Category Archives: Transition

Go For Launch

There, I think that title says it all really. Ok, maybe I should add some context to that. Well launch procedures run on countdowns and in a way so have I. with all this surgical stuff. I should add here said countdown got paused for a bit, and by a bit I mean a month as my op date was somehow double booked, but whatever. It’s happening and it’s getting pretty close now.

The last pre-launch checks have come back clear too, and by that I mean I had my presurgical assessment last week. Now I was intending to write about this sooner, but I didn’t get a chance on the day and since then I’ve had laptop troubles. Anyway, back to what I’m meant to be writing about …

I’ll spare you the travel details down to the hospital, though I did find a way there that didn’t involve tube trains, a good thing as my last outing on one of those triggered a meltdown. All in all i got there with no problems, everything ran on time (amazing given the present rail chaos at the moment) and I was miles too early for my appointment. It must have been a quiet day though as I had the waiting room to myself and we got on with stuff pretty much right away.

park

(Here we are again)

Tests were done, quite a few at that. I had my height, weight and BMI checked. (5,9″, 11st, 22.7 for anyone interested) Hmm, seems I’ve lost an inch somewhere. Blood pressure was next, 120/70 as usual. It’s no secret that HRT raises blood pressure, happily in my case this has meant my blood pressure is boosted to where it should be for a normal person.

had a chat with the nurse about my medical history, any family medical history of relevance and my health in general.

MRSA swabs were next, a new thing for me. Basically a cotton bud was rubbed around the inside of my nose (which tickled), and then the same for my groin. Thankfully I could do that one myself and only involved putting the thing in that crease where your leg meets your body.

Blood tests were next. I’ll spare you the usual minor freakout I had because I can’t handle the sensation I get from feeling a needle go in me. Blood tests were for the usual things, like liver function, making sure I wasn’t anaemic and so on. Also useful for figuring out my blood type, necessary, just in case a transfusion is needed (unlikely, but it’s a possibility with this surgery).

Finally came the ECG, or echo cardiogram, yeah, that thing where they put half a dozen sensors on you and wire them to a machine to check your heart rate. It’s something that according to my nurse a lot of people hate. I’m not bothered by it, I’ve seen them done before and knew the procedure. Here’s a fun fact. My reaction to needles is so strong it nearly wrecked this test. it took us a while to get a clean reading.

And after all this fun I had the final glamorous task of going off to wee in a bottle for yet more tests before going for a sit down before moving onto part two. this would be with a lady called Iffy. I’d been in contact with her over the past few months in the run up to this. She’s got a reputation for being a brilliant nurse and I had heard a lot of really good things about her from other trans women.

With Iffy we went through the hospital procedures, timetable, what to expect and so on. This is good because a lot of unknowns were sorted out and I am a bit more relaxed now there’s a structure to things. We went through admission day, surgery day and the days after, before going through the big reveal day and dilation procedures. Things I learned?

  • I get fragmin injections to look forward to each day I’m there (more needles).
  • Nil by mouth after midnight and I have a nice enema to look forward to at 6am
  • I’m going to have emla cream prescribed so I will cope better with the canula/anaesthetic procedure on the day.
  • I can get up and about the day after surgery and providing there’s no issues I can go wandering about and can even leave the hospital during the day to go to the local cafe if it takes my fancy, provided I let them know where I’m going of course.
  • My catheter will be taken out at midnight on the day I’m due to go home.

Once home it’ll be a case of eat, sleep, dilate three times a day, repeat for the first 8 weeks before dropping dilation down to twice a day if things are well and no doing anything strenuous for 6 weeks.

Am I nervous? A bit, but as I said to Iffy that won’t really kick in until the day before, when things actually start happening, at which point I’ll probably skip nervous and go straight for panic attack. To be fair, and as Iffy said, I’ve never had an operation before and I’ve chosen a biggie for my first. We’re going to be doing something that’ll basically punch a big hole in the most powerful muscle in your body.

Do I have any doubts? Is this what I want? Two questions that I have asked myself occasionally throughout transition. I’m not afraid to admit that. Questions that I answer with a counter question; Am I happier now? To which my entire mind screams out “Fuck yes”. It’s nice to have consensus for a change.

Mission Control? Resume the countdown. We are go for launch.

eva

(Eva 01 launch sequence, from Neon Genesis Evangelion.)

 

 

 

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Years Became Months …

Then months became weeks, now it’s getting to the point where weeks become days. Yep that’s life at the moment and now the endgame is in sight. I’m also feeling the closer I get the more layers I shrug off that were holding me down for a long while. I feel lighter, stronger, and ready to take on something I know is going to be hugely challenging.
Again I’m writing kinda cryptically here, but it’s how stuff is forming in my mind and I’m just rolling with it.

Today I had a pretty important appointment. It’s taken three years to get to this point, but I’ve crossed it now. I’ve had a consultation on the surgery I’ve been after for so long. Now that’s done I’m looking at a time scale of weeks now until it goes ahead. Soon those weeks will be days (which I’m already counting down) and then I’ll be there.

I’ll spare you the usual travel details and whatnot and my usual issues, though I will give a mention to my local bus company who really need to get their shit together. Thanks to my first bus being late (again) and my connecting bus seemingly vanishing out of existence it took an hour to travel the 5 miles to the train station. Rebecca couldn’t get the time off work for this one so it was a solo trip, hence the buses.
Still, I got to my appointment with an hour to spare (about average for me) and promptly ran into a friend I keep in contact with on Twitter and tend to see at big meet ups such as Trans pride. A few minutes nattering away and I get called in. Surprised given I was so early. I’d even packed a book for the waiting room.

This time the appointment was going to be rather different, less emphasis on gatekeeping and much more on what I’d like and what would and could happen. I’d done my research but even so I was feeling a bit like I was walking into the unknown after so many formulaic appointments at Charing Cross.

Things proceeded quickly. After the usual greetings, a quick question on how long I’d been living full time for came up and we were onto medical stuff. Questions about close family, any personal health conditions or family conditions mainly, before being asked what procedure I was after (penile inversion) as well as all the usual complications that might arise from surgery. Stuff like possibility of prolapse, things not healing well, not having any sensation, among other rarer things.

Then came the bit I was most anxious about: The psychical examination.

This had been causing me anxiety on two fronts. First off, I’m not all that keen on letting anyone see my bits, much less someone I don’t really know. The second was concerning hair removal. I’ve been paranoid that having spent this long waiting I was going to get told ‘No’ because hair needed removing, something that falls under ‘Stuff that can be done while waiting around’.

It was something that had bothered me so much I took things into my own hands (literally), got Rebecca’s electrolysis machine set up and went to town. Electrolysis is a fiddly practice. It involves precisely guiding a very thin needle into a hair follicle and then burning it out with a jolt of electricity. It’s also a procedure I know I’d have a zero percent chance of sitting still for if someone else was doing it (I jump enough with face lasering). So several hours have been spent numbing down below with emla cream, trying to get as comfy as I can while being hunched over and frying any hair in any areas I was worried about. I was having to battle body, my dysphoria and intense dislike of touching myself, never mind having to pull and move things so I could get the angle right on the needle and my ADHD, which when I’m trying to really concentrate loves to kick in and shut my head down.

It was all probably worth it though because I was told I don’t need any hair removal I nearly cried. The biggest barrier left had been removed. I have plenty of material to work with and I’m fit for surgery. Thanks to work I’m probably the fittest I’ve ever been in my life, which is not really saying much as my fitness levels have always been fairly low between my joint issues and mild asthma.

Anyway, back in my clothes and back in the consultation room, we turn to getting things moving. I have to stop HRT soon (to help minimise the risk of blood clotting and DVT). I only have to stop 4 weeks before surgery because I’m fairly fit and at a low risk anyway. This is a relief as I am dreading the hot flushes that come with HRT withdrawal. I’m awful at thermoregulation at the best of times and very prone to overheating which I often don’t notice) and breaking out in hives.

I could have had a date for surgery at the end of this month because of that. The thing is I kinda had it in my mind it would be longer so I’ve picked something a couple of weeks after that initial date (which funnily enough is now the day I’ll have my pre-surgical consultation). I feel I’ll have enough time to get everything in order, sort out a couple of family birthdays that are coming up and get a couple of other ongoing matters tied up before going in.

At the end I had a piece of paper in my hands with the dates (and a folder of stuff to read on for my next appointment). That was surreal. Physical proof, I could hold and touch, that it is going to happen. And there in the middle of the waiting room I laughed, damn near cried and started bouncing like Tigger and doing my happy dance as that moment hit.

After that things were a bit of a blur. I remember calling Rebecca and giving her the news, and then a couple of trains were involved, and then I was in the car, almost crying again while bouncing because I was so overwhelmed. She’d snuck out and got me a card and cake on the way to collect me as well. She’s the best.

It’s still sinking in now and I’m glad I’ve got the day off tomorrow to process this and start getting a plan together. Well I say getting it together. I have notes and things down already, now it’s just pulling it all together and getting ready.

I’m sure the ‘Oh shit, what am I doing?’ moments will also creep in. I’ve never had an operation in my life and surgery of any kind terrifies me so I’ll have all that to deal with over the next few weeks.

And then the weeks will become days … I can hardly wait 😀

 

 

(Left to right: Me all set for the day, grinning like the Cheshire Cat after my appointment, and the card and cake Rebecca got me).

To Fall In love With Life Again

(CW: mentions of self injury, as well as sex stuff)

Hello everyone, I thought it would be time for an update on life and all that’s been going on. I’m going to be mostly talking about trans stuff, so if there’s any trolls lurking on here who objects to this, don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out.

No, seriously, I logged on here a while back and had a comment from someone who called themself an ally but had all the hallmarks of a TERF trying to bitch me out for banging on about trans issues. Funnily enough they never came back after calling them out. But anyway…

The past few weeks I feel like I’ve awakened from a the depths of a long winter. An apt metaphor in a lot of ways because this winter has been the hardest I’ve had for a couple of years in terms of my mental health. Back before Christmas I had finally gotten my second surgical opinion and it then took until the end of March to finally receive that in writing. This basically means I’ve been in limbo for three months because this means the hospital were also waiting for this. Until it was sent out, I could not progress and I find that extremely hard to deal with. Having to make half a dozen phone calls to chase this up while seeing friends go through this state and onto surgical appointments only added to things while I was getting so frustrated by being held back for no appreciable reason I would have meltdowns that ended up with me smacking my head as a result.

What was also not helping was the fact in the meanwhile I had heard there was a very good chance I would not be going to my choice of hospital (Parkside) as there’s evidently a disconnect between Tavistock GIC and Imperial College. Imperial only send people to Parkside if they can’t get people through their place within 18 weeks of referral, while the GIC imply we have free choice regarding which surgeon we want to go with. With all else going on I was at the point where I didn’t give a damn who I saw, I just wanted things done.

Thankfully this has finally been resolved. I got my letter towards the end of March and was pleasantly surprised to get a phone call from Imperial a week later asking if I ‘didn’t mind’ going to Parkside as they had capacity issues at Imperial. Needless to say I said yes to this and another week passed before hearing from Parkside and I’m now two weeks away from my surgical consultation.

The thing that irks me most about all this is the fact after you get your second opinion, it’s good for 12 months. Not 12 months from when they send the letter out, 12 months from the day you’re seen. Thanks to all this mucking about, 4 months of that time has been burned up. I really don’t want to know what the procedure is if 12 months elapsed. It’s just one of so many things that are fucked up with the present system and needs reforming.

Presuming I don’t have any complications I should have everything over and done in the next couple of months and I can focus on just getting on with life now that I feel energised once more. Speaking of which …

It’s the end of a week off from work  for us both here and unlike the last time off we had I feel like we’ve achieved stuff. We have a new sofa for the living room and new side units to go with them so we’ve got more storage for stuff. I also did a spot of minor DIY and repainted and treated the mould in the window bay as well as put some new curtains up.
The back bedroom is organised to a point where I can set up the spare bed and use the room for the aftercare I’ll need to do post op too. It’s probably just as well we spent the holiday doing productive stuff as I fully expect my next chunk of time off work to be recovering from surgery.

Basically because things are finally progressing and I’m getting closer to getting a big thing in my life sorted out I’m feeling more more energised and more able to do stuff and tackle some of the other ongoing stuff that crops up in my mind from time to time.

First off, I finally got a proper hair cut. I know that sounds trivial, but given I’ve spent the last few months flip flopping between styles and not being able to make a decision, it’s a big thing to me. I didn’t want to rush in and regret it later as it’s taken me 4 years to grow my hair out it’s a big deal to me. As you can see I’m over the moon with the results.

 

 

Secondly, I’ve managed to sort out something else that I’ve ummed and ahhed about for a while not. Y’see, you spend all these years trying to live a life that you then find out isn’t you and it all unravels because you figure out you’re trans and then rebuild from there. You get left with all these snippets and not knowing what to do with them, if they’re still a part of you, if they’re still relevant, or just another piece of the shell that you broke out from upon coming out and finally living as your true self and doesn’t belong to you now.

Sex, sexuality and kink are some of these fragments and for the past two years I’ve made a few goes at sitting down and trying to figure them out, only to become rather bewildered and pack them all away, to try again later. Well without going into too much detail, I’ve finally partially figured this out As you many well have noticed lately I’ve taken to wearing collars and chokers once again.

In kink terms wearing a collar indicates you belong to someone, in my case I belong to Rebecca. For me a collar is a symbolic thing. I’ve said from early on she’s got my heart and soul and in wearing one it’s a physical manifestation of this. I feel more secure for doing this, there’s a grounding element to this, form the perspective it’s a reminder that no matter what is going on in my life, she is always there, always protecting me, always loving me for me, and odd as this sounds I feel liberated for doing so. Being able to trust someone enough to confide in this and give myself fully to. I’ve not figured out much else beyond this, but even making this step is more a help than you can imagine. Once again I’m struggling to put things into words, but I’m not struggling, if that makes sense.

Introspection.

Well it’s 2018 today, so happy new year and all that. Truth be told it’s just another day for me. We didn’t stay up late to see the new year in, didn’t even get woken up by fireworks. Rebecca’s at work today so staying up late wasn’t an option even if either of us wanted to. As for me? Well I’m just ambling along, being a bit introspective I guess, as you do at this time of the year.

Resolutions didn’t happen last year so there’s none of that going on. The important things stayed the same. I’m still with Rebecca and we’re very much in love and have talked about the future together and what we want to do. I’m still here, a line of thought a holdover from the bad old days where there were times I seriously doubted I’d make it to 30, such was the state of my mental health back then.

I also got a bit fitter the past year. I had been conscious of the fact that I’d put on weight because of HRT and very conscious of the fact that for the surgery I’m hoping to have this year they need your BMI to be below 28 to help with results. Well my present line of work, allied to cycling to work for the first time in years has helped there.

Last year I guess I could say I got to the stage where I could make peace with various things in my life. My transition, for one. It’s still going along, the HRT doing it’s magic and hopefully this year the one thing that is still bothering me on that front will be sorted out. I’m conscious of the fact that I’ve been on HRT for two years so and all the major changes have more or less taken place, so whatever I’ve got, that’s probably all I’m getting. You know what? What I’ve got I’m pretty happy with. I’ve got a nice enough figure, my boobs are at a point where they look like boobs even without a bra on and look the part. Yes, they could do with rounding out a little more. Maybe that will still happen in time, who knows. The body hair’s more or less taken care of itself, with a bit of help from the epilator and a touch of electrolysis for the odd bit here and there I really don’t want.

I was hoping to have been done with the stuff on my face but I’ve had to take that slow as I’m on as high a setting as my skin will take and I’m often a hairs breadth away from a meltdown because of the anxiety I get going to these appointments. Put short, it bloody hurts. I decided a few months ago once the dark stuff is done, that’s it, I’m not bothering with the blonde and ginger stuff that I get. A quick shave twice a week sorts that out and 20 seconds with a razor is much less aggro than electrolysis. Cis women shave, epilate, wax facial hair so that’s one instance of making peace with things that I was on about. Comparing body features and getting jealous of what other people have is not something I really get. I get it now and then but it’s no longer a dysphoria thing, it’s just a ‘She’s got a nice whatever’ kind of feeling instead of the pre-transition dysphoric hell of not looking like you feel you should and wishing you could look like a woman.

At some point I got more comfortable with going out without bothering to put a face on. There was a time where this would be unthinkable but these days it’s along the lines of ‘Right, need milk for the shops, get my shoes and keys and go get it.’ I might not have even shaved that day either when doing this, something else that was once unthinkable.

Something else I’ve made some headway on this year is dealing with the fact I’m not a neurotypical person and instead of trying to fight various things on that front in an attempt to appear normal I’m just rolling with it. Yes, this means sticking my hands over my ears because of loud noises in public, having meltdowns because of high anxiety and overanalysing and overthinking stuff, not hanging around areas that are overwhelming my senses, speaking up when I’m having trouble with concentration and so on. I realised that doing what I do is ok and if anyone has a problem it’s their problem and not mine. Realising that challenging behaviour in others is a big trigger point for my anxiety is another and is what’s resulted in me leaving care work for now because I really don’t want to have to deal with that any more. Having a partner who’s been very encouraging and reassuring me it’s ok to change jobs because of such things has been a big help.

I am aware that embracing this side of me is a bit of a double edged sword, especially when it comes to social situations, particularly group stuff. I tend to shy away from group stuff. I end up being the one in the corner sitting silently and seemingly not joining in because I struggle with interacting and judging when to talk without interrupting others and picking up on social cues. I’m the sort of person who says little but listen, take things in and remember stuff that is then important later on, even in a 1 to 1 setting. In groups I can shut down completely and then later get wound up about it, like I did in Brighton.

It’s a double edged sword because I can easily become withdrawn and stuck into a routine where I don’t try new things and don’t really go anywhere as a person. Case in point; Makeup. My sister got me some lovely new bits the previous year but because I am so set in my ways and stick with what works because it’s predictable and I don’t end up worrying it took me nine months before finally looking at the stuff. When it comes to makeup I figured out a simple routine that works early on in my transition and it’s barely changed since. I might pick a different colour lipstick or eye shadow once in a while but things are fairly static. When I’m at work this is ok. I have a routine that’s quick to do and lasts the day without me really needing to think about whether it’s holding up or not, because I know it does. Away from work I really need to try and do new things occasionally. This goes for a lot of things really and I’d like to be a bit more expansive this year because I worry about becoming withdrawn again. That was a default state of being before transition and I don’t want that again. It caused all sorts of issues that I’m still dealing with now.

I guess what I’m trying to say is the past few months I’ve been rather wary of my frame of mind and really not wanting to start slipping backwards again. Maybe that should be a resolution for the year. Who knows? Maybe I’m just overthinking things again. Happy new year everyone.

 

 

Erm, Hurry Up and Wait?

Is that what I do now? Well it fits well with the rest of the transition narrative I suppose, what between the time from referral to first appointment, assessments for HRT and then for surgical opinions. I’m up past the two and a half year mark on that front and still going now I’m onto the next phase of proceedings.

Not going to lie, the past couple of months since my appointment was kicked back has been hard. It’s pretty much been a long, drawn out anxiety attack really. When I’ve had three appointments and two of them have been affected by someone cancelling and rescheduling months down the road I get very anxious that it’ll happen again. Navigating the run up to Christmas is hard enough for me without this extra thing going on in my head.

The week before my appointment was where things got really fun. First off, I get knocked on my back for a full three days with the flu. Secondly the car decides it’s had enough and starts giving up, by way of a massive coolant failure which resulted in the car doing it’s best impression of a kettle. The car, luckily enough we managed to replace, the flu however was reluctant to shift. Well, flu or no flu I was going to London. A meteor strike couldn’t stop me going so a damn stupid virus had no chance.

DRQZ6aSX4AAOLhF.jpg large
(Meet the new car: Includes mod cons such as working heating and stereo)

Anyway, Rebecca and I did our usual, got up, got ready, drove to the station and got the train to London. Thankfully it was an afternoon appointment so no rush hour to deal with and tickets are half what they cost at peak time. Things were going ok until we got to the tube. As you all know I despise the thing. At the best of times I struggle with the noise and closeness. Air quality is another issue. Between my asthma and fairly low lung capacity it doesn’t take much for me to get out of breath at the best of times. Off the back of the flu? It was grim, especially on the Victoria line where I swear the trains are coal powered. The air is so smokey down there it’s alarming. I got so out of breath Rebecca was having to hold me upright while trying to keep herself upright on a horribly jerky train. At some point the jolting does something to my left leg. By the time we get to Baron’s Court I’m wrecked. I had to sit down at the station for 10 minutes trying to get my breath back. A trip up the stairs reveals something in my leg isn’t right. It’s agony trying to bend it. I suspect sciatica, especially how it carried on coming home later.

Things are determined to try and get in my way this day. Even so, we set a new record for turning up to one of our appointments early. We were there three hours early. This sounds insane, but Rebecca and I both hate turning up late to places so allow a silly amount of time for incidents etc. It was something that was hammered home when we got to CHX and registering. Some poor guy who came in just after us had trekked halfway across the country and was 2 hours later for his appointment thanks to a broken down train. Luckily he was able to be seen and got what he needed but even so. The day they finally get a centre opened in Wales so people don’t need to trek all the way from there to London for care can’t come soon enough.

After getting some lunch we return ( I’d gone in and registered earlier on so I could stop panicking that the appointment wasn’t on) and while sitting and waiting we end up having a chat to other people there for appointments. A young trans man and trans woman spot they’re both massive Harry Potter fans and get chatting away in between questions about various experiences we’ve had while transitioning. An older trans woman tells of how her brother’s disowned her over what’s going on. I sit there thinking I’ll miss these moments, chatting, giving people not so far along advice and reassurance about things. I don’t get to think for long as I get called in 10 minutes early for my appointment.

Much like my previous appointment the first 10 minutes is spent catching up on stuff, how things are going, how’s family been, etc. Got asked a couple of questions on how I felt things are going and how long I’d been transitioning for, if I’d had any regrets, etc. The question of grief counselling comes up again after talking about dad again.

Medical history was touched upon. I fill the clinician in on my asthma and medication, get asked the usual questions on drug and alcohol usage (No, and barely drink these days, thank you).

After this we start talking about surgical options. This is pretty brief as I already know what I wanted and had my notebook to hand already. Seeing as I’m going down the penile inversion route talk turns towards that and what’s needed. I was asked if I was circumcised (I’m not). This is good as it’s more material for the surgeon to play with and because of this there’s a good chance hair removal down below is not needed. Once the referral is done and a pre-surgery appointment is completed, hair removal is usually the biggest hold up as there’s not much of a waiting time for the surgery itself at this point.

and various risks and drawbacks that might arise, how depth and sensation can vary (or be non existent), surgical complications such as prolapse or the rare but very nasty one where the bowel gets nicked during the operation and what’s needed to be done about that. Basically there’s a chance this could happen, a fistula forms and bowel fluid gets into your nice new vagina. This results in an operation to isolate the bowel and the need for the use of a colostomy bag while things are repaired and healed. After this, things are reattached and hopefully things will continue as normal. This isn’t a shock to me as I was paying attention back when I attended the orientation lecture a couple of years ago and I’m well aware of possible issues.

Aftercare is also discussed, dilation and generally looking after yourself until you’re ready to go back to work. I learned that I might not have to stop HRT before surgery. Most surgeons get you to stop for six weeks before surgery and wait three week after before going back on it as it helps lessen the chances of blood clotting occurring. Apparently one of the surgeons doesn’t insist on this though, not that I was told which one it was. Interesting to know because I’d rather avoid a menopausal hot flush mess if I can as I’m not that great at regulating body temperature as it is.

I’m asked what surgery would mean to me. For one it means I’d feel comfortable having some level of intimacy with Rebecca because things down there would be right. Peace of mind knowing I won’t ever have to worry about tucking and hoping things aren’t giving the game away ever again. Truthfully, it’s mainly peace of mind, being able to look in the mirror while dressing or undressing and not having a ‘Damn, it’s still there’ moment. I’m pretty happy with what HRT has given me after two years and nothing else gives me any real dysphoria these days.

Swimming was discussed, that classical thing a lot of trans people avoid because of dysphoria, and getting changed. I promptly joke about my terrible swimming ability. I swim like a brick and I get so out of breath after a couple of minutes I usually don’t go again for years.

