historical fiction

Been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be where I am now with the past I have trailing after me- thinking about questions of historical accuracy, disclosure, revisionist history, etc.

I was chatting with a student worker today about various small conversation topics- cheerful, get to know you type stuff- our names and nicknames, family, etc. Everything we talked about, though, seemed to have possible hidden dimensions that I held back on. Needless to say, she doesn't know I'm trans- she met me just a couple of weeks ago. When we talked about names, I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying "Oh, but I picked mine myself!" or "Yeah, I used to be named after my aunt, but now I've renamed myself after my grandfathers." I guess I refrained because it felt like bringing it up would add an unnecessary layer of complication to the conversation. On the other hand, not bringing it up feels like a lie of omission. Surely there's some sort of middle ground, where I don't feel like I have to bring it up all the time, but I also won't feel nervous about mentioning it when it's relevant?

I mean, is this something that it's possible to be casual about? Can I someday offhandly drop into a conversation "Yeah! When I used to menstruate, I got so frustrated with how expensive tampons were, too!" and just expect it to be fine? Well, maybe if I did it with less shock-value but similar nonchalance.

I was talking about this over the weekend, and equating being trans with some kind of personal information (medical history, perhaps, or some personal history) that your friends know, but strangers don't. I guess the question is where to place myself along that continuum. I'm a pretty open person, but I also value my privacy.

I also value not being tokenized or delegitimized or otherwise reduced to solely my trans identity.

And, last but not least, while it's important to me to be an educator, it's almost as important to be able to feel normal- not like my whole existence is dedicated to Trans Awareness 101. Again, I hope I can find a balance.

Good thoughts to be thinking around the equinox, eh?

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Speaking of names....your friend and mine, the honorable Jose Padilla, Jr. has finally reversed his decision and granted my petition to change my name. Hurrah! Though his order made it very clear that "this name change shall not be relied upon as any evidence that the sex of the petitioner herein has in fact been changed anatomically."

Ha!

I'm still frustrated at his obstinence and fixation on wanting to see 'medical documentation' of an 'anatomical sex change.' More frustrated because of the outmoded and narrowminded thinking which puts forth such a requirement. The term "sex change" is old fashioned and insufficient- it's improperly defined, and in fact, probably oughtn't have a definition at all, save the one given to it by those of us following a sinuous gendered path. Perhaps we could replace "sex change" with "gender travels."

Although even as my radical anti-binary gender activist is typing those words, there's another part of me (the virgo, I've been told?) who longs for order, stability, solid ground. I'd like to see a solid definition for being trans- I just want it to be broad enough and flexible enough to encompass all of us.

Really, and most importantly, I just don't want arbitrary and/or uninformed dogma to be used as gatekeeping devices to prevent trans folks from going about our transitions (and our lives!) as best we can.

Anyway. As soon as I can get myself published in the Village Voice (calling 'em tomorrow), I'll officially be Elliott John. Not bad, eh?

shot from a cannon

Let's do some compare and contrast, shall we? I thought I'd add in a few pictures for a little visual documentation to accompany my usual verbiage. Also because I'm feeling the milestones approach: I got another shot last night, and realized I'm nearing the six months mark for being on T. It's hard to believe how quickly the time has flown by. The changes have been massive, but certainly incremental, and it's getting hard and harder to remember what it was like before. I don't feel like doing a total rundown of changes at the moment, but I'll say that everything is continuing along a trajectory of masculinization. My voice continues to get deeper, and startle my friends and compatriots who haven't heard from me in a while. I'll probably do another voice post this afternoon, so pop on over and take a listen. My facial hair is coming in at a delightful rate of speed- I think I probably could grow an along-the-jaw beard now if I didn't mind looking sketchy for the few weeks of non-shaving it would take for it to fill in. I think I'll wait another few months so that it'll only take a long weekend of looking sketchy before I just look chic and stubbly. As you can see from these two pictures (and I hope you can tell which is the pre-T and which is the 5 months on T shot), I've changed quite a lot in terms of facial structure and mass...I've squared out, gotten more solid, gained some muscle and jaw line. All of which could be improved by some time at the gym, no doubt (well, maybe not the jawline, but the muscle/squareness), but I'm pretty darn pleased with what I've got given my rather sedentary lifestyle. My skin is not getting the best end of this testosterone deal...I continue to be sweaty, oily, and acne-prone. It's getting worse, but I'm hoping it'll stay manageable. If it gets too dreadful, I guess I'll have to find a dermatologist or something, but for now I'm relying on salicylic acid and regular face masks.

