Decidedly Obscure Human Complaints.

As I mentioned in my most recent post, I'm not able to update this as often as I really want to. I absolutely love blogging, but by the time I'm done with my graduate school tasks for the day, I become a collapsed puddle of human, incapable of uttering a single word. But I had to log on this once to share some incredibly exciting news. Earlier yesterday I learned that my insurance (through the marketplace) has preauthorized me FOR A HYSTERECTOMY IN EARLY AUGUST.  For over six years now I've been struggling through years of no insurance coverage as a student and then one trans-exclusive, discriminatory policy after another. Even as a federal employee. Yet finally, at long last, this is actually happening. It doesn't feel real yet, but I'm beyond ecstatic. I'm actually scheduled for surgery!  Whaaaa??? There are a gazillion risks reduced and benefits from having this done, one of which will be lowering my dose of testosterone post surgery, which is ...

Be forewarned: I am about to launch into a whiny spiel about how stressful it has been meeting with trans-unaware OB-GYNs while I'm insured in hopes that they won't a) refer to me as a "post-menopausal woman" and b) will, at the very least, listen to me about my preventative interest in an oophorectomy (removal of ovaries) and a hysterectomy (removal of the uterus). But before said spiel, a brief update is in order. As a reminder since it's been a minute, I am presently living in Maryland to complete my federal service "payback" as an NIH (National Institutes of Health) Undergraduate Scholarship post-baccalaureate (i.e. 4-year college graduate) research fellow. Throughout the duration of my payback I have been nervous about blogging after I signed a gazillion + 1 forms about not representing myself as the NIH or a federal employee. So, quick disclaimer before I proceed: I am not blogging on behalf of the NIH or as a federal employee. Alright, now w...

This month marks the ONE YEAR TRANNIVERSARY of my top surgery. The top surgery that, not too long ago, I believed was some far off, distant fantasy that I could never realistically attain. But, through years of patience, perseverance, and the support of the world’s most adorable friends and family, it actually happened. And my life has never been so swell. I’ve enjoyed my very first summer of not getting rashes under hot, itchy binders. I’ve enjoyed my very first summer wearing tank tops and sun bathing topless. I’ve experienced going into a locker room where I feel safe and can just, change my clothes. I’ve bicycled with a sweat-soaked spandex jersey unzipped down to my navel. I shared a dorm room on campus with three cisgender dudes, without fear. And, most importantly, I’ve looked at myself topless for the first time in 26 years without feeling the dreaded and painful sensation of a physiological disconnect. My brain and body just… connect. I’ve spent an entire year now just, fee...

Really amazing blog post from Ian Harvie regarding his journey to get enough money for his own surgery, and mention of the Sexy F2M Calendar fundraiser Aaron and I have been putting on to raise mula for his much-needed surgery. Ian also submitted a photo for the calendar contest, which, of course, made it into the final 12. Thank you, Ian!

Healing quite nicely if I do say so my vain self!

Prior to starting hormone therapy a few years ago, I had literally resolved to stop dating. Zilch, done, ~fin~ . It was just, too painful and triggering. Every attempt was an incredibly potent reminder of how I was trapped in a body that felt disconnected and uncomfortable. It wasn’t worth crying every single time and spiralling into weeks of hopelessness. Without intimacy, I could wear a binder and never look at myself in the nude. Easy peasy. Solution foreva! But, the idea of hormone therapy scared me. Socially, I was adverse to the idea of losing my visible queerness. Health-wise, I was terrified to head down a path that insurance companies and numerous doctors explicitly exclude and discriminate against. There's limited research that hormone therapy in persons assigned female at birth may increase cancer risk, cause liver damage, increase cholesterol, acne, etc. This aversion was further compounded by all of the seemingly insurmountable logistics, such as finding a trans-...