And after that little ice breaker I get the news I’d been hoping for: My second opinion. It’s like an early Christmas present, and a massive weight is lifted. Talk turns towards where I’d like to go for surgery. I’d decided long ago I was heading for Parkside. If I’m honest I’m not too fussed who gets to work on me: So long as things down below look alright and do what they need to do I’m not even that bothered about the look of the thing. I know this sounds weird and probably blasé too, but that’s me. Parkside got chosen for geographical convenience. Why tramp halfway across the country for something when it can be done 25 miles or so from home?

Thanks to the vagaries of the admin system, Charing Cross GIC can’t make direct referrals to Parkside, only to Nuffied in Brighton, or Imperial College across the road. For Parkside, they go through Imperial and they do the referral. Another vagary is the fact that in spite of the fact the report will be written up the same day, it’ll take six weeks for the GIC to sent the referral out to across the road. basically if I don’t hear anything by March I can start badgering people. Meanwhile, I do have a contact for a nurse at Parkside to discuss things, which I shall do in the new year. I mean, what’s a week or two on that front after all the time I’ve waited thus far.

Anyway, on that note, I hope everyone has a good time over the holidays and hope the new year brings good things to you all xxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

DRezh1KXkAIvHIK

(Once again my wonderful Rebecca’s by my side and being awesome)

A Change Of Pace

*Looks around suspiciously and leans in* I’m going to whisper this, but I might have found a job I feel comfortable doing this past week. Basically I’ve taken on a job at a warehouse for an international company, picking items for customer orders. I won’t say who for because I’m wary of doing such things online but after my first week I’m feeling pretty good, especially after the disaster that my last job turned out to be.

Seems a bit daft on the surface anyway. I’d spent the past four years in care roles and spent two of them gaining two NVQ’s and was lined up to start working towards a Care Certificate. Sounds a bit like a career really. The thing is I enjoy helping people, but I’m really not coping with a few things that came with the work.

Since transitioning I’ve gotten better at finding out what my strengths and weaknesses are. I’m also more aware of how things can stress me out, cause anxiety and so on. Basically I’ve figured out I need things to be predictable and fairly structured work wise to cut put a lot of stress and anxiety. This is something that has been in short supply at my various care roles, spanning from things like shifts being varied, the expectation that we can drop everything and have practically no life because of work demands and the work itself can be unpredictable because of client needs. The biggest thing of all is I’ve realised I really can’t deal too well with challenging behaviour, especially when things become violent. Even before transitioning I struggled with this aspect but nowadays, I can’t handle it. I get so stressed and anxious about this it was damaging my mental health.

My last job was all of the worst things in microcosm. My last job I was lied to at interview, in regards to hours per week and shifts, which has really pissed me off because I had three different jobs to choose from and I made a choice based on what was said at interview.I wouldn’t have picked a job that had 42 hours and 12 hours shifts if they said that at the time.

On my third shift I was physically attacked by one of the residents. I nearly walked that day and it was only because of my team leader trying to convince me to stick around for training that I didn’t. The following week I did training, including two days of learning how to deal with physical incidents and restraint techniques and really didn’t feel good about it. The following shift I saw some of the damage the resident who had attacked me had done while I was off and that finished things. If they could do what I had seen them do then I knew there was zero chance I was going to get close enough to them to try and do what I had been taught. I don’t have the physical capability to do so and frankly I don’t want to be put in such a position. I phoned in sick for my next two shifts because I was non functional because of my anxiety and the following day I quit. My then manager trying to guilt trip me on the phone with “But we said at interview you’d be dealing with people with challenging  behaviour” was ironic really. As Rebecca will tell you, I got so anxious about that job and having to make that phone call I almost snapped my glasses as I had them in my hands at the time.

My new job I have fixed shifts, predictable hours and a predictable job. I also get home early enough to have a couple of hours of evening to play with instead of coming home and needing to go right to bed, and can get up at a reasonable hour too. It’s also close enough for me to not need to worry about public transport. It’s 40 minutes on foot or 15 now I have a fold up bike, which I got because it’s a near flat road there and back. I’m pleasantly surprised how well my legs have held up considering it’s a more physical job and I’m on my feet most of the day.

I seem to have picked things up pretty quick too. I can find my way around with ease and work out where I need to get to next efficiently. I’m also pretty quick at finding what I need to get as well. Basically it’s all recognising patterns and memorising inane things, linked to navigation, things I’ve always had a knack for. My instructor was impressed enough with how quickly I’d picked up the store layout to call me a genius, which made me blush. It’s also nice I’m mainly left alone to quietly get on with things. As I’ve said elsewhere, I’m doing something that is a millionth of the stress I had doing care work and I’m getting similar money for it. oh, and I’m going to improve upon my fairly lacklustre level of fitness, which will be good for other things.

It’s a nice work atmosphere as well, quite a strong team culture, we’re encouraged to contribute to the safety meetings we have each day, any ideas we have and the people there seem to be fairly happy and relaxed from what I’ve seen. It’s a nice change of pace.

Looking forward it looks like there’s plenty of opportunities to make this thing permanent as I’m presently working through an agency, so long as I’m hitting targets, my attendance and attitude are good and there’s several other roles to learn too, in time. Here’s hoping it’s not another false dawn.

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Yep, I’m back on two wheels again 🙂

Trans Pride 2017

Well Trans Pride is over and done for another year and I’m at home and in bed writing this even though it’s only 8pm. I’m that tired, so tired I can’t concentrate and then spent most of the next day feeling rather ill.

The past few days have taken a lot out of me, more than I thought for a number of reasons. On the physical side of things my phone recorded 30k of walking spread over four days. Factor in the fact I went to Brighton a week after smashing my toe at home and then picking up a massive blister on the first night I’m quite surprised I managed to hobble and curse my way along such a distance.

Mentally I’m feeling very frazzled. Social events have that effect on me anyway but this year it’s been pretty brutal at times. I overdid things on Friday, had a meltdown on Saturday and spent a fair bit of Sunday in an unfocused haze. I’m starting to realise how neurodivergent I am and becoming more aware of how it impacts on a lot of things. As a kid I was diagnosed with ADHD and I know I have a number of sensory issues, such as being very sensitive to loud noises and bright light. I really need to sort out my glasses instead of having to choose being able to see clearly or being blinded by strong sunlight.