Some things testosterone-related aren't showing up in those two pictures, though. That would be the emotional/mental components- I almost wrote "non-physical aspects," but clearly it IS a physical change, just on a chemical level that's resulting in emotional ramifications. I think I can best describe it by saying that for me, T has been an intensifier. It hasn't created any new feelings or moods, it has just intensified things which were already there. It's not that I never got frustrated before, it's just that my fuse wasn't as short. Likewise, my sex life (libido, etc) has always been great, but testosterone has, er, intensified things.

I'm trying to be aware and conscious of my moods...I can recognize that things are cyclical, related to my two-week shot cycle. Yesterday morning I nearly got teary-eyed at the circ desk, reading about the Mets clinching the National League East title. Hormonal, much?

I no longer feel an intense sense of anticipation. For so long I was counting down to my chest surgery, and that's happened. And I was looking forward to testosterone changes, and those have definitely taken hold. I think now it's just a matter of being curious about the future- seeing how my chest will continue to form, seeing what color my beard fills in, etc. I'm looking forward to it, but I don't feel like my life is one long home stretch anymore. I got to the end and realized there wasn't a finish line, just a new starting line. I like it.

Last but not least, speaking of my chest: For your viewing pleasure! A shakey self-portrait that I took a couple of weeks ago. The scars have gotten even more pink and smooth since then...things are looking really nice...and the picture quality isn't great, but this should give you a general idea.

vanity!

Have you ever asked yourself "What does a whiskey-swilling 21yr old transguy look like 5 weeks after chest surgery, when he's out on the town for his birthday in the requiste gay bar uniform of tight black tank top and has, just hours before, accidentally trimmed his sideburns down to mere stubble?"

Fortunately, this is an empirical question.


Not too shabby, eh? I've got some more pictures to upload here, including some long-awaited pictures of my healing chest. Mary Ellen took a bunch of pictures of me Saturday night when we got back to the apartment after all of the birthday party adventures- they're delightfully scandalous, and I'll post some as soon as she sends them to me.

I must say, for all of my mutterings in the last post about negative body image, my overwhelming feeling these days is one of looking good, and it's a truly delightful relief. I look good! I feel good! I look in the mirror or I catch sight of myself in a window and I smile. It's a really excellent feeling. Sure, I want to hit the gym, and I'm looking forward to the days when my acne backs down and my stubble steps up.

But for the first time in a while (ever? since I really became conscious of myself as a sexual/embodied person, anyway.) I really like how I look.

I had an excellent realization on Saturday that this is it, this is my body now. Puberty's going to keep on keeping on, but my major body modification is probably done, [foreshadowing for future post about my thoughts on additional surgical options] and I can start settling into this body. As Rochelle put it, I'm "firmly settled along my future trajectory."

I love it. I love feeling attractive, and presentable, and secure. It's enough to almost make me forget what it was like feeling like a stranger in my own strange body.

Plus (!!!!!) this weekend I felt something in my nipples!!! Just slight sensation, to be sure, but enough to be able to close my eyes and tell when my nipple was being touched, and hey, it's sign of recovering nerves, and I'm extraordinarily excited. I will, naturally, keep you posted.

growing up!

I turned 21 last Wednesday, and I pretty much celebrated all week. It's great not to have to be nervous going out to bars anymore or having to mess with a fake ID, especially since my fake ID was from this girl I went to college with. The picture was from January 05, and it was clearly a girl- longish hair, etc. I'd decided that if I were going to use someone else's ID, I might as well use a girl ID because then I could counter any suspicions with "Of course it doesn't look like me! I'm a transsexual!" Which pretty much worked in queer spaces, but didn't fly so well in heterosexual spaces. Though I could never get too annoyed when I got rejected because, after all, it really DIDN'T look anything like me.

It was a different level of nervousness, though, depending on where I was. It was more risky at straight establishments, but sometimes (especially before I started T) they just assumed I was some sort of butch dyke type and didn't give me any trouble. After T and sideburns and voicedropping, the one straight place I tried to go to just laughed.

Queer spaces, on the other hand, were almost more embarassing to go to, because I didn't necessarily want to be outed as trans...if that makes any sense at all. That's one embarassment that is new- now I don't want to show places my real ID because I don't want to disclose my name, etc.