SO REFRESHING. After top surgery, recovery, and then a conveniently timed month-long coughing sickness, today I went to the gym with the the best gym buddy ever - my mom. Back in the day we went to the gym together on a daily basis. Until I started hormone therapy and the locker room progressively got a lot more uncomfortable than it already was. Eventually it got to the point where I no longer knew how to navigate gendered gym terrain and resolved to work out from home. Which I did, for a minute. But with cats purring and video games within my reach, that didn’t last long. Until today when my mom and I finally ventured to the gym again together. My first post-op gym work out! It was so wonderful. I hopped on the elliptical and sweat simulated jogged for 30 minutes. My chest felt great. Back in the day just feeling it there caused a lot of physiological distress that had me hating running-like motion. But now? Love it. I could’ve continued to run, but I couldn’t resist skipping...

Student land and selfish post-surgery running aboot celebration have connived to prevent me from blogging as I should! I will also upload pictures of my epic healing nipples at some point in the near future here. They are currently pink and scabbed, with my right one healing faster than the left. Why? I dunno. But, they’re both pink, alive, and resting upon muscle instead of boob. Today was the first day I’ve bicycled to school since my surgery on August 11th. I technically could have bicycled after I was given the go exercise ! green flag by my surgeon, Cori Agarwal, last Friday (the 9th) - but I’ve been sick. Apparently recovering from surgery, math phobia stress, and going back to a college campus germ cesspool are a perfect combo for such things. So for about two weeks now I’ve been congested, coughing, tired, and slowly getting better. Wah. Even though I could barely breathe peddling along this morning and coughed galore, it was absolutely amazing. It was the most liberating f...

Had my first and second day of classes Wednesday and Thursday! The lessons I’ve learned so far? It’s hard to carry books less than 2 weeks after surgery. Sweating in a compression vest is itchier than in a binder. Nipple grafts freak me out. Today I see my surgeon and find out if my tissue is livin’ or dyin’! Yay! Statistics = intimidating. I also endured a lot of hugs. But fortunately, most everyone who wants to hug me also reads my blog - and know to do so side ways, gently, and semi-awkwardly. I foresee this being a good semester. In other news, not riding a bicycle SLAYS ME. I feel like a chubby little lump on a recliner chair. Which I am, but seriously… I absolutely can not wait to peddle furiously in sweaty booblessness celebration!

After working from home on a recliner chair in jammies for a week, I returned to the office yesterday. Wee! I’d predicted that the worst case scenario would involve my being an idiot and trying to lift heavy things when I shouldn’t - but, that didn’t happen. Instead, the worst case scenario turned out to be what I refer to as a "bro shake". I hadn’t realized how often this happens in my world… or maybe just on a college campus (and elsewhere?), but there’s a LOT of grab-hand-hard-and-shake-arm-or-fist-bump-or-variations-of-this going on. To which I responded to this time with a whimper and, "Careful. I just had surgery.” This happened about five painful times. There was one guy who bounced in to the office while I was in there with a couple of other students. When he went in for the bro shake I diverted with, “Just had surgery. No shaking for me.” This prompted him to ask, “Surgery? What for?” Me: “My chest…” Him: “Chest? Did they operate on your heart or somet...

Compression vest washed. Hair did. Squeaky clean. I smell like a bundle of hacked up rose peddles. Well, I doubt I smell that good - but after 6 days of funk? Sure seems like it. Now time to heal and study in preparation for a super important placement test Monday before classes start on Thursday. 2 week summer ~ FIN ~.

I didn’t notice this until earlier today when I removed the compression vest to finally get cleaned up - but I have lacerations on both sides from wearing the vest for 6 days. Why I didn’t feel these, I don’t know. Pain killers initially - but I stopped taking them Tuesday. The moral of this story? Leaving my vest on for 6 days was entirely worth these lacerations, which require less help healing than my chest and nipple grafts. But definitely something to watch for with anyone reading who may be having a similar surgery in the future. My compression vest has been washed and is now hanging up to dry while I relax in the front room with my mom. Topless. Lacerations, bruising, swelling, stitches, and nipple grafts gots NOTHIN’ on how absolutely comfortable and relieving this feels. I still can’t believe that this has happened. The reality is setting in little by little and I love it. My mom put some Neosporin and bandages on the lacerations. We also removed the bandages from th...

