The day I got the letter to start hormones was one of the happiest days of my life. I took the letter and held the tears in until I got to my car. I held the letter against my chest and wept uncontrollably for what seemed like an eternity. The letter. Someone believes me. Someone has given me the affirmation I have waited in hiding for my whole life. The letter. It was mine. I could take it to a doctor, get my pills and start my journey. I could put the letter in my hope box and just know I have it. I could fold it and put it in my pocket.
The day I walked in to the endocrinologists office I was petrified. Happy, excited, but petrified. I was treading in open water and the sharks were circling around me just waiting to feed on my weakness. I held my chin high and signed the roster, took a seat and waited. While I sat there filling out the hundreds of forms they needed I was called to the back. They took the clipboard and we walked into a room.
"Why are you here?"
Looking down I handed her my coveted letter.
"Oh, you're here for hormone replacement?'
"Yes"
"OK, we start are patients on a very low dose estrogen and no T blocker."
"OK"
"You'll need blood work in a few months. Do you want to do it here or at another lab?"
"I'll get it done at the lab."
And I walked out.
I had the script in hand. Estrogen __mg 1 SL QD (That's one under the tongue daily.) It had my name on it, it was mine. The way it was given to me was factual, cold and belittling. But who cares, I got my script. I drove home with a bitter/sweet taste in my mouth. I was worried about starting hormone therapy and a little concerned about how my roomie would react. It's big step. The pharmacy filled the script and I had one months supply of hormones in my hand. Estrogen!!!!
That night I took out the bottle and sat on the couch with Lucy. We talked about he changes and what would happen. We talked about the side effects and what the warning signs are. We talked about our future and intimacy. When all the questions were asked and answered, when our mouths were dry from to much talk, I opened the bottle and put the little pill in my hand. For such a tiny little pill, it weighed a lot. Not literally, but figuratively.
I dropped it under my tongue, closed my eyes and smiled. The journey had begun.
The tiny pill melted under my tongue and the sweetness filled my mouth. At first I thought it curious that the sweetness that the pill represented would be so strong in actual flavor, then I realized, they did that on purpose. they knew it would be melting in your mouth. It didn't matter, the sweetness to me meant the end to the bitter life I had lived for so long.
That was March 19, 2011
The changes were subtle. A smell here, a different feel to my skin, painful breasts that seemed to hurt just so good. I embraced the changes as tightly as I could. I held on to them. Putting each memory into the small memory bank in my mind.
The first few months went by and my lab work was due, as was my first follow-up with the endo. I had my labs done and was shocked to find my numbers were all over the place. My testosterone was still well into the normal male range and my estrogen level was barely into the low normal range for a female. Sigh! I was hoping for better, but knew I was on a tiny stating dose and it takes a while. With results in hand I went to the endo.
"Hi, why are you here today?"
"HUH, you made the follow-up appt. Did you read your notes?" I was a bit snarky. I had made the appt with the Dr and I was seeing the NP. I'm fine with it, but she really had no clue.
"I see you're not into the normal ranges yet."
"Not even close. Again snarky.
"OK, well, lets" double your estrogen to __ and we will see you in 4 mths."
"What about a T blocker?"
"We don't like to give them until the first year."
"Um, seriously? My T hasn't dropped and I'm no spring chicken. Time is not on my side."
"I"ll ask the doctor and see what she says."
"Fine, call me or just call in the script to Walgreens." I gave the number and the fax number.
Of I go. A whole day wasted. I understood the take it easy approach in the early stages, but that time had come and gone. It was time to be a little more aggressive with the treatment. At first I cried. I knew it was going to take time, but I expected them to at least attempt to get my numbers where they should be. OK, slow on the E, but no T blocker? I asked all the girls at the groups and they were all on triple my dose and all on some kind of T blocker. I got the name of another doctor and made an appt.
My appt with the new doctor came. She was the nicest person in the world. She sat with me, asked me questions about my life and what brought me to her. She asked me why I wanted to transition. She seemed genuinely concerned with my care. Then we started talked about the medications I was taking. She was shocked. I left her office with what we felt was best for me. It wasn't the max dosages and at the time it seemed conservative, but right.
Time continued on and so did the changes. My breasts were growing. My skin was much softer and thanks to laser and the hormones, my hair was mostly gone. My face had changed and taken a more female shape and for the first time in my life, I smiled more than I frowned. I was happy. I was living as a female.
I got my gender marker changed on my license and put in my name change with the courts. I was becoming female. No longer did I have to put on the facade of maleness. I could cry at sad commercials, or in a movie. I could wear heels and lipstick. I could wear a bracelet that clinked when I moved. I could be me, I could be happy.
Today is the 7 month anniversary of starting hormones. 7 months, a drop in the bucket as time goes. 1/78th of my life on earth. In that time I have lost all of my family. I have lost most of my friends. I have made new friends. I have the most important person still with me, my roomie.
I still cry a lot. I still have days where I wish I wasn't. I still have broken empty dreams. But they are all subsiding. I am finding happiness in the small things and letting them grow inside me.
7 months. 1/78th of my life.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Soft as a pillow...
Work is slowing for the summer and that means I had some time to chat via text and spend a little time on Facebook. I love and hate the down time. Sitting there watching the clock is boring, but running around until it's time to go is exhausting. A no win situation. But like I said, today I had some time to chat and I really enjoyed it. Maybe it was the company.
Most of the texts were about my new FB account and how I needed to keep the friends at a minimal and try to control who was looking at my account. FB can be very open place, even with the settings on private and friends only, it can be a very open forum. The texts today were short. (You know how hard it is typing on the iPhone. Don't get me wrong, I love my iPhone, my fingers however, not so much.) A couple lines here, a short reply there and some help fixing this and that and before you know it, I've sent over a hundred and received nearly 150. I told you I had some down time.
One of the wonderful people I was talking to was helping me get my privacy settings correct. But she wasn't just helping me set the settings, she was quietly and calmly keeping me level headed and in control. She must have pondered each text for a while before hitting SEND, because each text made me more and more comfortable with my settings and what I was trying to do. it wasn't long before we had everything worked out and the chats became more social, more relaxed.
Her last text to me:
"Well count on me to turn to when u need someone."
I've heard that so many times. People say it to make you feel better, but even if they do mean it, the care cannot even come close to how good inside that made me feel. It was so genuine, so real. I wished I could jump through the phone and hug her. Instead, I thought of the most comforting thing I know.
My text to her:
"Like a soft pillow, you really make things better."
Nova
I would like to make note that I am lucky to have not one wonderful person in my life but many. Like the one that talked to me for forever while I contemplated suicide.<-- Special kudos to you, and thanks. Like my roommate who puts up with my moods. Like my coworkers who let me cry on there scrubs. Thank you to all of you.
Most of the texts were about my new FB account and how I needed to keep the friends at a minimal and try to control who was looking at my account. FB can be very open place, even with the settings on private and friends only, it can be a very open forum. The texts today were short. (You know how hard it is typing on the iPhone. Don't get me wrong, I love my iPhone, my fingers however, not so much.) A couple lines here, a short reply there and some help fixing this and that and before you know it, I've sent over a hundred and received nearly 150. I told you I had some down time.
One of the wonderful people I was talking to was helping me get my privacy settings correct. But she wasn't just helping me set the settings, she was quietly and calmly keeping me level headed and in control. She must have pondered each text for a while before hitting SEND, because each text made me more and more comfortable with my settings and what I was trying to do. it wasn't long before we had everything worked out and the chats became more social, more relaxed.
Her last text to me:
"Well count on me to turn to when u need someone."
I've heard that so many times. People say it to make you feel better, but even if they do mean it, the care cannot even come close to how good inside that made me feel. It was so genuine, so real. I wished I could jump through the phone and hug her. Instead, I thought of the most comforting thing I know.
My text to her:
"Like a soft pillow, you really make things better."
Nova
I would like to make note that I am lucky to have not one wonderful person in my life but many. Like the one that talked to me for forever while I contemplated suicide.<-- Special kudos to you, and thanks. Like my roommate who puts up with my moods. Like my coworkers who let me cry on there scrubs. Thank you to all of you.
