#i have to meet up with a surgeon next month for a top surgery consultation

[mitamicah]

Just some transmasc news about this transmasc dude trying to get help with some transmasc things

TLDR; 

1) I still don’t know when I can start hrt and I might not know for months (which in turn means that I might still be declined or only get started on t in late 2024 or early 2025).

2) I’m thinking about going private with my top surgery and depending on how quickly my friends answer me about wanting to go to Sweden with me as moral support I might have my first consultation with the surgeon this year (way faster than expected)

Long story under the line

Let’s start with a bit of context:

I’m a 28 year old transmasc person seeking hormone replacement therapy and top surgery. (Top surgery is my top priority but HRT are a very close second and only seems more right for me every day). So far I’ve been persuing these two wishes through the public healthcare system with the focus rn being on starting testosterone.

Back in May I had my last therapy appointment about possibly starting t where I was told that my case would be taking up as the next available conference date (the meeting where they discuss my case) and that I’d know when that would be asap. That turned out to be August 9 and I’d get the verdict the day after August 10. If I got accepted I was told that there can go up to 8 months of pre-planning where I’d have to have blood taken, my body and hormone levels checked and all that fun stuff.

Now for top surgery  have been a bit more of a bumpy ride so far all because of my weight. I’ve never been that skinny and while most of my life I have had a sort of high BMI it has been in the normal range. Given that I’d been forgotten by the clinic there was a 4 month wait between my first and second appointment for a therapy session at the clinic. Around this time my grandmother died and I dealt with a lot of changes in my live that in retrospect was way too much for me to handle so I find myself calming my nerves by eating a bit more than usual. And so come february I now had a BMI around 29,5 where the cut off for top surgery at the GC was 27. I was told that I had to lose at least 5 kg to be offered surgery. Three months later after restricting my food intake (no more candy/cake and smaller portions mostly) I’d managed to lose 9 kg so my BMI was now under the cut off (but in the high end around 26). My therapist were thrilled yet still ended the session by saying that I probably had to lose weight again after starting testosterone since a known side effect is putting on weight.

Why am I telling you all this? Well, I want to give you an idea for what have been weighing (pun intended) on my mind. And taken into account that there’s probably 2 years since the GC would even as much as think about offering me surgery, being told over and over that even when I am doing something right it still might not be enough to get this life changing intervention is tough.

And so I’ve thought about going private with the top surgery. There is a private clinic not far from here (Sweden) that is well known for their good results with top surgery for transmasculine people. As a bonus they don’t have the same strict rules about your weight (I read that maybe they’d be careful if your BMI was over 34 but that’s still way higher than having 27 as your cut off).

Now all that context is out of the way what are my news:

HRT

On August 10 I had hoped to know whether or not I could start t. Instead I was told that one person in the personel was on vacation so the team couldn’t tell me whether I can start testosterone or not. Instead, I would get a message about a possible new conference as soon as they knew more. Me loving to have a bit of a time frame I asked how long the person’s holiday would be and I was told two weeks. On August 24 aka two weeks later I then started my inner clock trying to figure out how much time to give them so I wouldn’t seem impatient and needy. 

When around 9 days had passed since August 24 I grew very wary and vocal about said wariness. I for one made the mistake (?) of mentioning it at a trans meet up where everybody then jumped at me to call the clinic as soon as possible because the clinic had probably forgotten me by now and so my case would be as good as dropped. 

And so I called the clinic today to be told that they hadn’t forgotten me (luckily). The thing is they are very busy (which is fair, given the lack of ressources) and so there might not be time for another conference for me this year and if so they wont send me a message before next year. 

So yeah - in the worst case scenario the line will be dead between me and the genderclinic for MONTHS only for me to randomly get a message with a time for a conference sometime in 2024. 

Given the pre-planing for hormones I might not be able to start testosterone before late 2024 or maybe even early 2025 cutting it very close to my personal goal that is to start hormones before I turn 30 (for no reason other than having a time frame).

Top surgery

At the same trans meet up event where I was told to call the clinic today, we got talking about BMI restrictions for trans affirming care. It was everything from being declined therapy sessions (if you had a BMI over 30) down to being less than 1kg (2 pounds) over the cut off for top surgery. Honestly, hearing all these stories made me certain that I wanted to try reaching out to the Swedish private clinic about a possible first consultation.

Given I was already calling one clinic today I decided to book for the other as well. And here I got a pleasant surprise: I had heard that there are quite a waiting list for pre-op consultations and so I could look forward to wait 7 months or more. Well, when I went to book an appointment there were available appointment NEXT MONTH (only one tbf but there were three in November). So if I am quick enough I might get a consultation this very year. Mind you this wouldn’t nesecarily mean that I can get my top surgery this year (probably not tbh), but it is way more promising than not knowing if you’d even get to have an appointment for HRT (that everybody but one person had agreed I could get) within the year.

There’s off course a “but” here as well:

I kind of want to have company with me to Sweden since going alone seems a little scary even as a 28 year old. I had talked about possibly going with my friends (who are a lesbian couple) yet since I only now decided to actually act on my wishes for the surgery through the private clinic I haven’t spoken to them about going to Sweden this winter. And so I just send them a voice message with my question about whether or not they’d accompany me and hoping to hear from them soon so I can hopefully get one of the times available before the end of the year.

So that’s all the news I have - one goodish and one baddish - I guess everything needs to be in balance :’D

#personal #micahs thoughts #tw fatphobia #tw bmi #medical transition #hrt #testosterone #top surgery #the bojan taking up his shirt in a speed of light gif seemed appropriate x'D

[sandragon]

I've been on HRT for well over a year and I have my upcoming top surgery consults coming up within the next month. I never thought I would see the day where I'm not only comfortable in my body, but confident. I love all of the changes HRT has gifted me - the thick forest growing over my body, my cheekbones & jaw filling out, and my shoulders becoming broader - just to name a few. I feel desired in ways that I never imagined. I pick out specific ways to adorn my body and style my longer hair as I will with little worry of how I'm perceived because I know the transformation am and will continue to go through.

Part of the reason why it's taken me so long to return to the act of creating is because I needed to take care of me first. Life was eating away at my being for so long that I couldn't wait any longer. Now that I am becoming on my own terms, I feel freedom to return to my passions again. It's a slow process - shameful at times - but worthwhile.

I'm very excited to meet with potential surgeons and get my legal name/sex change after my surgery. It's exciting to think about my future as a transmasc dude in a gay relationship and creating our life through that lens at the fresh age of turning 27 this year.

#personal post #transmasculine #transgender #trans man #musings #septum ring #queer artist #sandragon writes

[arb0k]

As someone who is traveling states next week to meet doctors for the possibility of top surgery, may I ask what the process has been like for you? If this is too personal of an ask please feel free to ignore, of course.

not too personal at all, I enjoy talking about it! Interesting information to have archived too.

!Overall time between getting a referral to the clinic from my GP and the actual surgery date was one year. Waited about 7.5 months between making an appointment and the day of the consultation, and 4.5 months from the consultation to the day of the surgery. (They actually offered to move my surgery up by a significant amount because they hada cancellation, I turnedthem down because I didn't want to have to deal with recovery and grad school at the same time.)

The consultation is mostly about picking what exact procedure you're going for, keyhole double incision etc. Mine was super uneventful because I had DDs lmao, I walked in and said "I promise I am too big for anything other than double incision" and he took one look at me and was like "yeah". It was over pretty quick. I'd say if you have any questions you want to ask them you should write them all down in advance, I tend to come up blank when put on the spot. Mine provided before/after photos when asked but didn't offer unprompted, so if you want those be sure to put that on the list.

also it does involve being naked from the waist up and poked and squeezed. The surgeon really does need to know, but I was anxious and in a hell of a mood the rest of the day afterwards so maybe don't plan on anything too mentally draining. (Nature of the curse, pre-op for dysphoria surgeries is just kinda hell for people with dysphoria specifically).

You will need a therapist letter if you don't already have one, any surgeon worth a shit follows the WPATH guidelines which you can look up in advance (they're all publically available on the WPATH site). Even if they don't, it's mandatory for all the major American insurance companies. It isn't urgent until closer to your surgery date tho, so don't stress too much if you don't have one this second or they reject it the first time for wording issues. The requirements for top surgery are a lot more lax than the bottom surgery ones, at least!

Also make sure you ask them if they've worked with your insurance company before. I lucked out in that my surgeon is contracted with my insurance company specifically, so they already knew all the requirements and got all my pre-auths to go through first try. They were a much better resource than the insurance website itself (depends on what you've got obviously but mine in particular has zero gender dysphoria requirements in writing and makes you call them on a case by case basis every time, which I didn't have to do because the clinic already knew what they wanted from working with them in the past).

They'll give you most of the instruction information then, feel free to glance through it. They also called me two separate times over the following months to read the instructions to me out loud and confirm I understood them. It's mostly all the stuff you need to avoid in the last weeks before anaesthesia, which are NSAIDs like Ibuprofen/Advil, any hormone injections, smoking and alcohol (weed edibles specifically are fine tho! fun fact)

Surgery week itself was three appointments: a pre-op a day before so he could draw the incision lines on me with a permanent marker, the actual surgery the next day, and then a follow-up to get the drains removed six days after that. The pre-op is more shirtless grabbing, but he also used just a normal hardware store level to get the incisions to line up and made me hold it between my tits, which was so funny that it mostly made up for it.

You have to shower with a special anti-bacterial soap the morning before you go to surgery, so you'll have to start getting around way before your actual surgery time. My surgery of 7:30 had a check in time at 5:30 and I had to be on the move before that so like, be aware, make sure you have the ride situation sorted out. I think they let some smaller chested people go home same day if they want but honestly shell out for the night in the hospital if at all possible, the good pain meds are worth it.

I just got dropped off at the hospital and didn't plan on anyone staying with me or visiting and it's honestly been fine, once I recovered from the initial anesthesia I've been coherent enough to text people and chat (and the hospital bed has a USB port in it so you can plug in a phone charger!). They asked me for the phone number and cell carrier of the person picking me up so they could get live text updates , which you should absolutely sign up for. I promised a bunch of people I'd personally text them when I was awake and then wasn't actually coordinated enough to for several hours, oops c':

I'm lucky enough to be local to a good clinic (20-40 minute drive) so I don't really have input on the out of state thing unfortunately. Make sure you have someone with you, I'm independent enough to feed myself and go to the bathroom myself but the pain is def proportional to how much you move and you won't want to be up and down constantly. also I'm not squeamish about emptying my own drains but if you are you'll need someone else to do it

The main restriction mobility-wise is that you can't raise your arms above shoulder level (tho they told me that it isn't a hard rule, just try stuff and stop if it hurts, you won't fuck anything up by letting your body let you know. I was kinda horrified to move at all at first but it really won't hurt anything haha). Main repercussion of this is you won't be able to put shirts on over your head, so get out every button-up you own. Shelves and microwaves and such are all also out of reach for me but that's an easy thing to ask for help for, I just really didn't want someone else to have to dress me lmao.

uhhh that mostly covers things so far? I'm in less pain and more coherent than I expected (when I'm awake anyway) so like make sure you have your phone charger and maybe a book or something!

#feel free to ask questions btw! #if it's too personal I'll just say that. the actual asking part won't offend me~ #zero rambles #medical talk cw

[here4theheartbreak]

Sometimes I fall to pieces Just to see what bits of me don't fit 'Cause I when I stand oh those folks will run And tell the tales of what I've become They'll speak of me, oh in whispered tones And say my name like it shakes their bones

For an uneventful few months, I feel like it’s been wildly busy! I’m doing well though - figuring out what fits/what doesn’t, as it were, and pulling myself together into a healthier self.

It’s my spring cleaning weekend, so I decided that now would be a good time to clean up some stuff virtually too, and make some general update posts. Not a whole lot of note is going on; still working, dealing with kiddo at home, etc.

I haven’t been writing much (i.e. at all) for the past few months, so once I finish publishing my current ongoing fic (it’s already finished, just spacing chapter publication) I may end up going on a hiatus from writing. I’m not leaving the fandom or anything, just haven’t been super inspired by any ideas and I have no idea how to push that writing must into action.

But I am doing other forms of art/creation - such as the sculpture things I’ve been posting now and again on my blog. I’ve also gotten into making junk journals, I think that’s super fun and would like to try and make one or two inspired by the groups I like. Who knows. In the next few weeks I’ll post the first one I made, I’m super proud of it. I have an appt in a few weeks to meet with a surgeon for carpal tunnel surgery though - the downside to doing these sculpture related things is that all the fine motor skills needed has served to worsen the condition of my wrists (which were already not great due to excessive computer work/typing and video gaming for hours on end.) But I’m hoping the surgery will resolve it; doing any sort of miniature work/crafting is impossible with a brace (and typing isn’t super easy either).

On a personal transition related front, I have an appointment with a doctor in September to discuss my next transition related surgery (a hysterectomy). I’m excited to move it along, and as of now this’ll be my last surgery unless I decide to go forward with bottom surgery (still researching/undecided for now).

Though a minor surgery compared to top surgery, which changed my outward appearance, it’s still one I’ve been looking forward to for a long time. For the obvious bonus of no more goblin parasite risk (I love my kid, I just never ever want another one 😂) but also just the general benefit of decreasing that warring hormone in my body. Once it’s gone I’ll hopefully be able to decrease my T dosage a smidgen, which should help with some of the negative side effects of T that I’ve had over the years (hair loss, etc). But we’ll see - Consult first, then moving forward.

On a less positive transition note - I learned that a Montana judge put an (albeit temporary) injunction to block the anti-trans law the gop put in place to make it harder for us to change the gender marker on our birth certificates. Unfortunately, even with that blockade in place, the department is proving just how horrifically transphobic and cruel a conservative state can be and now refusing to issue birth certificate gender marker changes to trans folks entirely. They’d honestly rather be held in contempt of court than to give a transgender person any rights 😂 - I will be curious to see if the plaintiff’s legal team comes back and attempts to get the gov’t to comply in some way. I’m upset about it, but not personally; even with the new more anti-trans rules I acknowledge that I had the requirements met, but I’m upset for those that can’t meet those requirements, so I hope that something can be done about it.

Well, I don’t want to end on an upsetting note! So, I’m super excited about Astro’s new comeback; it’s meant to be out in a little over a week and looks like it’ll be such a fun summer album. I pre-ordered all of the versions already 🙈 And then BTS’ new songs, I’m curious to hear what they’ve done - I hope they’ll be good. I’ll end up pre-ordering that album as well when I get paid.

Which reminds me I need to go through all my kpop merch and start culling it down 😅 - get rid of the merch I don’t love/don’t need/want and sell it. So, if anyone is interested, I can post my Mercari page once I get stuff listed.

But. That’s about it going in my life - just a jumble of work and other dull adulting stuff. I hope all of you are doing well and doing your best to enjoy your lives. Remember that you can’t always stop bad things from happening, but you can hold tight to the good when it comes, and even a sliver of joy - no matter how thin - is something to keep going for.

#about me #fyi #update #life update #long post

[voices-ringing-out]

just the usual semi-regular psa letting y’all know i’m alive lmao, things have been going on and i keep getting busier but i’m itching to write so when i have the time and energy i’ll be popping in and doing stuff when i’m able! i found out i can bring my chromebook to work and do stuff on it so i’ll try and do that as well

#sing it out for the ones that'll hate your guts {psas} #so like.......... #i had my dad help me sell my old car Lucifer at the end of last month #but the guyw ho bought it didn't transfer the title #and then crashed my poor car #his by then i guess #anyway i got a bill from the cops for it and the na bill from the tow company for it #and i've been in the process of getting the paperwork needed to waive said bills; i'll have to go to court and #actually get the judge to cancel it all though lmao #so that's been time consuming lmao #also lots of doctors appts #i have to meet up with a surgeon next month for a top surgery consultation #whichn im gonna do but they weren't my first choice and i've been trying to figure out if there's a way to #get my insurnace to cover the surgery via the person i actually wanted to do it #probnably not but it's worht a shot lmao

[selfmademen]

Top Surgery Experience

Okay, so I said I would do a write up of my top surgery experience and I’ve finally gotten around to it. Uni started right after so I’ve been fairly frazzled.

Please feel free to ask any questions you may have! I’ll do my best to answer them.

To start with, I currently live in NSW, Australia. There are a few Australian top surgeons, but as a NSW resident my best bet was Dr Steven Merten, with Pure Aesthetics in Sydney. Because Australia has a public healthcare system I was able to get my top surgery under that scheme. As far as I’m aware Dr Merten is the only top surgeon who offers this surgery through the public system. He works in partnership with Concord Hospital in Sydney, and that’s where I had my surgery. If you go privately there are other options for the hospital you stay at. There are pros and cons to the public system, which I’ll detail below.

