I just have a slew of 25g needles, but I'm going to ask the pharmacy about getting some 18g needles just for the initial getting-T-into-syringe portion. Then I could attach the 25g head for the actual injection.
Jude and I spent some time tilting the bottle (while I'm sitting there with my pants down on the toilet, lid down), tapping the syringe to get the air bubbles to rise to the top, pushing them out, sucking more T in, repeating that process... repeatedly. Eventually, after much patience, the T was in the syringe. This really shouldn't be the most difficult part of the process, but I think it just might be.
I then wiped the injection point on my thigh with a little alcohol wipe, held the syringe, pointed the needle towards the injection point... closer... closer... just an inch away... and then.... started to shake. Gah! Much less this time, but still. Jude, my mighty backup plan, then took the syringe and after a lot of "Just stick it in! Like a dart! It'll slide in like it's butta!" and her whimpering and my looking away and Gina pressed against the wall all wide-eyed, the needle went in. Easily, painlessly. However, Jude got a little excited about making sure all of the T had gone in and continued to press down, so I took the syringe, double-checked it had all been injected, then slid it out and put a little Band-Aid™ on.It really is bewildering to me that my hand starts to shake in regards to self-injecting. I've been pierced a gazillion + 1 times. I've been dermal punched and scalpeled. I've donated plasma. I've had shots. But, there's something about my sliding a long, thin needle in to my thigh, in to all of that muscle tissue... it makes my stomach knot up a little and causes my hand to shake. It feels like I'm violating a very strong instinct to NOT self-harm.
It reminds me of having the hardest time putting contacts in for Halloween the year before last. I was hell bent and determined to do this since, what is a zombie without horrible veiny diseased zombie eyes? So I go to the eye doctor to get a prescription for my special FX contacts. He hands me some sample contacts to place in. Next thing I know, the second my finger would get near my eye ball, I'd start to gag. Literally. So I'd try again. Gag. He ended up sticking them in for me, which was an excruciating process.
THEN comes the worst part - removal. He tells me, "It's no problem! Just slide the contact over to the white part of your eye and pinch. It will be a piece of cake!" After trying, gagging, tear oozing, he sends in the hot receptionist I'd been attempting to flirt with earlier to get them out for me. Oy'. This encouraged me to do my best to NOT look like a wimp, but, despite this incentive, it ended with me sitting in a chair and her leaning over me, my head pressed back against the wall, gagging, breathing rapidly, tears dripping down my face, and PoP! contacts come out.
After this, I still bought those special FX contacts. I spent 4 days straight trying to get over the gag reflex in order to get those terrible thick things in (I love zombies). And finally, one day, 2 weeks later, I got one in. Then, inspired by this victory, I got the second one in! I postponed the removal process for as long as I could and, around 3am when I just.couldn't.do.it, my friend Nicole had me sit, lean my head back, and pinched them out for me. It wasn't until this year that I was able to actually pinch those things out myself. STILL, the moral of this story is that, despite gagging, tear oozing, or shaking, I WILL do it. I'm not a wimp! It's just... a bit, of a process... some times, to violate instincts like, Don't poke your own eye ball. or Don't stick sharp objects in to your thigh.
Jude was adorably enthused about the whole injection shindig. She asked that, even when I'm able to do my own injections, if she could still do them some times. I told her, "Of course!" Jude also rationalized it by saying, "I'll be a pro at it in no time! It's so fun! And the likelihood of my having a boyfriend one day who takes T is so high that I can woo and impress him with being a pro at injections!" HAH! True, true.
By the way, during lunch today my co-worker, Patty, commented on being able to see my 'stache.
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