Friday, June 3, 2011
My painful analogy
As a child, you have an accident and cut off your legs. Your whole life you know you should be walking. You should be like everyone else. You grow up and put on the best happy face you can. You tell everyone on the football field that you’re fine sitting on the sideline watching. You’re fine not being able to climb the steps to the bleachers. You’re fine not being able to drive. You're fine not able to go to the bathroom alone, you’re fine not doing any of the things you know you should be able to do. Then, when your 45 and everybody is going out, but you can't, (You have a sore on your ass from sitting in the wheel chair, or your just so fucking depressed from a lifetime of lies and hatred, that you decide that you would be better off dead. You have thought about it a million times, you may have even tried once or twice or 3 times but you never did it.) that tomorrow is your day. You're either going tell the world you need legs, or you’re going kill yourself.
You know that getting legs will change everything. Your friends won't like you. Your spouse, if you have one, will leave. They will fire you because you are no longer disabled. When you walk, everyone will point at you and laugh at you. Oh sure, you've put those legs on in the privacy of your own home and dreamed of walking out the front door, but you know, everything will be thrown away, everything. Family, friends, spouse, money, everything, but it doesn’t matter, you have to walk.
It's all encompassing. Everything you do, every thought is about the legs. You see a person walking and you HATE them because they can walk.
Then you do it. You tell one person. "I wanna walk." They accept to your face. They tell you they will stand beside you, that they love you. All the while they are thinking, “what a freak. He can't walk. He's gonna look so stupid. Jerk” They stay there, for now, but they are looking for a way out. You tell someone else and they say “You’re a freak, you can't walk. You just think you want to walk. Why would you wanna walk after all these years? You're just fucked up in the head.” You tell your father and he walks out of the restaurant. You're left sitting there, all alone. You wanna cry, but you know this is your CHOICE. You never talk to him again, even though you think about him every day. It hurts, but you continue because you know you need to walk.
You go to the doctors and they say they can help. But first you need years of therapy. They can't just give you legs without probing every thought you have ever had. They need to make sure you really want to walk. So you go. You tell them. Embarrassing as it is, you tell them. You spend all your money on them and they probe your deepest darkest secrets. Then, after what seems like forever, you get your letter. The letter says to the medical doctor that you really do want to walk. So it starts all over. The telling strangers you want to walk. The talk you hear behind the counters, the finger pointing. He wants to walk... HAHAHAHAHA. But you continue.
They give you drugs to prepare you. The drugs have terrible, life threatening side effects. Right about now, you lose your spouse, you lose your job and you have maybe one friend in all the world, and it's a dog. You're isolated, scared and broke, but you NEED to walk. So you take the drugs. They give you horrible cramps. They change the way things taste and smell. They give you blotches on your skin and make you extremely depressed and happy.
You take the pills, small doses at first and you can see little things happening to your legs. Are they getting stronger? Longer? Something? You have good days, and bad days. You feel like something is happening, but every night you go home to an empty house. You have no money and you have one friend, the dog. You long for the touch of another. The house, it’s so quiet. Wouldn't it be great to talk to someone, anyone? But who, you have no-one. You’re alone with your choice. You turn on the TV and they show a football game and all the people running. You start crying, you want to be them. You don't want to be with them, you want to BE them. You want your legs. You try to stop crying, but the drugs make it harder and harder every day. It would be great to call someone, but you don't have any friends, you gave them all up to get legs.
So you climb into bed and a few days latter you come out, nothing has changed. You don't have legs, and you don't have friends, or money, or a job, or ANYTHING. You're alone.
Today you have to see a new doctor. You’re getting closer, but you have to tell someone else. Great! They see you, they tell you to continue... Nothing changes!
This is where it gets complicated. You have prosthesis. You can walk, but not for long distances and you look terrible. You can sometimes pass as a walking person, but mostly you look like you have fake legs. People move away from you when you go places. Little kids point and say mean things. Some people are just rude. But you can get OUT. You haven't had any surgery yet. Your legs are growing, getting longer, but the legs are still useless without the prosthesis.
Another day, another bout of depression. Who the fuck are you, thinking you can walk? What kind of freak chooses to walk when they had it all? Everything was great, but you had to walk! You had to throw it all away so you could walk, so you could feel complete, real. All you had to do was continue to be miserable and everything would have been great, for everyone else.
Things are changing though. Now instead of getting out once in a while, you go out more. You have a support group you go to. Other wannabewalkers. We'll call them WW's. You get some WWs phone numbers and you actually go out with a few. They have a parade, and you go. You go not to be proud WW, but to be with others like you. You have good days, you have bad days.