Pros:

I paid $500~ out of pocket instead of between $5k and $10k (if you have private health insurance it may cover some)

Since he’s in my state I didn’t have to travel far

He’s one of the most experienced top surgeons in the state

there’s two places for appointments, either at his clinic or at the Macquarie uni rooms

Cons:

because I went publicly he didn’t perform the surgery personally, rather a registrar did. However, he was in the room the entire time overseeing the operation.

because he’s so popular I had to wait a full year from the first consultation to the actual surgery date

 it was extremely hard to get onto the wait list due to how popular he is.

the public system is only available to NSW residents over 18

I was lucky in that my GP at the time knew him professionally and called in a favour so that I knew the moment his books were open, and I am forever grateful for that. It is MUCH easier to get an appointment with him through the private system, but that’s a lot more expensive. For me, the pros far outweighed the cons here, and I decided I could wait a year for my surgery. I had also intended to lose weight beforehand, but that didn’t happen. Woops.

Prior to my first consultation I needed a referral both from my GP, and a registered psychologist or psychiatrist detailing my transition and documented dysphoria surrounding my breasts. The first consultation was $300 iirc, and I paid a $100 deposit, so only paid $200 on the day. Medicare also gave me a $100-something rebate.

The first consultation was fairly quick. He asked some questions about my transition, what my expectations were regarding surgery, detailed my options, and explained the procedures. He measured my breasts, but never touched me (I kinda just picked them up and moved them where he asked). He also took a photo of my chest, with my consent.

I didn’t actually hear from them until about three months before my surgery because my details got lost, but USUALLY the hospital will get in contact with you regarding your surgery date, what you should expect, and when your pre-op consultation is. I also had to fill out a pre-op health questionnaire and personal details. Due to my high level of haemoglobin as a side effect of T, I was required to provide them with more recent blood test results, but you may not have to do this. Usually there is also a pre-op appointment with the nurses and anethetist at the hospital, but the nurse I spoke to said that I didn’t need to go if I didn’t have any pressing concerns.

My pre-op consult with Dr Merten was a couple of weeks before my surgery, however, it’s usually around the same time. This one was $100, and I also had to pay $130 for a medical compression vest which I have to wear for up to three weeks post-op. Again, Medicare partially reimbursed my consultation fee, but not the vest.

During this consultation we basically covered the same things, and I also saw a nurse who told me what medications to avoid, and briefed me on post op care. She also gave me my medical vest, wound tape, and some pamphlets.

Some things she covered:

smokers should stop smoking 12 weeks before surgery

 you should limit your alcohol intake the week before surgery, and don’t drink alcohol AT ALL during the two days immediately prior to surgery

no herbal medications, asparin, ibuprofen, or other blood thinners for two weeks prior to surgery. IF YOU ARE ON BLOOD THINNERS FOR MEDICAL REASONS THIS MAY BE DIFFERENT FOR YOU.

do not eat or drink anything from midnight the night before your surgery. Morning medication (antidepressants in my case) can be taken with a sip of water.

 the night before and morning of surgery I had to shower with a special soap that was provided in order to kill bacteria on my skin.

I did have to call the admissions centre the day before my surgery to confirm my appointment time. For me it was 8:30. Before going in I had a brief interview with a nurse, who took down my details and checked me for allergies and medical conditions. I was given my wrist bands (red, since I have a codeine allergy), and directed up to where I would meet the nurses. There I changed into the operating gown (you can keep your undies on) and compression socks due to my weight.

I was taken to a prep room before the operating theatre where Dr Merten marked my chest. Basically where things would be cut, lipo’d, etc. I was feeling nervous so the anethetist also came in, did my canula and gave me something to relax (don’t know what it was). He was extremely kind and friendly, and said he was honoured to be included in this part of my journey, which I honestly thought was an incredibly sweet thing to say, and I’m very grateful for how he looked after me.

The relaxation shit kinda made me dopey, and pretty much immediately I was wheeled into the theatre. They had me wriggle from the bed onto the table, I nearly fell off, but it was all good. I don’t really remember much from here, but there was some music playing, and the nurses and registrar were setting up.

At this point the anethetist put the mask on and told me to take some deep breaths. I remember it tasting and smelling really weird, and the next thing I know I was waking up in recovery.