It's a complicated matter, bound up with the fact that I'm consistently read as male now- essentially 100% of the time, especially since my surgery. Now that coming out as trans is in fact a choice, I get more indignent about the moments when my trans status is disclosed against my will, such as when I have to show my ID.

Although as an aside, it's amazing how many folks look at my ID and don't really understand what they're seeing- skip the little F, and ask me questions with unspoken implications: What kind of a name is that[for a guy]? People will follow the cues that are most obvious to them, I suppose.

Anyway, this new landscape is tricky to navigate, because I've got fears on everys side of me. On the one hand I'm (as always) afraid of blending into the landscape and losing my queer identity by being just another guy who's kinda short with kinda scruffy sideburns and a girlfriend. But then I counter that with the reminder that there are plenty of elements to my self and that indelibly mark me as queer, namely my trans(itioning) body when put to closer scrutiny, my queer mindset and mannerisms and my even queerer girlfriend. Which is a relief, but then little elements of that argument start to bore their own holes into my brain. Like the worry that my masculinity will forever be silently belied by the female bits of my body- lately it's my hips that have me sighing at mirrors.

And how fucked up is that, might I add, that as soon as I'm happy with part of myself, my critical eyes swing elsewhere? Now that I don't have to worry about my breasts, I fret about my hips. While I love my chest in my tight black a-shirts, but now glower at my belly as it protrudes from the same. Though that last point is also a reminder that not all of my quibbles with my body are based in my gender identity: my belly is steadily increasing but there's certainly nothing about it that makes me feel less masculine.

I think part of it, too, is that I just don't know how to be satisfied and happy with my body. It's been so long since I was uncritically pleased with myself. Now it's going to take me a while to assemble all of the elements of true comfort inside my skin. My body is different, so I need to re-acquire familiarity with myself. But also I need to just flat out learn what it means to be satisfied with myself as a package. Now that I've dealt with the major sticking points of gender-related discomfort, I can settle in to learn what my body is really all about. I know that I'm supposed to love my body for what it is; now I think it's just about safe to start teaching myself what that means exactly.

So, a goal to be patient with myself. Maybe by 22 I'll be more settled in.

And hey, that's a big reason I wanted to get this transition rolling as soon as I came to the conclusion that it'd be the best thing for me. I wanted to be a guy in my twenties. I didn't want to miss out on being a young man. I guess now I'm missing out on being a young genderqueer (I don't think I ever was really a young woman...I went straight from tomboy kid to babydyke with barely a pause, so I didn't really get a chance to know what being a woman was about. That's an important point, I think- some trans folks tell their stories, or have stories told about them, in a way that describes being a woman, and then becoming a man, or some such. While I think labels like FTM are technically apt and useful/relevant for me, I don't think I ever really was a girl so much as a sort of pre-trans person, and I don't think I'll ever be a man, but a transman. And that idea may require some fleshing out, and it's hard to type the words, but it's true. I'm not going to be a man. I'm a transguy. Uh, I think I owe this parenthetical aside a closing bracket.) but now I can be a vaguely gender variant transguy. Am I talking myself in circles here? Moral of the story: I'm glad I have my 20s ahead of me in which to continue finding myself, a traditional activity to engage in during one's 20s, and I know I can do it so much more effectively now that I've gotten myself to steady ground on the gender front.

man alive

Post-surgery, five months on T, and nobody ever thinks I'm a girl anymore. It's been happening so gradually that I didn't really notice at first- it's become normal to be read as a guy all of the time. And I mean all of the time- I can't remember the last time a stranger she'd me.

The other day one of my coworkers said something along the lines of "Hey, I helped someone out just a minute ago, and she said she was looking for a book that the man behind the desk had helped her find earlier. She called you he! Good, right?"

And I said something like "Uh, yeah, though not so unexpected." Which I now realize was a fairly ungracious thing to say, since 12 months ago I was constantly nervous and stressed about whether the students were going to get my pronoun right out not. Now that's something of a fading memory.

Which is an interesting point to explore later- are my memories of being female-bodied person going to start fading away? I imagine they will, like memories of any other circumstance once it ceases to be true. I hope that I can hang on to the fruits of those experiences, though. I'm not about to consider myself post-transition (not for a long time yet, if ever!) but I am ready to acknowledge that I don't consider myself a female-bodied person anymore. I don't consider myself a male-bodied person, either, exactly....a transmale-bodied person, I guess. What else? But to that end, I want to let my memories of what it's like existing as a more visibly gender variant person guide me as I become a visibly congruent man.

