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 ...

Wooo! Kapooie! Which means that I get to devour my most favorite food ever - sushi sushi sushi!

How cute! I received this little postcard in the mail today from The Self Made Men , and it's my 4 year (seriously??) tranniversary on the 11th!

I just self-injected! Finally! It's been a little over 9 months that I suddenly, for no reason, couldn't self-inject . It was bizarre, because I'd been self-injecting testosterone cypionate into my thigh for almost three years with no fear and very little problems. And then, bam! - I just, couldn't . Confused and frustrated, I assumed that maybe I was just off my game that week. But then it happened that following week. And the week after. And for over nine months, I've discovered that it's an incredible inconvenience to have to rely on someone else (usually my father) for my injections. I started to develop additional anxieties around what's going to happen when someone isn't around to help, like when I move to Maryland next summer and don't know anyone who could help. I've also been irrationally hard on myself about it. I woke up Friday morning determined to do my it myself. I decided not to do it in the morning, when there's a lo...

Last night the rest of the student government executive cabinet and I had dinner at the college president's home with him and his wife. Well, president mansion , rather. And on the carpool ride there, I was told, "Dexter! Remove your tie! The president requested that we keep this informal!" I kept the tie. It matched my outfit. But, I removed it later. It got hot. Anyway, while we were being given a tour of their home, the president made the comment, "Why is there only one woman in the e-cab?" I've been in the executive cabinet of the student government for three years now, and every year has been pretty "gender balanced" until now. I wanted to blurt out that having two homosexual cisgender guys, one cisgender female, and one transgender person out of 6 individuals in the e-cab isn't too bad. But, I held back, and we resumed our tour. The rest of the evening was interesting in the gendered domain. While sitting at the table of ...

Shopping for clothing has never been my top #1 favorite activity of all time in the universe. For as long as I can recall, it’s been an agonizing, everything-fits-funny pain in the schlum. Out of a gazillion + 2 shirts and pants, I’d be lucky to find something that fit right. Either the shirts were too straight or too stretched out or not long enough or - this has been the story for forever and beyond. Until last Saturday. Since I had top surgery last August, I haven’t shopped for new clothes. Er, I lie. I have. For multipacks of Hanes t-shirts and underoo’s. But those don’t count. For months now my dad has been whimpering about having no clothes. And I’ve been wearing the same ol’ white Hanes shirt and shorts combo every single day. Which is great if you’re Pee Wee Herman, Einstein, or Seth Brundle from The Fly, but. Despite the convenience of only having multiple pairs of one outfit, I finally cracked last Saturday and decided to dupe my father into going on a trip to the ...

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

Emerging from the depths of finals for a moment to share an article that a fellow trans student and I were interviewed for. It was published last week in our school’s paper. I was also interviewed last year for this student paper, but this time I dragged poor Mikki into the muck with me. Gender Boundaries: Room to Explore at Westminster >

The fact that finals are looming has turned me into a space cadet. Literally. Yesterday morning I go to coffee with my pops per usual. Since I have a class that starts at 10am and knew we had a discussion planned, I made sure to get caught up on the class reading. Like the creeper that I am, I got to class 15 minutes early, set up shop, got cozy, and started to work on a paper for another class. It struck me as odd that by 9:55am I was the only student in the room. By 10am, same story. I gave it until 10:20 and still, no professor. No other students. Had I missed a memo? Had class been canceled? I was positive we had this reading and discussion planned. I checked my voicemail, the online class calendar, e-mail, everything. Maybe I’d spaced off during class when the professor clearly announced that class was canceled? I thought I’d been paying attention… but, confused, I packed up and wandered off. Since this was my only class of the day, I headed home. Made lunch. Then, around 1...

