I swear that insects seem to have a conveniently timed vendetta against me. First off, that bizarre infected potential spider bite shindig is still on my leg, getting better, bit by taking.its.sweet.time bit.
Then, the other day I was peddling along under a sunshiny blue sky, when THUD! something whacked into my arm and ricocheted into my chest. Immediately my arm started to throb and sting, so I pulled over to inspect - where I discovered what appeared to be something small embedded in there that had started to irritate the skin around it.
What the frakking jebus, I thought. Was I just stung by a bee, or what?, which then led to feeling that the poor bee got the short end of the stick.
In less than three hours the area had sealed up, turned red, and started to swell and itch.
Then after a meeting yesterday people commented that my bloated arm had distracted them and one suggested that I cake the area with mud to suck whatever is in there out, then soak a cotton ball in hydrogen peroxide and stick it on there.
After enough whimpering and whining, a friend of mine dropped by this morning to give me some mud mask goop. I slathered it on the irritated area, then decided to slather it all over my face, too. Waited 10 minutes. Rinsed. Patted dry. Now my face and the irritated area feel refreshed and moisturized, but nothin gone done got sucked out of nowhere no how.
So here I am with some mysterious something another embedded in my irritated, inflamed arm, whining about it in a blog entry. So goes the life of the recently unemployed and uninsured. Thanks a lot, insects. At this rate, by next week the left side of my face will be paralyzed by some kind of flesh-eating virus.
Speaking of being uninsured, my doctor appointment is today! Kapooie! I will be getting a.) results from my blood test and b.) a new prescription. I'll also grumble about my bloated arm and get her input.
In other news, I'm in a bind of sorts in regards to this softball shindig I got roped into. On one hand, I really want to play. It's a fun, socially conducive excuse to run around sweating and getting a workout that makes my body happy in a strained-need-a-slurpie-afterward sort of way.
Still, I realized at practice that it actually IS a work out where I need to breath hard and run around panting and maneuvering in all kinds of strenuous ball-chasing ways. Which also means that binding becomes a problem.
I don't at all feel comfortable with the idea of wearing a sports bra and darting around the field with sacks of fat attached to my sternum flopping about. It's so indescribably awkward and sports just exacerbate the reality that they're there and do, in fact, flop about.
But then I don't want to NOT be able to participate in a fun, healthy, and social activity because my mind and body are at odds. I'm tired of avoiding certain physical activities (swimming, in particular) due to this disconnect. Transitioning has helped in many ways, but it's also made me horribly impatient and has stirred up a lot of social pressures that I hadn't experienced before.
Then, the other day I was peddling along under a sunshiny blue sky, when THUD! something whacked into my arm and ricocheted into my chest. Immediately my arm started to throb and sting, so I pulled over to inspect - where I discovered what appeared to be something small embedded in there that had started to irritate the skin around it.
What the frakking jebus, I thought. Was I just stung by a bee, or what?, which then led to feeling that the poor bee got the short end of the stick.
In less than three hours the area had sealed up, turned red, and started to swell and itch.
Then after a meeting yesterday people commented that my bloated arm had distracted them and one suggested that I cake the area with mud to suck whatever is in there out, then soak a cotton ball in hydrogen peroxide and stick it on there.After enough whimpering and whining, a friend of mine dropped by this morning to give me some mud mask goop. I slathered it on the irritated area, then decided to slather it all over my face, too. Waited 10 minutes. Rinsed. Patted dry. Now my face and the irritated area feel refreshed and moisturized, but nothin gone done got sucked out of nowhere no how.
So here I am with some mysterious something another embedded in my irritated, inflamed arm, whining about it in a blog entry. So goes the life of the recently unemployed and uninsured. Thanks a lot, insects. At this rate, by next week the left side of my face will be paralyzed by some kind of flesh-eating virus.
Speaking of being uninsured, my doctor appointment is today! Kapooie! I will be getting a.) results from my blood test and b.) a new prescription. I'll also grumble about my bloated arm and get her input.
In other news, I'm in a bind of sorts in regards to this softball shindig I got roped into. On one hand, I really want to play. It's a fun, socially conducive excuse to run around sweating and getting a workout that makes my body happy in a strained-need-a-slurpie-afterward sort of way.
Still, I realized at practice that it actually IS a work out where I need to breath hard and run around panting and maneuvering in all kinds of strenuous ball-chasing ways. Which also means that binding becomes a problem.
I don't at all feel comfortable with the idea of wearing a sports bra and darting around the field with sacks of fat attached to my sternum flopping about. It's so indescribably awkward and sports just exacerbate the reality that they're there and do, in fact, flop about.
But then I don't want to NOT be able to participate in a fun, healthy, and social activity because my mind and body are at odds. I'm tired of avoiding certain physical activities (swimming, in particular) due to this disconnect. Transitioning has helped in many ways, but it's also made me horribly impatient and has stirred up a lot of social pressures that I hadn't experienced before.
Can you be the catcher? If I remember correctly, the catcher wears a huge padded vest-thing that should cover your chest. (sorry, that's the best I could think of)
ReplyDeleteI'd like to know how to exercise as a transguy, myself. I had PE yesterday and I felt extremely self-conscious of my breasts; besides, they were the only thing in the way of being perceived as male.
I hope you manage to deal with it! And I hope your arm gets better; that sounds nasty.
I don't know what kind of binder you use but I believe I have seen binding vests that are more restrictive than a sports bra but not suck-the-life-out-of-you restrictive.
ReplyDeleteI dunno...
I hope your arm feels better soon, that does not sound fun!
Many gay guys call each other using the feminine pronouns for no real reason. So just imagine how confusing that will be, should you ever face it. Hopefully not. :)
ReplyDeleteI went for a hike the other day with a friend and she was wearing 2 sports bras, both really really tight.... I'll pick that up as well.. I hate the bounce.
ReplyDeleteAnyway, it's an option till other things can happen
<3
Even if your breasts are left to roam free, remember the line from Fight Club:
ReplyDelete"We're men."
"Yes, men is what we are."
genderkid: Hey there. Thanks for your input! Catcher is a good idea, but then I don't have the whole run-around-sweating-getting-a-workout-in-a-fun-way aspect. :\
ReplyDeleteI think that you and I are in a very, very similar boat currently - and it's a frustrating one. I think that I'm just going to go down the sports bra route and remind myself that this won't be an issue for long. Not in the long run, anyway!
wakeuplovely: True. Or maybe two sports bras, as Cakes suggested. Or just dealing with having foreign, floppy breast tissue for the sake of getting some sun shine and a good, sweaty work out. And the comfort of knowing that this won't be an issue forever!
ReplyDeleteBoyd: Ha! True, true.
ReplyDeleteKammorremae: Yeah! And that theme song, too!
ReplyDeleteWe should swap chest fat. I hardly have any. I don't have to wear a sports bra ever, and if I didn't wear a bra, no one would guess I have boobs. I've been stuffing my bra for years just to have balance proportions. I've thought about getting a boob job, but I've heard it hurts a ton, so I haven't made the big jump.
ReplyDeleteThe Venting One: Well, swapping would carry a high risk of tissue rejection, which would entail a whole slew of predicaments neither of us want to experience. I'll pass. ;]
ReplyDelete