Now you have been on the drugs for a little while, let’s say a 6mths. You see subtle changes in your appearance. Your back seems stronger and you see small buds on your legs. They hurt all the time. The pain is encouraging, but scary. Is something wrong? Should it hurt this bad?
Time is passing and you getting out as much as possible. A quick trip to the store. a group meeting or a walk alone. You know what you need to do to go to the next step, but the thought is unimaginable. RLT. (Real life test) You have to go out and live as walker. You have to put on those prosthetic legs and go out, every day, every moment, as a WW. No more wishes. This is what you chose. But how? Anything you gained while in this small bit of transition will surely be lost when everybody sees you walking..
THIS IS WHERE I AM NOW. GETTING READY FOR RLT. ALL THE REST IS PURE SPECULATION AND DREAMS FOR ME.
You know that everyday will be full of ridicule, full of laughs, but you also know that it will get better. You will soon feel more confident, you will feel more in control. More important, you will be walking. You may be labeled and be just on the other side of normal, but it doesn't matter, you will be walking. You have hopes of someday running, or walking on the sand or taking a shower, or working out. All these things that you have dreamed about for all these years, all your life you KNEW you should be walking. You have given up everything. You have been poked and humiliated. You have taken drugs that make you sick and could kill you, but you are going to walk. You will be WW!!!
I can't go any further. First off I have been crying for most of the writing of this and I'm trying to work. Second, I haven't been to the next step. I don't know what it will hold. I do know that some transgender never have surgery. To live as a girl with the same male parts is enough. Some choose to have orchiectomy. Some choose to have the complete sexual reassignment surgery. It's not the removal of the parts that makes us complete, it’s identifying as the opposite gender. In my case, male to female. I am hoping to have my SRS within 3 years. The cost is >20k and I will have to already lived as a female for a year before I can even get on the list. I will start my RLT by the summer of 2012. I have already lost my family, all my friends and I know I will lose my job as soon as I tell them, but it's the next step and my only other choice it suicide. I have the pills put away in a little jar I keep by my bed. Before I go to sleep I touch it and whisper to it, "not tonight, tonight I choose life"
This is not something I have decided to do just because I felt a little different, or one day woke up and said, wow, it would be neat to be a girl. It's something I could no longer live with. Sure you will continue to say I made a choice to do this, but my choice was made at 5, when I identified as a girl. The rest of my life I chose to lie and deceive everyone else in my life, including myself. My only choice was change, or die. I chose life.
You know that getting legs will change everything. Your friends won't like you. Your spouse, if you have one, will leave. They will fire you because you are no longer disabled. When you walk, everyone will point at you and laugh at you. Oh sure, you've put those legs on in the privacy of your own home and dreamed of walking out the front door, but you know, everything will be thrown away, everything. Family, friends, spouse, money, everything, but it doesn’t matter, you have to walk.
It's all encompassing. Everything you do, every thought is about the legs. You see a person walking and you HATE them because they can walk.
Then you do it. You tell one person. "I wanna walk." They accept to your face. They tell you they will stand beside you, that they love you. All the while they are thinking, “what a freak. He can't walk. He's gonna look so stupid. Jerk” They stay there, for now, but they are looking for a way out. You tell someone else and they say “You’re a freak, you can't walk. You just think you want to walk. Why would you wanna walk after all these years? You're just fucked up in the head.” You tell your father and he walks out of the restaurant. You're left sitting there, all alone. You wanna cry, but you know this is your CHOICE. You never talk to him again, even though you think about him every day. It hurts, but you continue because you know you need to walk.
You go to the doctors and they say they can help. But first you need years of therapy. They can't just give you legs without probing every thought you have ever had. They need to make sure you really want to walk. So you go. You tell them. Embarrassing as it is, you tell them. You spend all your money on them and they probe your deepest darkest secrets. Then, after what seems like forever, you get your letter. The letter says to the medical doctor that you really do want to walk. So it starts all over. The telling strangers you want to walk. The talk you hear behind the counters, the finger pointing. He wants to walk... HAHAHAHAHA. But you continue.
They give you drugs to prepare you. The drugs have terrible, life threatening side effects. Right about now, you lose your spouse, you lose your job and you have maybe one friend in all the world, and it's a dog. You're isolated, scared and broke, but you NEED to walk. So you take the drugs. They give you horrible cramps. They change the way things taste and smell. They give you blotches on your skin and make you extremely depressed and happy.