For instance Friday night we went to the Trans Pride Film Event. A series of short films by a number of different independent groups revolving around different aspects of gender identity and how they play out. The films themselves were interesting, but for accessibility all of the films had closed captions. This was brilliant as I was able to read what was being said instead of listening, or tying to listen to the films while trying to tune out about a million different and distracting noises. It also meant if there was a particular noise that was bothering me, I could block it out. Case in point, a droning sound in the first film resulted in me covering my ears until it had gone away. With the closed captions I could still follow the narrative while this was going on. I’m also realising if I am having to block sounds out by covering my ears when out and about no-one pays any heed, which is nice.

Thursday night was pretty good, Rebecca and I had made plans to meet up with our friend the lovely Kate and go for dinner out somewhere, which we did after we checked into the hotel and chilled out for a couple of hours. We were later joined by Lisa and had a good catch up over a couple of drinks. I think Rebecca actually got a bit drunk that night. The only downside was my feet acting up. My shoes weren’t comfortable and I later found I had a huge blister on my right foot on top of the bad toe that had been playing up. I walked back in my socks, which was another poor idea as walking for half an hour with no support on my arches meant I was almost in tears by the time we got back. It also resulted in me buying an emergency set of trainers while out and about on Friday.

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A lovely evening out with Kate (Far left) and Lisa (Far right)

Friday was a long old day, a bit too long looking back on it. We had a wander round the shops, lunch out and a trip to the Brighton and Hove art gallery afterwards. The gallery was interesting on a couple of fronts. For one they had a big Constable exhibition on display, secondly they had the museum of Transology, which had an effect on me. Basically it was a museum of curios donated by various trans people that symbolised their journeys and I can see myself writing a blog about something based on this in the near future. I do hope the exhibition finds a permanent home because it deserves one. Transgender history is rather fragmented thanks to a lot of stuff being destroyed and also serves to shoe people that we are not a recent trend but an integral part of society for as long as there has been a society to speak of. For anyone interested, go look at http://brightonmuseums.org.uk/brighton/exhibitions-displays/the-museum-of-transology/

The aforementioned cinema event followed in the evening and by then to be honest I was struggling, having been out all day and not really had a break or somewhere especially quiet to unwind. The films were fantastic, two in particular stuck with me though. One called Skeleton in a Beret was about a couple of people who used gaming to explore their gender identity, an avenue I’m familiar with in my own way. The other (Mum) was about a family, the mother was suffering from a long term illness, one of her adult children was trans and had transitioned and family relations were somewhat strained. It brought back memories, lets just say that. Again, link below for anyone wanting more information on things http://www.eyeswideopencinema.co.uk/blog/2017/7/11/trans-pride-2017-programme

Saturday was the protest march through Brighton, though not before Rebecca and I raided a couple of comic shops we saw the previous evening and got some goodies. The march itself was as expected, a lot of noise and visibility along with a lot of walking before getting to Brunswick park and having a wee chat with various people we know on Twitter. Then the rain came, then my mood crashed. It was cold, wet, my foot was in a lot of pain by then and we retreated to a pub where some friends were staying for a while before we got a bus back to the hotel. Next year I need to actually plan stuff rather than try and drift along and see what happens. I just feel very unfocused and isolated that way. Tears were shed and pizza was consumed.

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Getting ready for the Protest March, before the weather closed in

Sunday was another day out and about with Kate, coffee, lunch and shopping as well as a good chat about a couple of serious things going on. I hope she’s ok now. Again, after a couple of hours out and about I was flagging and needing peace and quiet and looking a bit ill too (which fits given how bad I’ve felt today, Tuesday). Eventually we picked up a small wardrobe of spare clothes Kate was giving away and returned to then hotel. That just left Monday and a quiet trip back home after having spent Sunday evening mostly talking to Rebecca through Twitter as I was trying to get my head and some thoughts in order while having a non verbal spell.

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More fun and adventures with my Rebecca and the lovely Kate

The main theme behind this long Twitter chain I was typing out was a theme of feeling a bit adrift and lost, which seems ironic being in Brighton of all places. It was here two years ago a lot of things transition wise swam into focus and I got into gear. I went full time soon after and haven’t looked back. I made some great friends who I was happy to see even if it was all too briefly at times for various reasons this time. Two years down the line I’m at a stage of transition where I’m ready to move forward and sort surgery out, but still waiting for the system. I’m also still waiting to get up and going with my new job, which as it turns out I shall be starting next week, but that’s not all.

Putting things into an understandable concept is hard for me at times. With what’s going on in my head I likened to seeing a load of threads on the ground. Are they mine? Do I pick them up? Throw them away? Leave them alone? Some things I’m sure of, like my gender identity, being madly in love with Rebecca and my gothy/witchy leanings. A lot of other things I’m less sure of and there’s a couple of things I am frankly terrified of picking up and looking at because of past experiences. I suppose I’ll figure it all out in time but right now it’s only adding to this sense of feeling adrift right now.

In the end we came home Monday and to be honest, I was looking forward to going home. I’ve not felt like that when away somewhere for a long while. A few times Rebecca and I have asked if we would go back to Brighton next year. To that I will say yes, but next year I’ll have to do a few things different. First off, next year I need to stay somewhere in town, nearer to events. Being half hour walk away from the hotel messed me up. I needed the room to be close by so I could easily duck in for an hour or so and reset up head when being out and about got a bit much. I stupidly chose our hotel based on the fact parking wouldn’t be a financially crippling issue that it was last year. The logical thing would have been to book in town and taken the train down, like a lot of people do. It would have made it easier to plan things with friends, being nearby. Next year I need to plan going out better. The days where we had planned to meet someone and do stuff worked a lot better than just winging it and hoping.

I also need to do other, smaller things as well. For one, remembering to pack a couple of extension leads in case the power points are miles away from the bed. Packing more shoes better suited for walking around and finally, if I get new clothes, try them before packing them and taking them with me. I had a bit of a wardrobe malfunction in Brighton. Namely I put on a new top and realised it was pretty well see through.

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Emergency trainers

On the plus side, I spent a whole day out in leggings and another day out in shorts and at no point worried about or thought about my tucking arrangements. This is nice and is one of several reasons why surgery can’t come soon enough for me. I also paid very little heed to my make-up during the day because the hair removal’s gotten to a point where I can go out for the day and not worry about covering stuff up. On that front at least things are slowly moving to a point of comfort. If nothing else I could go back next year just to add to my t-shirt collection.