Bandage/Stitches/Drain Tubes removal by my surgeon, Dr. Cori Agarwal, earlier today (Aug 16, 2011). I’ll be wearing the compression vest for another 1 - 3 weeks; and I have an appointment in a week with Dr. Agarwal to see how I’m healing.

Dr. Cori Agarwal removing my drain tubes earlier today - which is 6 days after my double incision mastectomy with nipple/areolar grafting. It was essentially painless and just felt like a brief pinch.

As a warning, these photos are extremely graphic , but also incredibly informative and educational.

Earlier today I learned that Dr. Cori Agarwal’s medical secretary would come in to take photographs during my 3 hour surgery on August 11, 2011. As a warning, these photos are extremely graphic , but also incredibly informative and educational. This is why I’m displaying them after the “read more” button below instead of as a photo gallery. Extremely Graphic:

Earlier today I bravely ventured forth into the world twice. First in the morning with my dad for coffee nearby. Then all inspired and confident in my outdoor adventuring abilities, downtown for vegan hot dogs with Andrew and Aaron! I had envisioned a grand 2 hour adventure of sitting and chatting - but, in reality, I made it 45 minutes before whimpering for Andrew to drive me home so I could nap. But more exciting than those 45 minutes? Tomorrow I get these pesky drain tubes and bandages removed ! Can’t wait!

My father just spontaneously transferred some photos from a USB stick of his on to my netbook. Photos from Thursday and Friday - none of which I remember. Well, except for this first one. This one I remember. Pre-Op, in the waiting room with my parents. Getting poked with my first intravenous drip ever was the scariest part. The first attempt in my hand didn’t work out, due to some valve don’t-wanna situation going on. Fortunately, Nurse Arlene was super distracting and comforting as she poked me in my left arm instead. I do not remember this one. At all. First Post-op Picture EVER! Where’d ma boobies go??? My earliest memory was of Nurse Arlene (above) giving me a popcicle. And of almost vomiting on the car ride home after I’d pleaded for my father to pull over for coffee. The next day at home. Or that night. Not sure. Also don’t remember this one - but Gany is super concerned. “Wazzup with Uncle Dexter? Will he empty those drains into my food bowl if I sit here ...

At the rate at which I’ve been spoiled throughout this recovery… I’m tempted to come up with excuses for a major surgery every week (not really). Whenever I sit on the recliner chair I obnoxiously whimper: “help. help. help. help.” and my sweet mom will come lift the foot rest for me. Which I quite literally can’t do on my own - but still, she does this for me about a hundred times a day and night. And then places a soft blanket on me. I’m above and beyond lucky to have my parents and kitties and pup here for me. The other night I woke up around 4 am, as my mom seemingly slumbered in the recliner chair next to mine (which she's doing just to be here for me). I didn’t want to wake her, so I did my best to slowly lean forward and to quietly lower the foot rest (I can lower it, just can’t pull it up). As I stood in the darkness I suddenly heard: “What’re you doing? Where’re you going? What do you need?” There’s no escaping the radar of a mother, that’s for sure. It’s like I’m post...

On a side note, the nurse warned me that the compression vest I’d have to wear after surgery was, verbatim, “one size fits none”. Fortunate for me, it’s apparently a “one size fits one ” - me ! It’s a perfect fit and hasn’t caused me any discomfort whatsoever - especially in comparison to the world of binding I’d grown used to over these past couple years. The pressure is similar … but without any breast tissue underneath being compressed. Which is such, a foreign and exciting relief. I can’t imagine how great it’s going to feel to have this vest removed Wednesday and to let my skin breathe and to actually see and feel my new chest. For the first time yesterday and especially today I’ve begun to feel tingling and “jolts” under my bandages as my nerve tissues heal and fuse and … joy.