You take the pills, small doses at first and you can see little things happening to your legs. Are they getting stronger? Longer? Something? You have good days, and bad days. You feel like something is happening, but every night you go home to an empty house. You have no money and you have one friend, the dog. You long for the touch of another. The house, it’s so quiet. Wouldn't it be great to talk to someone, anyone? But who, you have no-one. You’re alone with your choice. You turn on the TV and they show a football game and all the people running. You start crying, you want to be them. You don't want to be with them, you want to BE them. You want your legs. You try to stop crying, but the drugs make it harder and harder every day. It would be great to call someone, but you don't have any friends, you gave them all up to get legs.
So you climb into bed and a few days latter you come out, nothing has changed. You don't have legs, and you don't have friends, or money, or a job, or ANYTHING. You're alone.
Today you have to see a new doctor. You’re getting closer, but you have to tell someone else. Great! They see you, they tell you to continue... Nothing changes!
This is where it gets complicated. You have prosthesis. You can walk, but not for long distances and you look terrible. You can sometimes pass as a walking person, but mostly you look like you have fake legs. People move away from you when you go places. Little kids point and say mean things. Some people are just rude. But you can get OUT. You haven't had any surgery yet. Your legs are growing, getting longer, but the legs are still useless without the prosthesis.
Another day, another bout of depression. Who the fuck are you, thinking you can walk? What kind of freak chooses to walk when they had it all? Everything was great, but you had to walk! You had to throw it all away so you could walk, so you could feel complete, real. All you had to do was continue to be miserable and everything would have been great, for everyone else.
Things are changing though. Now instead of getting out once in a while, you go out more. You have a support group you go to. Other wannabewalkers. We'll call them WW's. You get some WWs phone numbers and you actually go out with a few. They have a parade, and you go. You go not to be proud WW, but to be with others like you. You have good days, you have bad days.
Now you have been on the drugs for a little while, let’s say a 6mths. You see subtle changes in your appearance. Your back seems stronger and you see small buds on your legs. They hurt all the time. The pain is encouraging, but scary. Is something wrong? Should it hurt this bad?
Time is passing and you getting out as much as possible. A quick trip to the store. a group meeting or a walk alone. You know what you need to do to go to the next step, but the thought is unimaginable. RLT. (Real life test) You have to go out and live as walker. You have to put on those prosthetic legs and go out, every day, every moment, as a WW. No more wishes. This is what you chose. But how? Anything you gained while in this small bit of transition will surely be lost when everybody sees you walking..
THIS IS WHERE I AM NOW. GETTING READY FOR RLT. ALL THE REST IS PURE SPECULATION AND DREAMS FOR ME.
You know that everyday will be full of ridicule, full of laughs, but you also know that it will get better. You will soon feel more confident, you will feel more in control. More important, you will be walking. You may be labeled and be just on the other side of normal, but it doesn't matter, you will be walking. You have hopes of someday running, or walking on the sand or taking a shower, or working out. All these things that you have dreamed about for all these years, all your life you KNEW you should be walking. You have given up everything. You have been poked and humiliated. You have taken drugs that make you sick and could kill you, but you are going to walk. You will be WW!!!
I can't go any further. First off I have been crying for most of the writing of this and I'm trying to work. Second, I haven't been to the next step. I don't know what it will hold. I do know that some transgender never have surgery. To live as a girl with the same male parts is enough. Some choose to have orchiectomy. Some choose to have the complete sexual reassignment surgery. It's not the removal of the parts that makes us complete, it’s identifying as the opposite gender. In my case, male to female. I am hoping to have my SRS within 3 years. The cost is >20k and I will have to already lived as a female for a year before I can even get on the list. I will start my RLT by the summer of 2012. I have already lost my family, all my friends and I know I will lose my job as soon as I tell them, but it's the next step and my only other choice it suicide. I have the pills put away in a little jar I keep by my bed. Before I go to sleep I touch it and whisper to it, "not tonight, tonight I choose life"
This is not something I have decided to do just because I felt a little different, or one day woke up and said, wow, it would be neat to be a girl. It's something I could no longer live with. Sure you will continue to say I made a choice to do this, but my choice was made at 5, when I identified as a girl. The rest of my life I chose to lie and deceive everyone else in my life, including myself. My only choice was change, or die. I chose life.
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