I mean, it's good not to have to worry anymore. It's weird that there are students from last year who thought I was a girl (dyke, what have you) who have returned this year- wonder what they'll think now? But that's one of the few remaining pockets of anxiety I have, most of these pockets being inhabitated by peripherial folks from my past who never really got it for one reason or another. It's not until it has ceased being such a drain that I've started fully realizing how much energy goes to worrying about whether or not I'm being appropriately seen.

And I have to say, I think my voice, my sideburns and my new delightfully flat chest are all bringing me into new territory, replete with new assumptions about my history, etc being made. For example- I went to a baseball game the other day and someone in our group asked "Did you ever play baseball?"

I blinked for a moment or two before it dawned that, seeing as how she didn't know I was trans, she might very well assume I played baseball in high school. (Though reflecting now on my scrawny self, maybe she was just being kind!) But it's symptomatic of a new and larger theme in my life: namely, that there's a whole world of history that I didn't share with most guys, and another world that I did share with most girls, and that side of my story is no longer readily apparent to everyone else. My common ground with the rest of the world is rather out-of-sync, and not everyone is going to know that at first sight anymore.

--
I got some Mederma scar cream on Thursday, and I've been rubbing it into my scars three times a day- when I wake up, get home from work, and right before I go to bed. It's not too greasy, smells okay, and call me silly but it already seems like my scars are slightly less red/puffy. I'm glad I've gone with this option- it makes me feel like I'm actively helping my scars heal better, but I don't have to tape anything to my chest anymore. It's making me feel much much further on the road to recovery know that I don't have any gauze or tape anywhere on me...I can just wear a shirt like everyone else! I'm rather proud of how I look in my t-shirt, little pot belly and all. In thin white tees and tanks I can see the lines of my scars through the fabric, but probably just because I'm scrutinizing myself in front of the mirror.
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Oh, and I put up another voice post.

weird notions

I think I haven't been writing in this because I have some sort of weird notion that I can't put anything down here unless it's well-thought out and supported and fully fleshed out; perhaps this is a result of publicizing this blog more widely. Because I've had sporadic internet access lately, I haven't been posting. I never feel like I have time to fully cover a topic, so I decide to put off blogging about it, because I want to wait til I can put down everything I have to say about it.

Until I realized that I haven't written in this regularly in weeks, it's driving me crazy to have all of these half-finished thoughts bottled up in my brain with no space or time to air them out, and (newsflash!) there will never be time to write down everything I have to say about something. I'm just wordy and verbose like that, and isn't that what coming up with new ideas is all about? Continually revising and updating one's thoughts?

So, dear readers, I've made a few resolutions.
1) I'm going to try to go back to pretending I don't have an audience. Not because I'm not exceedingly fond of you (I am), or because I'm modest and don't want attention (I'm not and I do), but because I think it is giving me a little bit of performance anxiety to think about y'all. But! I still want comments and questions, and to engage with you (see parenthetical asides, above) so please keep reading and keep commenting or emailing me with questions. (I've given y'all my email address already, right? it's cislocative [at] gmail [dot] com.)

2) I'm going to post whatever I've got whenever I've got it, and if it's brief or not fully formed, and I end up repeating or contradicting myself later, then so be it! Also, this may result in more frequent posts of a shorter length. Fine and dandy.

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Okay, now I'm done with all that weird self-referential business, I think I'll go eat lunch. And then blog some this afternoon. Cheers!

fifteen men on a dead man's chest

Yo-ho, me hearties! Have not been getting the chance to write in this like I'd like- the wireless internet I'd been pirating at home has been secured, and so I don't get much signal anymore. So in this quick fifteen minutes before I eat lunch, I'm going to try to get down as much as possible. Ready? Go!

I'm spending a lot of time and energy paying attention to my chest and being absorbed in my recovery. It's going very well, I think, though I've never really been injured like this before, so it's hard to tell. But everyone keeps telling me the scars look great, and my nipples certainly look great, though kinda scabby and without sensation.

In fact, there's a pretty big chunk of my chest that is pretty numb, along and above the incisions. Very weird to play my fingers along my skin and then start sliding along alien, unfeeling skin. But! It's also resolving itself- I have more sensation now than I did two weeks ago when I first got to take a look at everything. So I'm schooling myself to patience, and waiting to see how things go.

I've still (still!) got traces of the purple marker on me where the surgeon made his marks, and I'm still moving tenderly and cautiously, but I feel good good good when I can go out in just one layer. I'm wearing t-shirts and a-shirts and muscle shirts and walking around the house in just my boxers, and it feels GREAT.

I finally took the tape off my incisions a few days ago, so now I'm just keeping gauze over the nipple grafts for another week or so, and then I'll be free of bandages.

However. I'm trying to decide my next course of action when it comes to scar treatment- silicone sheeting? Mederma creams? I'd thought that silicone sheeting would be best, but I've gotten some feedback saying that silicone sheeting is mostly only necessary if you've got keloid or hypertrophic scarring, and otherwise just keeping them moisturized with a cream like Mederma is fine. On the other hand, I don't want to take any chances. On the other hand, the strips are expensive (eh) and somewhat difficult to use, since their self-adhesive properties aren't always all that great. Honestly, that last point is something of a sticking point with me, since one of the WORST parts of this entire recovery process has been taking the gauze pads off my nipples when it's time to shower- the bandaids and tape I've been using to hold them on are SO PAINFUL to remove! I know I'm just being a big baby, but they hurt like hell, and irritate my skin, and they're ripping out all of my tiny new chest hairs that are sprouting, which makes my skin more irritated, and more painful, and OMG I don't want to have to tape anything else to my chest ever again.

On the other hand, the skin around the incisions is pretty numb, so if I had to tape stuff over the incisions, might not be as bad to remove.

*sigh*

Time for lunch, never enough time to get everything out of my brain. Didn't even go into all of the Big Important Thoughts that are swirling around in there, just superficial things about my chest.

But I'm happy, even if my brain is full, and I'm feeling and looking good these days (I finally look in the mirror and think "Damn, you're looking good, buddy!"

So I suppose my vanity will get the best of me one of these days, and pictures will appear here. If my internet starts cooperating!

Last but not least, I've put up some more voice posts [CLICK HERE], so you can listen to my loooow manly voice.

will be back in NYC on Wednesday, with real internet access once again, so expect a slew of posts as I try to pour out everything that's been in my brain for the past two weeks. and hoo-boy, have there been a lot of thoughts bubbling to the surface.

also, check out story on transguys in Sunday NY Times Style section from yesterday. I've got very mixed feelings about it. More on that later.

Also, I've been getting tons of comment spam, so I'm turning on word verification for commenting. Hope it's not too annoying!

alive, well

in San Francisco, doing well, recovering nicely. today i'm going to the doctor to get my drains out and get unwrapped for the first time- very exciting! i'm stealing a few minutes of internet on the hotel computer, so i'll be in better touch when i'm back in PDX> for now, suffice it to say that things went very well, that i'm looking forward to the big unveiling this afternoon, that my family has been taking spectacular care of me, and that i'm looking forward to being more fully recovered.

woo!

only just out of reach, down the street, on a beach

Less than a week. Only six days til I get up early early early in the morning, head to the surgery center, meet Dr. B, get some lines drawn on my chest, and close my eyes on this body for the last time. The last time I was put under general anesthesia, they gave me a relaxing drug first, which made me loopy and amnesiac. I don't remember it, but I'm told that I took a swing at a resident who jokingly suggested that I got good grades in school through cheating, and later I was riotously calling for the doctors from that tv show ER when they wheeled me down the hall. Perhaps I'll comport myself with rather more decorum this time?

I had dinner with a friend last night, and she gave me some advice about preparing for surgery. Visualization! Creative and positive visualization is key. She suggested that I spend time imagining excellent results, visualizing a well-healed and perfectly executed chest- there's a strong connection between mental exercises and physical health. I believe it, and I certainly am invested in focusing positive energy (mental and otherwise) on myself for a while in an effort to make this event as easy and successful as possible.

But the visualization part...well, that I've been having some trouble with. I think it's because I really don't know what I'm going to be like, not on an emotional level. I've never really had a good self-image, good here in the sense of accurate. I'm not very good at picturing myself, because I've never really liked focusing on the reality of my physical self, and so I don't think I have a strong mental image to begin with. Add to that the "anything could happen!" factor, and my efforts to picture what I'm going to look like a few weeks from now are pretty stilted.

I mean, I know what trans bodies look like. I've spent enough time scouring Transster (and other online picture-sharing resources) and pestering my friends to have a pretty good idea what post-surgery chests look like. I can visualize a transmasculine body, but it's surprisingly more difficult to visualize MY male/transmasculine body.

I've always been...not surprised, exactly, but slightly disappointed whenever I look in the mirror. It offers up a little reminder of what I actually look like, and I'm always a touch surprised when it's still not what I want. Lately, that's been changing- I'm enjoying ever more frequent and longer-lasting spells of comfort. I've been thinking of these changes more as "adjustments" to my own self which, while I don't feel terribly comfortable in it, and do have flashes of surprise/disappointment when I remember it (ah, dysphoria), at least is familiar.

And now I'm doing something radical and sudden! I think for a while, I'm going to be surprised again when I look in the mirror. A good surprise, now, rather than a disappointed one, but surprise nonetheless. A fresh start, I guess.

Also, there's a little part of me that doesn't quite believe yet that I'm going to be able to make this work, to effectively shape my body the way I want it to. I'll believe it when I see it, I guess!

look! a sideburn!

This isn't much of a post- I've been so out of touch lately! I mostly wanted to say that I've put up another voiceclip from last night, and that I also recently shaved my head in acknowledgement of the summertime, and because I'm getting ready for surgery. I won't be able to shower for a week post-op, and I don't want to have dirty hair on top of everything else. So instead: no hair!

I haven't had hair this short since college- it's reminding me of my days as a bright-eyed, bushytailed baby dyke. I was a bit worried that this cut would be feminizing, but it hasn't turned out that way. In fact, it turned out to reveal my burgeoning sideburns in a very nice way! Actually, make that "sideburn." As I may have mentioned before, it appears that my left sideburn is rather in better health than my right. I'm secretly very proud of my sideburn, and I keep turning slightly in pictures and when I'm talking to try to present my sideburn side.

It's troublesome, because my sideburns are uneven, so really I should just shave them off and try to start over, but I really LIKE my one sideburn! I'm very fond of him. You can see him here in this rather blurry portrait from Sunday afternoon.


Alas. I can't wait til the rest of my facial hair starts coming in! I'm looking forward to being a bright-eyed, bushytailed, bearded young fellow.

Luck, let a gentleman see

There are 13 lucky days left until the last morning that I wake up with breasts. Can't believe it's less than two weeks already! Seemed like such an eternity when I made the appointment. I'd wanted an appointment in June, and settled for August because that was the soonest one by the time I'd made up my mind to go with Brownstein.

I'm finding myself getting more and more excited as the days drop away...this surgery is looming larger, expanding out of its ever present place in a corner of my mind to infiltrate the rest of my thoughts as well. Hardly a few minutes go by now that I don't find some reason to think about it, whether I'm thinking about my trip, or the people I want to see, or the things I need to bring with me.

I think a lot about preparation- what clothes should I bring? Do I have enough DVDs to keep me occupied? Have I taken enough vitamins? Did I do enough push-ups? I also wonder a lot about the aftermath. I'll be reaching for a book on the top shelf and wonder how long it'll be before I can easily do that again.

With my rising excitement is coming a small but persistent case of nerves. I hope that everything goes well- that the Dr. is going to have an 'on' day, and do his best work, and make a nice job of it. (The fact that he does, as far as I know, 3-4 of these procedures a week is very reassuring to me on that count.) I hope that I don't have some previously undiscovered tendency for keloid scars...I hope that my scarring is minimal and manageable, as much as it can be. I hope that I don't lose a nipple!

These nerves are basically tied up in two things- worry about the unknown, and worry about somehow mucking things up. I'm nervous because I don't know what my limits are going to be as I'm healing...I've been asking around to find out what kind of timeframe other guys had before returning to normal, but honestly, it's all such an individual thing that no one can tell me how long it's going to be before I can lift my arms over my head, or hoist a heavy box from floor to counter, or even pull someone in close for a hug without caution.

Which contributes to my second fear, familiar to those of you who recall my anxiety dreams about this exact subject, of mucking up the results. I'm pretty sure Brownstein's going to do excellent work (or I wouldn't be going to him!) but I'm worried that I'm going to try to do too much too soon, and stretch my scars, or something. It sounds a little silly when I type it out- I've been doing meticulous research, and I'm going to be surrounded by people (family, friends, loved ones) who are invested in my recovery and are going to help me. I shouldn't worry that I'm going to do something wrong. But there it is.

I wonder if it's some sort of knee-jerk, "I can't believe this is actually happening!" reaction. Like, I can't believe that I'm finally going to have a body that I love, and enjoy, and am unashamed of and unabashedly enthusiastic about, so clearly, I'm going to do something to mess it up.

and speaking of my body, I'm having all sorts of complicated feelings about it as the time for surgery draws nearer. Surgery has been something of an abstraction til now. A desperately sought, carefully tended goal, but not a reality. I've been looking at photos on Transster and reading guys' transition diaries for five years, and now it's my turn; it's starting to sink in that I'm going to have my own set of Before & After shots.

In less than two weeks, I'm going to be altering my body in a permanent and fairly drastic manner. That's, uh, intense.

And it raises big questions. Questions about why I'm doing this, where this comes from, what does it mean to be trans and to need this surgery? These questions scare me, sometimes, in their enormity and seeming unanswerability. I can answer them, but such answers often lead to more questions. Because I'm not comfortable in this body, because I need the rest of the world and my own eyes to be able to easily and readily see my masculinity, that I'm exercising my rights and agency over my own self (my bodily, physical self) in order to make my self (that is, me) happier and in some tangled way more normal. I don't know what kind of world I could live in where I wouldn't want or need to transition- I don't know if that world is anything more than a specious exercise in armchair philosophy. It's enough to me now to know that the world I'm living in isn't such a world, and I'm having surgery in 13 days.

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It feels to me like perhaps this is the next step in this transition. Now that I've made my decisions, not to sit and rest on them, but to continue to examine them, tease them apart, flesh them out and trace their roots and get at the nuances and subtleties and possibilities. I need to learn how to do this in a way that's positive, and productive, and thoughtful, without second-guessing, invalidating, or stressing myself out too much. No sweat! Right?

Well, my progress these days is trying to turn anxiety into anticipation- I want to relax my way into this triumphal moment. It's going to be a vacation, after all!

I'm spending some quality time with my body- enjoying it as it is now, and visualizing how it's going to be soon. I don't know if I'm going to miss my breasts, exactly, but there is a thread of sadness to this endeavor. Guys have warned about post-surgical depression, as a possible chemical reaction to anesthesia, and also as a psychological reaction to a surgery. I can't help but think that any depression is going to be swept away by my delight, but you never know, so I'm trying to gird myself against it nonetheless.

I hope things go well.

Day 104

I'm getting another shot on Tuesday, so I suppose it's time for a brief roll call of changes. I just plugged the dates into an online date counter, and figured that it's been 104 days since I got my first shot. Three and a half months, nearly! Time sure flies when you're having fun. I'll keep this brief- I'm not being particularly systematic about these periodic descriptions, I guess, which is not an altogether bad thing. I'm trying not to be too transition-focused, trying not to examine every hair under a magnifying glass. This is aided by the fact that some of this is starting to become commonplace...I'm getting used to having stubble on my face, and being able to dip my voice down looow, to the point where I'm starting to forget that it hasn't always been like this. But milestones are always nice, so I'll keep trying to cover the salient points here.

The most noticeable effects continue to be my voice and hair growth. My voice has been breaking like crazy this week. It dipped down quite low about a week ago, right after I got my last shot, and then has spent the days since breaking rather crazily. I put up another voiceclip here if you care to listen, though the quality isn't great. My voice has gone back up a bit today, I think. I really do feel like Greg Brady...all squeaky without any warning. And last night I had the striking[ly obvious] realization that just as I'm gaining low notes, I'm losing my high ones. Duh, Eli. But for some reason I forgot that it's not all gain and no loss...so much for being able to sing up high! I guess I can develop a falsetto or something once my voice settles, but it was a funny moment of "Oh yeah. This is permanent, and it goes in both directions."

Hair continues to sprout up all over the place. I'm starting to get a slight trail of belly hair, and hairs everywhere continue to darken ever so gradually and fill in. If I weren't so scrawny, I'd predict that I'll end up as a furry little cub one of these days. Woof! I'm still shaving all of my facial hair every couple of days, because it's still all patchy/scruffy/utterly teenage. But I think my sideburns probably are stronger than I think...I haven't ever let them grow out more than a few days, and they start to get pretty thick. It's going to be interesting to see how they come in while I'm in SF, unable to lift my arms up to shave. Maybe if I get a good week's worth of growth then, I'll let them come in for real. Won't that be a nice surprise, to return from my vacation with no breasts and sideburns!