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I have a collection happening now

Oh well, I’m going to finish up with some other pics from the weekend below. Enjoy 🙂

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Yup, travelled to Brighton in last year’s t-shirt 🙂

Perks of our hotel on the outskirts of town. Views, namely of the park. Also, a rainbow while in Brighton, how apt 🙂

Yes, we lost ourselves in the comic shops. Castle in the Sky is mine, a film that left a long lasting impression on me when I was growing up.

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Rebecca’s pet bee. It just randomly landed on her hand while we were forming up for the march.

Gender Is A Spectrum

I am only going to say this once: No-one is trying to take gender out of society. What is happening is a steady realisation there’s is far more than the classic ‘two genders’ we’ve been saddled with and had hammered into our heads until recently. Gender, like many other things is more of a spectrum than a series of absolutes.

People are born, some identify as the sex they were assigned as at birth, others don’t. Those who don’t take various steps so they can present as the gender they feel they are. For some people like myself that means transitioning from male to female, or vice-versa. For some, they feel neither one suits them. Some days they feel more masculine or feminine and present as such, or a mix. I know, I used to do this too. Before I worked things out I thought I was non-binary or agender and dressed and presented according to how I felt.

So why am I writing a crash course in gender identity? Well once again I and a swathe of people are yet again having to defend ourselves from bigoted idiots and people who are sycophants to said bigots who should know better than most that toadying up to them is a bad idea. Piers Morgan and India Willoughby for those who aren’t in the know.

The fact the latter is a trans woman of considerable fame, and I presume knows what it’s like to have their gender identity questioned, poked, prodded and outright denied, derided and ridiculed by some is galling indeed, especially given their extremely poor choice of language while trying to defend her attitudes which are coming across more and more as transphobic, sexist and out of touch with what most of us have to deal on a day to day basis.

Siding with a well known transphobic, bigoted idiot like Morgan after his puerile attempts to invalidate Fox Fisher and Owl’s gender identity on national television is a slap in the face to transgender people. Once again we have a celebrity who thinks they’re the big ‘I am’ and profiting off of their transition screwing the rest of us over, either because they are not realising how much damage they are causing through their actions or just showing their true colours, then playing victim when the inevitable backlash hits.

Sorry, but you can’t have your cake and eat it. You want to tell your story and make some money off of it, fine, but don’t you dare shit on the rest of us doing so. You wanted to show the world your transition and show people you can transition and your life can be a success. That is inevitably going to make you a role model to many people who are going through similar struggles. If you want to be a shitty role model, like Caitlyn Jenner, we’ll call you out for it, like we do with her.

You don’t get anything for free. You have fame and money, but the price you pay is you become a role model, like it or not and role models need to be very aware of what they say and do or be held accountable. If you want to continue being a shitty person over all of this, and let’s face it, you are developing a track record for shitting on people who don’t conform to your perceptions (the incident where she invalidated every trans/non-binary person who don’t/can’t medically transition a while back), you are going to fall from grace very quick. The wheel of time will turn and you will become an irrelevance, much like the dross you’re appeasing through your actions. That is a promise and a forecast.

You’re not the only one who’s fought decades to become the person they felt they should be. Some of us are quite capable of doing this without invalidating those who’s journey don’t mirror our own.

 

 

 

Where Does The Time Go?

Serious question, where has it gone? I’m asking because in a couple of days (Thursday 27th April) marks two years since I came out as trans and set things in motion. Anyone expecting then and now pics you’ll be disappointed, because I’m not doing that. I can’t look at my old pics, it’s just a reminder of so many painful events that happened in the past. I haven’t got many anyway.

I was pretty lackadaisical about printing pics in the past and thanks to a brace of hard drive wipes over the years I lost most of them. The ones I had printed out I last saw in my old house somewhere, left behind along with most of my stuff when I moved out. The few I do still possess tell the same story: A husk of a person, drifting through life, half not there and half dead. Someone and something a world away from where I am now, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Suffice to say I got there in the end, then spent weeks agonising on how to come out and how everyone would react. I remember coming home from a late shift, going to the bedroom and sitting rigid, choking back tears and trying to find the words to tell my now ex partner. I took the plunge and blurted out that I was trans and felt ready to start doing something about it, whatever the cost. A this point I felt all but dead anyway and probably not long for the world, I was that depressed, anything from that frame of mind was an improvement.

Over the coming weeks and months I told everyone else, saw my GP, had two attempts at getting referred to Charing Cross Gender Identity Clinic (My first referral got lost) and went about into the world, feeling I had finally awakened. I started finding what I liked, my own style and so on and began to grow.

I won’t lie and say it’s all been plain sailing. Transition costs a lot in terms of outlay. A new wardrobe of nice clothes for a start. I’ve spent a good couple of thousand pounds on laser hair removal and a fair few quid on a couple of private appointments to get myself up and running and onto HRT as I’d probably still be waiting to get onto that now if I sat back and waited for the GIC.

Transition also finished off my relationship with my ex, partly because he’s not into women, but transitioning and seeing what there was out there in the world opened my eyes to a lot of things that were not right and I wanted out before any more damage was done.

I saw a counsellor a little over a year ago, initially to help deal with the grief of losing my dad to cancer. A lot of stuff came out and she basically said I hadn’t been able to celebrate and embrace my transition up until then. With a relationship that was falling apart and dad suddenly becoming ill and leaving us it’s not hard to see why my early months that should have been happy ones were overshadowed.

Thankfully things have changed for the better. I’ve been with Rebecca for just over a year now. She has been amazing and supportive throughout, my rock and my world, my everything. Mum’s commented numerous times I’m the happiest she’s ever seen me now we’re together and yes, transition has become more of a celebration, for both of us. We’re both free to be ourselves, pursue our interests, have a lot of good times and get up to all sorts. We both had our first proper holiday in a long while last year and we’re quietly getting on with our lives and building a future together. In a lot of ways we’re both on a similar journey and helping each other heal from a pretty crappy past in a lot of ways.

Going forward, by the end of the year I’ll hopefully have a second surgical opinion out of the way and I’ve finally settled on what option I’d like to pursue on that matter. I’ll also hopefully have this hair removal business taken care of to a point where I’m reasonably happy. It’s funny how the goal posts change over time.

For instance there was a time where I wanted to get to a point where I’d never have to shave again. Now I’ll quite happy deal with shaving if it’s just to get rid of the blonde hairs I now mostly have now most of the dark hair has gone. I’ll be quite happy the day I don’t need to go back and get my face blasted by the laser.

I guess what I’m trying to say with all this is yes, transition is a daunting idea to go through with. How anyone thinks we’d do such a thing on a whim, or for some sort of kick I don’t know. You’re gambling at the highest stakes possible with all this. Some people get lucky and keep their partners, family and so on. Others aren’t so lucky, they lose can lose some of this, or all of it. Some people don’t make it at all. The rewards are worth the risks though. You get to be you, you get to live and that’s why we do this.

One of the best things about this journey is seeing my friends progress through their own transitions, overcoming obstacles and growing into the people they’ve always wanted to be. Here’s to the journey.

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Here We Go Again …

Yup, it’s another day and another trip to London, the use of several trains and doing battle with the dreaded, overcrowded and stuffy underground system. This can only mean one thing: Visiting a certain medical centre tucked above a local supermarket in Fulham, otherwise known as Charing Cross Gender Identity Clinic. (CHX from here on in)

Yes, I’m back here again, though for myself this time, having been this way recently with Rebecca and Sylvie to get Nadine to her workshop date and later for Rebecca’s consultation. My appointment wasn’t until 2 but I was out the door by 7.30 to meet Rebecca as she’d been dragged into work early and had an appointment of her own earlier in the day. One trip to Watford later and we’re eventually on the way to London After lunch at a cafe I visited the first time I went to CHX, we’re in the waiting room an hour early, because Rebecca and I both like to make sure we get to places early.

2pm rolls around and shortly after we’re sitting in the consultant’s room, and not quite sure what to expect from the day and instantly had a talk about how at future appointments me and Rebecca might not be able to be in the room together as we’re both on the books at CHX and being seen by the same people can potentially cause a conflict of interest. Not how I wanted to start things but anyway.

Today, well yesterday now because I was too wiped out to write last night, was my first opinion for surgery, so this time the questions were a bit different. Less of the history and what not (how did you figure out you’re trans, etc which I’ve written about in past blogs) and more on my frame of mind and weather or not I’m stable, for want of a better word. In a way this was a relief as I’ve been through my history three times now, in other ways not so.

She did ask when I came out, when I transitioned at work and what I do. I was asked to bring some occupational evidence to my next consultation (payslips, etc) as they need evidence on record that you’ve fully transitioned and not just saying you have and are hiding under a rock when you’re at home. Well I’ve kept all my bank, pension and tax stuff for the past 15 years in amongst other things, (much as I’d like to burn all the dead name stuff, I haven’t as it’s too important to destroy), so rounding that up is no issue.

I was asked about my past mental health, bouts of depression and if I self harmed and when. That was fun, given that meant talking about what I did, as well as my suicide attempt when I was 17. I I was asked if I’d had counselling at any point and I did say that I had for when I lost dad and that I do have the odd day when grief hits hard. I was advised that if this got to the point where I was struggling to function that I should seek more counselling for this as I’m at the point where if I was struggling that badly it wasn’t good for my mental health. If I’m honest though, things are getting more manageable on that front with time.

I was asked about my physical health and any medical conditions. Aside from arthritis and my usual issues with my joints and back there’s not too much else to talk about there so I went over what medication I’m on.

I was asked about my hormone medication and how I’ve felt while I’ve been on this, if I’ve had any dips in mood and so on. I was also asked when I last had a blood test (top tip, get a blood test done just before you go to one of these) and my elevated oestrogen level was noticed, as my result from the other week came back as 702, when the top of the healthy range is 600. I’ve got a telephone consultation with my GP this week regarding this, so my consultant was not overly concerned about this, but advised me that this should be back into range before I come back to CHX as being on HRT comes with an elevated risk of blood clotting, thrombosis and so on. I was asked if I smoked as this is a big no-no when on HRT as this raises the risk further. I don’t smoke and hate smoking so that’s not an issue.

Then we started talking about surgery, what I wanted and why. Now I’m still on the fence in regards to what I want surgery wise, but at the moment I said I wanted to go for the full vaginoplasty, because I wanted to have some degree of intimacy that wasn’t instantly destroyed when present arrangements down below got rowdy. I want surgery for peace of mind, to know I’m complete, can get dressed and go out and not worry about tucking and so on.

With that we talked a bit more about what surgery entailed, the need to dilate and so on. All stuff I knew already having seen so many trans friends go through this and talk about the aftercare and whatnot. I was also asked about what support I’d have post surgery, who would look after me while I recovered, which would be mainly Rebecca, though I did joke that fair’s fair and I’ll be doing the same for her one day when it’s her turn to go through all this. We did also discuss about the physical prerequisites for surgery, namely having a BMI under 28/ waistline that’s less than 100cm. To he honest, unless something drastic happens, this won’t be an issue for me and she agreed.

After that, I was given some leaflets and information, a couple of people to contact regarding surgery questions and electrolysis, not that I know if I need hair removal down below yet, and then given the all clear. She was happy I was stable and suitable for surgery and all I need now is a second opinion to back this up.

Relieved, Rebecca and I went back to the waiting room and tried not to melt while waiting for my letter for my next appointment to be prepared. We joked with the receptionist there must be an NHS directive that all their buildings must be heated up to 50C or so. A few minutes later, I had my letter, which I promptly scribbled a note to future me regarding the payslips and stuff I’d need to bring with me.

With that, I wait till October the 31st, appropriate for me as that’s the end of the Pagan year and both me and Rebecca noticed that. All I need to do is keep doing what I’m doing, do regular blood tests and get my oestrogen level back into range. Aside from that I can do some reading and research, make use of the contacts I was given and get on with life until then.

Oh well, what’s a blog without some pics of the day? Enjoy 🙂

(Yeah, I went for a gothic witch look, it’s been a while and it was a nice day for a skirt)

(And a huge thanks to my beautiful Rebecca, who’s always at my side. I swear next time we’re here it’ll be for you darling.)