For almost three years now I’ve been self-injecting. The very first time my hand quivered and I literally couldn’t do it - but every injection since then? No problem. It had become such a menial automaton task that when I switched from bi-weekly injection to every week it wasn’t no thang. But then, something happened. About a month ago. I don’t know what the hell it was, but when I went to self-inject, I just … couldn’t do it. This was a little over a month ago. I remember feeling extremely frustrated and confused over the whole ordeal and eventually cracked and had a friend help me. I figured that this was just a one-time anomalous incident. But no! Ever since, every Thursday, I can’t self-inject. I couldn’t even look until last week. What the hell? Seriously. So this morning I wake up, determined to self-inject. I get the needle ready, cleanse the injection site with an alcohol wipe, go for the plunge and… nothing. Couldn’t do it. I felt closer this time, but still froz...

Uh, something unprecedented and exciting has occurred in the land of my facial hair. I’m not sure when exactly it happened, but it did - last month I had developed what I’d argue passed as fo’ real real facial hair . It got to the point where, as I posted about prior, I could shampoo it, condition it, comb it, and trim it. Life was good. And then Halloween happened - where I had to shave it for my costume. Life was sad. But fun. This is where the unprecedented and exciting took place: After shaving, I looked noticeably different . My baby bare face was actually jarring to me. Now, this is unprecedented and exciting because this is the first time I’ve ever a.) grown facial hair and b.) shaved it and actually looked different because what I shaved was actually noticeable. It’s taken me two days now to adjust to my baby bare faced self and I’m growing it back as.fast.as.I.can. I suspect that I’m going to turn into my dad who went 20+ years without shaving until doing so and horri...

I’m dating someone. Woot! It’s been, oh… approximately 3 years since I’ve done so? Which means this is kinda epic. Or, rather, super epic. Back in the day I had essentially resolved to stop dating for a number of reasons. First, over time intimacy had become a huge dysphoria trigger. It got to the point where I just absolutely couldn’t ignore the disconnect between my mind and body. Without dating I had a series of coping tactics I’d developed throughout my wily adolescence - such as never looking down when I was naked (or in the mirror) and ignoring the existence of my female-bodied areas as much as possible. But when I finally stumbled into the land of intimacy at 17 years of age… even though I didn’t quite know why, I preferred that my partner didn’t touch me. It made me sad. And this preference lasted until my third relationship. When I was touched, I tried to pretend that my body was what my brain map expected - for lack of a better term, male-typical. Alas, that only work...

When I started this transition shindig I absolutely couldn’t wait for the day I’d develop stubble and, possibly, facial here (based on my unique genetics!). But when it finally started to happen, I was disturbed by how brittle and wiry it was in comparison to hair elsewhere. I expected it to be coarse - but it was so… dry and unmanageable . Especially on my chin. With my brother and father as facial hair role models, neither of which really do much in the self-maintenance department, I had resolved that my fate rested in either the land of coarse torture brittle. I had no idea that a solution to this predicament existed - but it does. And it goes by the name of beard oil and/or conditioner. And little beard combs! Once I made said discovery I’ve been letting these face whiskers grow! Every morning and night I rub some of this Bluebeards in: - and then use a li’l Kent beard comb. It’s kinda the most adorable thing ever: Afterwards, any little stray whiskers are cut with ...

Had the most difficult time getting my prescription refill (testosterone cypionate) this time around. Generally I just wander in to the pharmacy and request my refill, give them money, take bag of needles and prescription, and head off into the world. But when I attempted to refill this time around ON injection day I was told, “Oh, you’re out of refills. Oh, and your doctor won’t authorize a refill until you make an appointment with her.” Oh, alright. Fair enough. Except that I'm due for a shot - today. And came in today because I couldn't afford it prior, as I was just paid. When I tried to schedule an appointment with her I was told, “You owe us money. It’s in collections. Here’s their number.” What? From when? Where? Whyyyyy is this the first time I’ve heard of it and it’s in collections !? Turns out, even though my doctor’s office had my current address and name - they had never communicated that to billing. So here I was, bumbling along assuming that all of my info i...

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...

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...

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: