muscle memory

My sister has graduated from college and is coming to live with me (hurrah!) and this past weekend we spent a bit of time scurrying around starting to get things ready for our apartment. One of our endeavors was the acquisition of a bed for her, and luckily enough, she found one on Craigslist, being sold about a half a mile from our apartment.

Unfortunately, there's a rather sizable park (with a more than sizable cliff/towering set of stairs) between the two spots, so we undertook to load the full size bed (Ikea mattress and frame, so light, but still big) onto a handtruck and cart it an additional 7 blocks up and down and around the park, from door to door.

It was a pretty arduous task, given that our handtruck had a pretty flat left tire, and that the sidewalk was in a few places rather too narrow to accommodate us, etc, but great fun was had by all. The surprising part of the whole adventure was how much I ended up shouldering the load. Especially as we were coming back through the park, pulling the handtruck up the stairs- it was much easier for me to pull the cart than it was for Kate.

I know that my shoulders have gotten broader, that my muscle mass has been building, but this was one of the first real bits of tangible evidence of my increased strength that I've had. It felt normal to me to haul that cart up the stairs almost casually, until I saw that it was a heavy load for Kate. That was a definite moment of disconnect.

When we were younger, Kate was stronger than me. She was the one who could run faster, and farther. She could shimmy up poles and ropes, through some combination still unknown to me of arm strength and sneaker maneuvering. I would never agree to enter an arm wrestling contest against her, because I knew I'd lose. She used to be the buff twin!

In a slightly different context, my therapist said to me this morning "It's not like you don't know your own strength, Eli."

She meant that I am (or at least, I try hard to be) conscious of my size and space and presence, of the eddies I cause in the flow and exchange of power in the world. I take up more of it now, in my maleness, and I'm very aware of that, in contrast, as Amy was pointing out, to many other men, to whom manhood came more naturally. (Among that group I definitely include both trans and nontrans men, though I think there are far more nontrans men, numerically of course but also percentage wise, who fit the bill.)

So yes, of course I do know my own strength, and I know it physically, too- I've been proud as my push-up count has risen from single digits ending in noodle-armed exhaustion to my current sets of 15 that I try to remember to do every day. But this hauling of the handcart reminds me that, for all the work I try to put into my body, the payoffs are still sometimes a gentle surprise.

opposite of war isn't peace

There was a big reunion at my college last weekend, and I didn't go, for a host of reasons revolving around other obligations in the city and overly complicated logistics around getting there. Now, reflecting on the opportunity I missed, I'm finding that my regret is definitely tinged with relief.

I'm still nervous about returning to places in my life where there are people I'm no longer in touch with, people who may or may not have heard about the changes in my life and the way I live it now.

I've gotten awfully comfortable with myself and my life these days, in large part due to the fact that I'm not fighting anymore. I'm not defending my masculinity or fighting for my identity. Everyone who is in my life understands and respects me; me, Eli, son, brother, boyfriend, guy-behind-the-library-desk. Strangers understand me as Eli because I've now got more of the cues that usually indicate guy (sideburns, tenor voice) and fewer of the cues that indicate girl (breasts). The people who are in my life (family, friends, wider circle of friendly people) know who I am because I've told them and reminded them and they've had time to readjust their notions and gain a new understanding, reinforced, of course, by those same shifting cues.

It's funny and satisfying and a little sad to understand just what those cues mean. This seismic shift of the past year/18 months has changed my world, even as I have changed in ways that are seemingly totally different and yet utterly connected. I'm not the same person under all these cues, the acne and body hair and scars that have landscaped my body into something new. I'm not a new person, but I'm not the same, and how much of that is due to what, I don't know. I don't know if it's even productive to try to sort it out. Am I restless now because my self-directed energy is still high, but the amount of maintenance required for my transition is falling off at a rate inversely proportional to the amount of maintenance required by my facial hair? Or is it the vaguely ADD-esque effects that I suspect testosterone is offering to my attention span? Or is it the early-twenties post-college crisis that I'm just about due for?

It's satisfying to know that transition has, in a sort of grossly defined way, worked. It has brought me happiness and fulfilment in my own skin, and it has caused the rest of the world to get a much clearer picture of me, putting an end to the aforementioned (and formerly ongoing/exhausting/demoralizing) fighting.

It's funny to think that the removal or addition (as the case may be) of a couple of pounds of skin and tissue from my chest or a couple of square inches of dense hair to my face can make for such powerful allies in that fighting. It wins the battle with strangers before anything has to be fought, and it made the difference for quite a few folks who were hesitant to really understand my maleness until it had a form that they could more easily understand.

And that there is the sad part- that 14 months of hormones can accomplish what years of assertions and explanations sometimes can't, that it still takes the same traditional markers of masculinity to establish respect. I'm thinking of my favorite queen karaoke hostess, who despite repeated promptings/reminders/requests on my part, couldn't get my pronouns straight until confronted by the big guns: a rebuke from my mom, and my own physical transition. Miss J got much better after my mom joined the fray, but the battle has only really stopped now that I've got my flat chest in tight t-shirts to gird me.

I read the other day a comment along the lines of "I'm not a man, and not because I'm trans, but because there are no such thing as men."

That resonates with me really powerfully, because I hear in it my own convictions about the sadness and folly of the necessary tactics in the Battle of the Sexes...not in the original sense of the tennis-match skirmish, but the larger Battle, the ongoing one about what it means to have a gender in this system, and the fighting and revolution that's necessary to change it.

--
I'm starting to ramble, in a manner much more grim and bellicose than I intended. (it's the T!! the T that makes me use these militaristic metaphors!!!)

I want to return at least briefly to my original point, which is about the relief that's been tempering my regret about missing my reunion. That relief is coming from an understanding that going back to Simon's Rock would have meant re-entering the fray- facing a slew of battles, big and small, about how I am seen by people who haven't had the benefit of time and explanations and understanding. That prospect is daunting, and I don't know if it makes me a bit of a coward to be glad to wait til my beard fills in a little more, til I have bigger and better armaments, before I return to the front lines.

slip away

So, I forgot to give myself my shot yesterday. It was only when Ro asked "so, how'd your shot go this morning?" late last night that I realized it was, in fact, Wednesday and while I'd been home and puttering around the house for a good two hours, I totally neglected my usual Wednesday morning ritual of masculine hygiene: brief workout, mostly of crunches/pushups; shower; shave; injection.

I think there's a post back in the archives of this blog somewhere, musing about how long it'd take for the excitement of transition to fade. Well, not long, I guess. I'm going to go home tonight and do it, and I've been marking it on my calendar, so if I pay a little more attention to what day of the week it is, I should be fine in the future.

I don't think there have been any ill effects, but I did realize that I was in an exceptionally good mood yesterday, and also managed to be slightly more patient than usual during a couple of moments of frustration.

Could be coincidence- my life is pretty good all around these days, what with the sunshine, and my sister's upcoming move to NYC to replace my imminently departing roommate, etc. I'd chalked my cheerfulness up to those factors. But maybe my late dose contributed, as well? It's food for thought, and has me wondering about adjusting my dosage and/or dosing schedule. I'm due in a week or so for my quarterly bloodwork check-up, so maybe I'll see where my levels are at and discuss it with my Doc.

I've been thrilled with the pace of my transition thus far, but I think I'd be willing to trade in quicker puberty for fewer bouts of grumpiness.

all my transsexuals

I don't think I ever wrote about it, but a couple of months ago, back in January, I met a soap opera star at my favorite gay bar. This fellow was playing a transwoman on the soap opera "All My Children" and was friends with a transwoman who works at the bar. Apparently he'd talked to her a lot to prepare for his role playing 'Zarf,' a sexually ambiguous David Bowie type who begins to transition to Zoe over the course of a few episodes, while trying to make out with the lesbian character. Or some such appropriately soapy plotline- appropriate clips can be found on YouTube, at any rate.

The woman who works there introduced me to him as, I suppose, the only other trans person who frequents the bar, and he wanted to spend some time chatting and asking questions, and telling me about how the producers did all this research with the appropriate GLBT organizations, like GLAAD, the Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation, and how it was really important to him to get it "right" and etc. I think he was hoping to both show off a little as a trans ally, and also try to mine for more information he could use to further his understanding of his character, or some such.

And I'm trying not to begrudge him that, because I think he did do a credible job with the role (what bits I saw from my own YouTube explorations, anyway), and he was sincere in his desire to be respectful and educate himself (again, like my karaoke friend Orlando, with the self denigrating question mixed with flirtation: "May I ask a question? If it's offensive, you can punch me! You can do anything you want to me, actually.").

But I wasn't really in the mood to play "ask-a-trans-dude." I just wanted to sing my songs and hang out with my friends.

I thought of this event again because this past weekend I was at a party and saw a guy I went to college with, not someone I was ever particularly close to, but we had a couple of classes together and were on the cheerleading team (such as it was) together, and at a small school, that's enough.

Clearly, he'd been filled in, whether through Facebook or the grapevine, or by the host of the event, because when I got there he said "Hey Eli!" and greeted me without a blink, which I appreciate, especially since there were folks who know me from my work there as well, and I really didn't want to deal with pronoun/name confusion in front of them.

Later, he told me about his work running a free health clinic, and asked a mildly curious question about the timeline of my transition (I can't quite remember his phrasing, but it was interesting, something like "So, when did you shift?" that was certainly respectful but rather unusual) which I was happy to answer. Then he wanted to ask me about what I think best about how they should ask about gender on their intake forms, and I don't think I gave a particularly straight answer.

Those two interactions are making me feel very keenly the edge between tokenization and education, and the rights and responsibilities of being trans. I have the right to be left alone, but the responsibility to help educate people in my community. It's important for people to educate themselves, but they often seek out and tokenize individuals when doing so, which places undue burden on any one person to try to be the spokesperson of the community. It feels like a double bind- if I don't speak up, then misperceptions will never be corrected. But if I do speak up, there's the weight of all of these notions suddenly squarely on my shoulders, and I know that I can't (and shouldn't try to) speak for all trans people in some sort of pronouncement.

I know that I do my part to try to be proactively educational (like when I participated in that panel a few weeks ago) but I don't always feel like being pressed for details about trans issues on the spur of the moment.

It gets me wondering about how much work I should reasonably be expected to do, and how much work people should reasonably be expected to do as allies. All kinds of people claim space as 'trans allies,' and I certainly think that being trans and being a trans ally are not mutually exclusive, though they often are. The work that I do when I try to educate folks is definitely ally-work, though it has different connotations depending on whether I'm being read as trans or not.

Advocacy on my own behalf carries different weight than someone else advocating on my behalf. I'm grateful for folks who are allies, but I don't know when that gratitude becomes too much. I don't think I should have to be grateful for common courtesy (like not outing me in front of strangers, as my college friend refrained from doing), since that's my right as a human being. But I don't want allies to feel like they're not appreciated for the work they're doing, because I don't want them to stop doing it!

Also, the trouble with being used as a resource (and I think this is a broader question, that extends beyond the interactions I've been describing here), is that one person's requests are another person's insults. The terminology which I find appropriate and acceptable to describe me may be totally different from what another person with a similar history/biology might desire. Makes having a cohesive trans community pretty tricky, but maybe a cohesive trans community oughtn't be the ultimate goal after all?

inching along

I'm not sure if there's any truth to it, or if it's transition-related or just still-in-my-very-early-twenties related, but Rochelle has suggested and I hesitantly agree that I may have grown a bit in height. Maybe half an inch to an inch, but we've both noticed, and while it's not enough to spring me out of my short-guy stature, it definitely warms my heart a bit. Particularly if it means I'll have an easier time finding pants...I have the worst time with my inseam.

Other than that possibly negligible effect, there's not much to report on the physical transition front. Puberty continues on as expected- facial hair is filling in, chest hair and belly hair are making distant threats of someday conquering my torso, and my voice seems to have dropped a tiny bit more. (latest voice post is from last week) Spurred on by reading the ftmfit livejournal community, and also visiting my sister and learning some of her tennis exercises, I've been doing some small, in-home bits of working out, and my musculature is responding with gratifying speed.

Gave myself another shot this week, and seem to be learning some tricks (higher up on the thigh, hold the muscle in a stretch for 30 seconds or so after the shot), because there was no pain or cramping at all. Excellent.

Acne seems to be subsiding slightly, but I've been making an effort to drink more water, have been washing my face semi-regularly, and have started taking a multivitamin that contains vitamin A, said to be good for one's skin. so who knows if it's T-related or not.

chipper

The panel was fine! Mostly just each of us talking briefly about our identities, etc, and then some questions at the end. I talked (though not as articulately as I might've hoped to) about the difficulties I had obtaining my name change, and why it was particularly illustrative of two common frustrations for trans people. First, by trying to require me to provide "medical documentation" of my "sex change," the judge was holding me to a higher level of scrutiny than non-trans people, and directing that scrutiny in particular at my body, in an invasive/inappropriate/uncomfortable way. And not only that, but he was basing that scrutiny on unfounded assumptions about what it means to be trans- he was structuring his request for 'proof' around his narrow ideas about what it means for someone to "get a sex change" and those notions are limiting and oppressive when applied to individuals who may or may not be pursuing medical transition as part of affirming their gender identity. And all this to impede my attempt to normalize myself by changing my identity documents to better reflect my male identity and presentation!


Anyway.


The other presenters were interesting and articulate, and the questions were perfectly fine, for the most part, although one person asked me "What was your name before, and why did you change it?"


I replied that this was a teachable moment, and a perfect example of what NOT to ask a trans person; that the reason I changed my name was because I wasn't comfortable with the one I had before, and I wanted to legally change my name so that it would be the one that I wanted everybody to call me, and so I didn't tell her what my name used to be.


This led to a rather productive little discussion about how respectful questions are always welcomed, but there's a fine line between education and curiosity, and that sometimes curiosity ought to be satisfied by reading a book or finding a resource rather than asking an invasive question of an individual. Or asking an individual in a safe space, such as this panel, so that they can do what I did- answer the relevant part of the question (I changed my name because I was more comfortable using a masculine name rather than the feminine, though very beautiful, name I'd been given as a baby) and explain why the other part of the question is inappropriate (I'm not comfortable revealing my former name to a stranger in a public forum in order to satisfy their curiosity).


Also, led to some talk about how questions are always better than assumptions, especially respectful questions. I've had some of the most troublesome interactions with people who assume that they're coming from a respectful place, and make assumptions about how I identify, and end up being the most offensive- like Miss Jackie, bless her heart, the karaoke hostess who never fails to mention lesbians whenever she talks to me. Or the social work student who invited me to her "weekly women's dance party down in the Village." I might have looked like a dyke once upon a time (and identified as a dyke even longer ago) but I'm not one now.
--
Speaking of questions and dialogue, I'm catching up on some backlogged comments in previous posts that I never responded to, so if I never replied to a comment you posted a while ago and you're burning to read my witty replies, check later today.

--
In other news, my sister took this really cute picture of my while she was here this past weekend. I think it shows off my sideburns nicely, as well as my overall happy state now, Spring 2007, just after my 2nd Maniversary.

homestyle

Gave myself my first shot at home this morning, and it was easier and quicker than expected. Just laid out my supplies and sat down in front of the window where there was nice light, and called out a warning to Rochelle, who isn't the most fond of needles, that she might want to stay out of the bedroom for a minute or two while I did the actual jabbing. I noticed that a tiny bit of the T oil leaked out of the injection site while I was unwrapping my bandaid, but I think that's pretty normal. Just because I haven't noticed it before doesn't mean it hasn't happened, so no worries.
--
I'm about fifteen minutes away for heading upstairs to participate in a panel that's being put on by the GLBTQ Caucus at the Social Work School where I work. It's supposedly going to be GLBT 101 for the students, so that those who don't know much can get some perspective/education, and have an opportunity to ask questions. It's me, a faculty member, and three students, and I'm only a little nervous about it. We're supposed to each "tell a story" about our GLBTQ/whatever identity, and then there'll be a question and answer period. I'm not sure if this is going to be the most effective to fulfil the goals for this meeting (not that I'm totally clear what the goals are, beyond an undefined "education" of the "student community" about "populations they may be working with."

I'm not even sure which letter I'm supposed to represent, but since I can fairly claim pretty much all of them (or at least I have at one point in my life) I'm sure I won't come up short.

when tough little boys grow up to be dads

I'm thinking about babies again. Maybe it's the springtime, and the quickening of everything's blood, or maybe it's the fact that I'm always thinking about babies. I watched a pretty good documentary called "Transparent" a month or so ago, and it didn't really touch on the issue of guys wanting to have children post-transition. And I was surprised by the lack of discussion around fertility issues at the Trans Health Conference a few weeks ago- for me, it's always been a central factor in my decision to transition. Last year in the spring, I was contemplating starting testosterone, and weighing my desire for masculine puberty with my desire to have a baby. It's clear which priority won out, and I'm delighted and thankful for the hormonal changes (Even the tumultuous ones) of the past year, but now that the dust has settled a bit, I'm revisiting this issue and thinking hard and not necessarily getting much further.

And basically, it boils down to the fact that I'm real sad that I'm not going to be able to bear children. There's a line in that transman health guide that's online (quite a good read, actually, available here) about how traditionally, transmen have been declared sterile, and have accepted that as the necessary price to pay for transition, but in reality, that line of thinking is limiting and outmoded. That really hit home for me, because that mentality of "you win some, you lose some" was a big part of how I eased my anxiety about the prospect of starting testosterone and thus extinguishing my personal reproductive capabilities.

I know that plenty of folks are infertile for plenty of reasons, and there is in fact no proof that I would've been able to bear children had I not started this hormone regimen of mine, beyond the fact that the women in my family are generally if anything extra fertile (hence the various pairs of fraternal twins). So it's not 100% definitive fact that I'm sterilizing myself with this transition of mine.

That doesn't mean I don't feel a lot of sadness about losing the opportunity to be a biological parent, and some guilt and worry about having made the decision that lost me that opportunity.

There's a post over on the ftm livejournal community about dealing with infertility, and a lot of what's being said, in the original post and the comments, resonates deeply with me- particularly the poster's line "often i feel a real ache when i think about not being able to continue the genetic line of my family."

I want to carry on my family line, and it makes me real sad to think that I'm probably not going to be able to in this fashion. My children will be part of my family, have my name, and I'll give them my stories and sensibilities and habits just as my family has given me theirs. I know that I'm going to have a family one way or another- adoption, miraculous scientific advancements, the generous assistance of my sister. I'm going to love my children, and I don't harbor any notions that they're going to be any less mine because they didn't spring from my loins. But it's going to be complicated, and I can't imagine that I'm not going to feel keep feeling these pangs about not being able to continue my family along this particular, traditional avenue.

I love seahorses- they're beautiful little creatures; I find 'em mesmerizing in their goofy ungainly figures, but I love them, too, because the boys carry the babies. It's what makes me think sometimes about being pregnant- it's odd to put myself and pregnancy in the same sentence together, because I'm a boy, and boys don't get pregnant, but darn it, what if I did? It sounds radical and weird and very appealing on some level- could I be a pregnant dad? Until I take a step back and think about what it'd mean to get to that point.

When I started T last year, I was certainly eager to be rid of the uncomfortable aspects of menstruation- some of which anyone who menstruates might easily identify with. There are plenty of unpleasant components all of which were exacerbated by the dysphoria I felt around dealing with it in the first place. I know plenty of women feel empowered by their menstruation, but I generally pretty much ignored mine as much as possible, except when its actual presence demanded attention, usually with painful cramps, inconvenient stains, and a distinct damper on my sex life.

I was getting plenty sick of smuggling tampons into men's rooms, which all feature a distinct dearth of stalls as well as a prominent absence of trash receptacles inside those few and far between stalls, making for a singularly and highly unnecessarily troublesome disposal process. Dealing with my period in the men's restroom had a distinct tinge of discomfort and humiliation, and I'm not at all sorry that I don't have to do it anymore. Likewise with the lack of cramps. Don't miss that semi-monthly debilitation at all!

Which is why it's so hard for me to get at the root of my sadness around my infertility. I didn't particularly appreciate menstruation (though I didn't utterly despise it, either) and I'm glad I don't do it anymore, and I think my feelings would be similar around being pregnant. I think it would be weird, and jarring, and dysphoric.I think it'd also be amazing and powerful, and I think about it. I think about whether I could stop T now and regain reproductive functionality and start buying tampons again and stop getting hairier and stop building muscle mass without trying. Could I do that, and for how long? I don't want to have kids next year.

---

It's helped me to talk to people who are adopted, and spend time conceptualizing ideas around family that aren't so strongly rooted in the "blood is thicker than water" mentality. And it's helped to remember, too, that I'm going to have a queer family no matter what. The logistics of having children is probably going to be among the first of many complexities, and I do myself a disservice to think "oh, if only I weren't so selfish and unwilling to give up my hairiness and testosterone, I could be popping out the babies with no problem!" Being pregnant is a pretty intense endeavor, and it would probably flip me out. I'd like to raise my children with a partner, and hir thoughts about having kids will need to factor in. And then there's the matter of being a trans person and a parent- Hey kids! Dad used to be a girl! (Sort of. By some folks' reckoning.) I have to think and hope that if I can handle raising them with any sort of grace or aplomb, they'll manage to handle having a trans dad with the same sensibilities.

Peter Puberty

Haven't posted in ages, but I'm going through a weird introspective time these days, so I guess that isn't too surprising. I'm hesitant to try to figure out why I'm feeling so inarticulate, because I very much don't want to lament that T is turning me into the strong silent type, and that I'll never again have my womanly emoting abilities back. Hogwash. I hope.
--
It's my 2nd Manniversary today (tomorrow?) and I'm not quite sure how I got here so fast. The past year has been an incredible one, naturally, and has involved quite a lot of time expansion and contraction. The months of last summer went by so s-l-o-w-l-y and then this winter and spring have been zipping right past. I'm settling into myself and it's going well, I think, if a little rocky. I've got plenty in my head to think about, and maybe if I get a free minute tomorrow at work I'll actually expound upon a few of them, including but not limited to: attending the Trans-Health Conference in Philly this past weekend, being asked to be on a "LGBT 101" panel at my work, watching documentaries about trans parenting and thinking a lot about babies, making friends with dudes.
--
Tomorrow I've got my self-injection exam at Callen Lorde where, if I successfully follow all the proper steps and give myself a shot in front of witnesses, I'll be given appropriate and necessary supplies and set loose. Feels like apron strings are about to be cut.
--
I went through a beard growing experiment for most of the month of march and, while it's clear I don't have it in me yet for the real deal, I must say I was pretty pleased with what three weeks worth of carefully not shaving achieved. It's very soothing to be able to run fingertips along scruff-roughened cheeks while I'm thinking or planning or puzzling. I've since shaved it off and now have some optimistic but slightly uneven (so hard to look at both sides of my face at the same time! especially with a razor in hand!) muttonchops. I've decided I'll wait til June to try growing it all out again, and invest in a beard trimmer next time to try and even up the edges. Summertime probably isn't the most felicitous season in which to have a fuzzy face, but I'm impatient, and it'll be worth it.
--
oh, and I finally put up another voice post.

delivered

I was invited to attend a Seder tonight in honor of Passover, and I went and had a very lovely time. The abbreviated Haggadah (the text which accompanies dinner) that we read made frequent reference to freedom and being conscious of justice. It said that we must all think of ourselves and how we have come out of Egypt, and I thought that yeah, that sounds about right for what I've been doing with myself the past 18 months or so. I've been coming out of Egypt.

another call for submissions

Perhaps you're stealthily reading this blog, and might be interested in writing something for this? Saw it online, thought I'd pass it along.

***Call for Submissions- Post Transition Anthology***

Seeking essays from post-transition, binary-identified men with transsexual histories. “Post-transition,” for the purposes of this publication, refers only to social status, whether achieved with or without medical intervention, and regardless of the degree of intervention sought. This includes men who are consistently perceived as male, who live and work as men, and who identify or might be identified as “stealth;” essays from binary-identified but unable to transition men considered.

Essays should be about being a man post-transition; can be exclusively related to transsexual history, entirely about the experience of being a man, or anything in between. Topics might include but aren’t limited to: becoming a man; relationships/ family; fatherhood; disclosure; invisibility.

Many of us shed transsexualism as an identity or never adopted it at all. Because a component of the stealth experience is not being vocal about one’s history and experience, the voices of stealth men are rarely, if ever, heard. This collection intends to assemble essays about what it means to be a stealth transsexual man, but more than that to put together essays about what it means to be a man, from the unique perspective of folks who were identified female at birth and, in most cases, raised female.

Pseudonyms may be used for publication.

PUBLISHER: This will probably go first to a vanity press, and then be shopped to mainstream presses. If it’s not picked up, it will be published online.

DEADLINE: August 1, 2007

LENGTH: 1,000 - 3,000 words

FORMAT: Essays must be typed and double-spaced. Please include contact information; if I can’t get in touch with you, your essay will not be included.

SUBMITTING: Electronic submissions only, please. Send essay electronically as a Word file (with .doc extension) to posttransanthology@gmail.com. Include the word "anthology" in the subject line.

PAYMENT: For the time being, payment is likely limited to the warm feeling of accomplishment you’ll have. Subject to change pending publication details.

REPLY: Please allow until November 1 for a response.

Doctor! Mr. MD!

just kidding- this is a post I wrote back in middle of Feb, but never finished/posted. now I've got updates, so I guess I'll just tack those on at the end. it'll be like a time capsule with bonus timewarp to the present at the end!
--
My last shot, nearly a week ago, was in my right thigh again and this time...drumroll, please...there was no excruciating cramping! I can only assume that it was a matter of my quadricep getting used to the every-other-weekly ritual of suddenly trying to accomodate an injection of 1ml of thickly viscous fluid. There was still some lingering soreness, but nothing unusual, and nothing to make me flinch, limp, or wince, as with my three previous right leg shot experiences. This is very good news, because it bodes well for my future of self-injecting, an undertaking that I could begin in April once my 1 year T-versary rolls around. Plenty of folks self inject in the butt, but I think it'll be a little easier for me to do it in my leg, because I'll be able to sit down, and clearly see what I'm doing.

I hope that self-injecting won't be too difficult. I watch the nurse very closely when she injects me, and I've been trying to visualize holding the syringe myself, imagining what it will take to keep myself calm and matter of fact while I puncture my own skin. I'm pretty sure that it'll be a little tricky for the first time or two, and then get much easier. I actually recently started wearing contacts for the first time, and it's been a damn challenge getting those things in and out of my eyes. I'm just not used to touching my own eyeball, y'know? It's getting better, though, since I realized that it's entirely easier if I can calm down, stop flinching, and just...do it. Which I think will be applicable in this shot process. If I can bypass the part of my brain that's going "Putting a NEEDLE into your OWN LEG are you CRIZAZY?" and just try to be methodical about it, I think it'll be much easier.

I've been reading a bit about guys who give themselves subcuetaneous injections as opposed to intramuscular, which are supposedly quite a bit easier/less painful, but as per usual, there's not a lot of research or information about the effectiveness and safety of the method. Likewise for subcutaneous, long-lasting pellets that are implanted under the skin in order to slowly release a constant dose over three months. Sounds super convenient, but does it work? What are the drawbacks? Nobody knows...

Bit of the scary part about physically transitioning. Plenty of this is still fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants; there's not a lot of reliable, long term medical information out there. Much of the information that gets passed around the community is anecdotal, which is great, but not the same as documented medical fact.
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And here we reach the end of my musings from the past. Now, though, I've got updates! My shot after that was in my left leg, which had never given me trouble before but all of a sudden was painful like the right leg used to be. Not sure what that was all about, but I guess it was just an unlucky poke.

I'm due for another shot tonight, and it's a semi-exciting one because I've gotten the go-ahead from the HOTT staff to start self-injecting, despite being a few weeks shy of my official one year mark on April 10th. so tonight's the first of the three step learning process. She's going to give me the blow by blow and explain everything carefully, so that I can come back next week and do it by myself, with some assistance, and then the week after that I have to do it all by myself under supervision to make sure I'm doing it right- my final exam, if you will.

So now's the point where I have to decide whether or not to switch to 100mg/week from the 200mg/2 week schedule that I'm currently on. I'd been wondering if I was having mood swings because of the T, but some of that has ironed itself out lately since I've been trying to be more self aware and patient with myself. I can still hope that it might help my acne to go to a more frequent dosing schedule. so I think I'm going to try it...if only because it'll also get me through my 3 training wheels session at C-L faster, if I'm coming back every week to do my 100mg shot.

I'm glad to be taking more agency in my injection schedule, though it means I'll have to keep track of my own syringes and bottles, etc. I hope I can clear a space somewhere in my room to keep everything together in a neat little spot. The bathroom might make more sense, but the bathroom at my house is such a constant disaster area that I think it'd be better not to keep 'em there. Maybe I can keep it on the shelf where I keep my high quality whiskey and spices. THe top-shelf trio: Bulleit Bourbon, Penzeys Double Strength Vanilla, Depo-Testosterone.
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oh, also, speaking of 'medical fact' as I did at the end of my february thoughts....I'm still thinking about that phrase. I think I stopped there because I didn't know quite what to say next, because it's such a strange little phrase. Medical fact is such an authoritative kind of information, but like any other kind of power, medical authority oughtn't be absolute nor unexamined. I had to have doctors and surgeons and social workers and psychiatrists approve me over the past year or so in order to accomplish much of what I've done. Why did I need to submit myself for evaluation? Who are they and who am I that our opinions about my own life and body are given such different weight?

That's the crux of the issue, I think- where is this authority coming from, and what kind of knowledge is underpinning these medical facts?

I do think it's important to have infrastructure and support for physical/medical transition. I do trust doctors...that's why there is such a thing as medical school, right? So that folks can learn and practice and train and earn the authority that they need in order to effectively practice as doctors. I want to be able to trust that doctors know best in medical situations. So what part of transsexuality is medical, and how is it medically understood?

Perhaps the understanding of the medical components of being trans* needs to shift, such that outdated/limited thinking isn't the basis for this training and knowledge. If folks learn in medical school that being a real transsexual means decrying one's own anatomy since toddlerhood, well, then naturally that's going to be the model through which all of these other opinions interact.

I think I'm going to write my midterm paper on the authority that's vested in medical terminology, and how it interplays with the labels and identifying words that are claimed by the individuals who are delineated by those terms. How did "sex change" become "transition" and where does it need to go from here?

Maybe I'll dedicate it to the last gynecologist I went to, who told me as I was leaving "Good luck with your sex change!"

no news is good news

Ah, the continual frustration with transphobia cropping up all over the news. First there's the case of the city manager from Florida who's been fired because she came out as trans. As my friend Sharon McGowan at the ACLU once said (or something very similar), any time you're willing to employ someone as a man but not as a woman- someone with the exact same qualifications and performance- that's sex discrimination. A city official in this case said they don't think the "[she] has the integrity...to continue as the city manager."

What's YOUR definition of integrity, buster? Because to me, someone who's decided to be honest about their identity and life plans, while going about those plans in a thoughtful, responsible manner, smacks of nothing BUT integrity.

So that's our bads news, reported by a gay paper in a pretty respectful way. Now let's move on to our good news, reported by the New York post in a disrespectful, blatantly transphobic way. Jack over at AngryBrownButch has a good post and call to action on the issue (with a new follow up post from today), so go check that out for the whole scoop, but basically, the story is:

Our heroine, a young transwoman, is a ward of the state; thus it is the responsibility of New York City to provide medical care for her. They refuse to pay for her transition, she sues them. At long last, a sensible judge in Manhattan Family Court ruled in her favor, saying that the City is obligated to pay for her sexual reassignment surgery. Hooray! The New York Post, bastion of ignorance and sensationalism, runs a piece (I can't bring myself to call it an article) entitled "Free To Be He-She" that is so disrespectful I could spit. Booooo.

For Pete's sake, can you at least pretend to be a newspaper? The damned AP Stylebook has guidelines on the matter.

And while we're on the subject, once we've gotten past those little basics of, oh I don't know, not calling people by the wrong name or pronoun, maybe we can make a motion to strike the words "sex change operation" from the lexicon.

"Sex change" is problematic enough, but it works for some people, and it's descriptive, I suppose, so I'm not totally ready to get all up in arms about it. Yet.

But operation? It's a word that gets thrown around all the time regarding trans folks, and it drives me up a wall. Every time I hear it, or read it, I feel like this guy does when someone lets the tweezers touch the little metal edges of his body cavities, like a buzzer startling in its harshness has been sounded. It's too much to hope for, undoubtedly, but I do wish I never hear anyone ask me about my "operation" ever again. I mean, really. Does anyone use the word "operation" anymore except to pathologize trans folks?

If someone busts up their knee, do you ask them how their 'operation' went? Probably not, because it's an outdated term that evokes scary/sketchy lab coated mad scientist type medical prodedures. Using it to refer to trans folks and our transitions is just another way to dehumanize and sensationalize the process...not to mention group together under one vague, outdated term a whole array of options available to people who want to pursue medical transition. No transition looks exactly the same as anyone else's, and it's not some thoughtless presto-sex-chango endeavor. It's intensely personal, and private, and doesn't need to be discussed with such prurient terminology.

I am I, Sir Eli

At karaoke last week, I got a compliment from one of the other regulars, Orlando. He's there every week, usually in a tie or a nice sweater, with his carefully coiffed 3 day beard, and always singing "This Love" by Maroon 5 or "My Humps" with Miss Jackie or both. He's super friendly, and sweet, and I just like him to pieces. Thursday I guess he was a little drunker than usual, because he sang something different...Man of La Mancha, which I just loved. Usually I get a little impatient with the Broadway Boys who come into karaoke and try to show off their coulda-been-a-contender/headliner chops with Suddenly Seymour or what have you. But I happen to just love "Man of La Mancha"- it's such a roaring, uplifting song, and it was on this CD that I was briefly obsessed with late middle school- "My Favorite Broadway: the Leading Ladies." Anyway, awesome song, Orlando did quite a credible job with it, and when he got off the stage I high-fived him, which he graciously accepted, before leaning in to close (and somewhat beery) range.

"Eli! I really don't want to be offensive, but can I just tell you something?"

Oh, shit. I really hate it when people preface statements with some variation on "No offense, but..." because invariably they're going to immediately follow it with something extremely offensive. Everytime I hear such words, it makes me tighten my stomach like Houdini getting ready for a punch. Still, I like Orlando a lot, and he's never been anything but sweet, and I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, so I said "Of course! What's up?"

"You look so damn good these days! Seriously!"

I started laughing a little at this point, and he leaned in even closer to give me a hug, repeating "Seriously! I mean it! You're so cute! If I saw you in a bar somewhere, I would be all over you, I would rip you a new one!" He pulled back from our hug, and, misinterpreting the look on my face, backtracks a little "Or maybe you'd rip me one, eh? Eh??"

At that point, all I could do was laugh a little more and tell him to stop making me blush.

A sweet compliment from a sweet guy, and I can take it almost 100% unproblematically. The tiny bit of hesitation comes from the slight backhanded nature of the compliment, which Orlando could clearly feel, too, else he wouldn't have prefaced such a nice thing to say with a preemptive apology. Non-trans folks complimenting trans folks on how "good" we look often carries a flavor of patronizing approval that doesn't sit entirely well with me. It's kind of like saying "aww, good for you, you look just like a real boy now!" as opposed to, say, the 'fake' boy that I used to look like?

I don't need someone to tell me how "real" I look at any given day, or whether or not I'm measuring up to their standards of maleness, thank you very much.

But that's not what Orlando said. What he said was, basically, 'You look hot!' and I am more than happy to lap that up like a kitty with cream. Sure, he thinks I look hot now where he didn't, say, a year ago, because now I've got a flat chest and scruffy little sideburns and a voice that's more Johnny Lang than kd lang. (ha! I wish! in either case!) But I don't think that there's much value judgement implicit in his compliment. He wasn't telling me that he respects my masculinity now where he didn't before- in fact, he's always been respectful, and has never messed up my pronoun, unlike Miss Jackie, who after months of a clean record has she'd me twice in the past two weeks, though both times, thankfully, off the microphone. Orlando was telling me that now I look like the kind of boy he finds hot, and that is something I don't really begrudge him.

I know that not everyone who "likes boys" likes every kind of boy. Plenty of people only like hairy guys or twinky guys or guys with big butts or guys with flat chests. I don't think it's so unreasonable for someone to say that they find me hot now and they didn't when I looked like a dyke, and vice versa- I don't expect folks who were attracted to me when I was a dyke to want to be with me now that I'm a guy. If they do, hot damn, more power to them. And I think it's a bit close minded to say "OMG I could never hook up with a...." fill in the blank with some sort of categorical preference: man, woman, trans person, what have you. I think life's generally more fluid than that, and you're possibly going to miss out on some hot action if you don't let yourself try something that's outside the realm of your experience or expectations.

So I just gotta say, thanks, Orlando. I'm real glad that you told me that you think I'm a hot guy now, because guess what? I think I'm a hot guy now! and I like it when people agree with me.