It's wonderful to see how quickly my hair has been coming in, reinforcing my earlier suspicions that I'd become a very furry guy. I've got pretty significant facial hair for only having been on T for 3.5 months...not just sideburns, but my throat and under my chin as well, and some amount of moustache. There are still a few swathes along the side of my jaw and my cheeks that are pretty smooth, but I get the feeling not for long. Let's here it for being from a hairy family!

Reminds me, too, what an individual process this is. Not every transition is going to proceed at the same pace. I've got more facial hair than a lot of guys who've been on T for much longer. Then again, a lot of guys start T and immediately start losing weight, whereas I've been noticing my waistline steadily increasing for the past few weeks.

Part of my weight gain/size increase is muscle mass, which I enjoy. But I've also just been packing on some extra pounds, I think...my gut is getting bigger, and my hips/thighs/butt aren't really getting any smaller. I think metabolism and fat distribution changes will probably take some more time to really settle in, but I can definitely tell that my shape is changing.

It's becoming a more masculine shape, though, so I'm happy! My pants are all too tight now, but my silhouette has definitely become less curvy. My shoulders and upper arms are broader and more solid, and my waist (thanks to its increase in size!) no longer dips in quite so much. And all this without going to the gym! When I'm enrolled in classes again in the fall, I'll have access to the gym again. I'll need to wait a bit before I can start things in earnest- at least 6 weeks post surgery, according to the Doc, but I'll probably wait longer just to be on the safe side.

So that's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Still a lot of sweat, still not too much acne. Looking forward to getting home and seeing the people who haven't seen me since before I started T, so they can give me a fresh review.

raindrops keep fallin

The other day I was at the library, and it was raining like gangbusters outside, replete with thunder 'n lightning- I kept thinking about how much fun it is to run around like a madman in the ran. Courtesty of my Portland upbringing, no doubt. Later that night, I actually did get caught in a cloudburst, and I wanted so badly to take my shirt off and just let the rain make rivulets down my chest. I didn't, for a couple of important reasons. One of them is likely to remain- I was on 14th st, between 1st and A, and there were all sorts of people around, and it would've been pretty improprietous to just whip my shirt off on the street. The second reason, though, is going to disappear in less than four weeks. In fact, it's only twenty-six days (if you're counting!) until I won't be embarassed of my chest in public any more!

That phrase "in public" just flowed out, but it's true...I'm not nearly as uncomfortable with my chest in private as I am in public. I think that there's a lot packed into that short feeling, about what it means to be trans, about how my gender is as much about how I relate to others as it is about how I feel about myself.

I can't go into it in depth right now, because I need to close the library soon, but there's a lot of interesting things to be said about what being trans means for me in terms of my body, and necessity. I'm uncomfortable standing shirtless in front of a mirror, true, but not nearly as uncomfortable as I am with a shirt but no binder on in front of other people. I'd rather not have breasts- and that desire strikes much harder at some moments than at others- but I might might might be able to deal with them if I were never to be seen by another person again. I don't need to wear my binder in the shower...I can tolerate my body when I'm alone. But I'm REALLY looking forward to making myself presentable to the outside world. with a little help from Dr. Brownstein, that is!

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Got another shot on Tuesday- the nurse gave it to me really high up on my hip, and it hurt like the devil. It's never hurt at all before! I exclaimed, and she promised to give it to me lower next time. Ow ow ow. Doesn't hurt now, but going in? Ouch.

I've yet to take another picture in front of my wall of ties- must remember to do that tonight when I get home. Things continue to progress nicely...after my next shot, I'll do another overview of changes, etc. But in the meantime, I've put a couple of clips of my voice up online at http://translocative.livejournal.com. Livejournal lets you make voiceposts if you have a certain kind of account, so I put a few up...I'll keep adding to them, and I'll mention it here when I do. I wish I'd thought to do the first one before I started T! There are some records of my voice in existance (Mary Ellen has one, Rochelle has one) but I don't know how to easily put them up for comparison. Anyway, my voice is sounding great lately...my own mom didn't recognize me on the phone the other day, and last night at karaoke I had a strange moment of not recognizing my own voice as it came back through the speakers at me. Whose handsome tenor is that, I wondered? He sounds a bit like me...