I’m not sure how long I was in recovery for because I kept drifting in and out, but they gave me something for the pain and then wheeled me to the ward. I started waking up properly around this time, had a chat with the people transporting me, and by the time I was in the ward I was fully alert (and really needed to pee).

Because of my size and the way the surgery worked out, I did have a few staples at the ends of my incisions, and I also had to put the compression vest on. I also had drains, with bags that needed to be changed every twelve hours. Nurses would also come and take my blood pressure and check that everything was okay and that I wasn’t in too much pain. They were all extremely welcoming and accepting, never misgendered me once, and even double checked my name and pronouns to ensure that everyone knew. My mate was also allowed to stay with me pretty much the whole day until dinner, which really helped me cos I’m bad with hospitals.

After surgery I was stiff and ached a little, but there wasn’t too much pain. I was able to go to the toilet myself, although wiping was very difficult for the first week.

I stayed overnight, and was discharged the next day. They gave me anti-inflammatories, antibiotics, and some opiates to help the pain. I should note here that I do have an extremely high pain tolerance, so outside of days where I pushed myself a bit too far, I generally didn’t need to use them.

I’m unsure if my experience is unusual, as I was able to do pretty much everything immediately post-op. Of course, I’ve been taking it easy, but dressing, sleeping, cooking, moving, has all so far been generally okay. I have had some pain on days where I moved about too much, or sat up too much, but that’s also partially chronic pain flaring up due to my bad back.

I was discharged with my drains still in, as I’m a bleeder. Usually with Dr Merten they’re removed before discharge, but I was sent home with some bags and instructed to change them every 24 hours and keep a record of how much had drained. I think I wound up keeping my drains in for around a week before they were removed.

I went to the medical centre twice to have my dressings changed and drains checked (and eventually removed), and was sent home with a sterile staple remover for my GP to remove my staples with. They’ll be coming out at the end of the week. The drains didn’t hurt when removed, it just felt like an odd tugging sensation. The stitches Dr Merten used are dissolving ones, so no need to get them taken out.

I do have to change my nipple dressings every three days, and the tape on my incisions can stay on for up to a week. The stuff I use is extremely strong and has glue on it, so I’m a bit hesitant to change it on my own (nearly ripped a staple out last time I changed my dressings).

I’m roughly three weeks post-op now, and I have pretty much all my mobility back. Showering is difficult, as is bending over or reaching to one side (tugs on my incisions). There is pain when I do things, but unless something actively tugs at, touches, or puts pressure on my wounds I’m not in any pain. Mostly its just an annoyance at this stage.

I’m still sleeping on my back, although I can lie on my side for short periods of time. There’s some bruising around my armpits where I had liposuction, and there is a small numb patch on my left side. I can’t feel my nipples, but I also couldn’t feel them prior to this so it’s not a huge loss.

I’ve seen some people say that they felt depressed post-op because of a hormone fluctuation, but personally when I saw my chest it felt natural and right. I didn’t cry (not a big crier) and I wasn’t surprised or shocked or… overwhelmed. To me it was my outer body finally reflecting my inner self. I already looked like this in my own mind, so it was just natural that it looks the way it does post-op.

Unfortunately some dysmorphia and self-esteem issues surrounding my weight have resurfaced, but that’s not really related to the top surgery, and it’s something I’m able to work on as I recover.

If there’s something I haven’t covered that you’re curious about, please send an ask! I’ve tried to be as thorough as possible, but its been a few weeks and some details are fuzzy.

#top surgery

[mkvue]

Let’s catch you up.

Hello Tumblr,

It's been about a decade since I've last blogged on this platform. For those of you who don't know me, my name is Muaj Kooj (a.k.a. MK) Vue, originally known in the trans community as “Liam”. I started my transition in the year of 2011 with hormone therapy. In 2012, I flew to Florida to have my double incision top surgery done by Dr. Garramone. This surgery was paid out of pocket costing me about $9,000 including hotel and travel. After I healed, I decided to start Accutane treatment in 2012, as I had severe cystic acne after starting hormone therapy. This helped a lot with controlling my massive breakouts.

A couple years into healing and working out my chest, I noticed there was an imbalance in my muscles. This made me feel very dysphoric, so after many years of contemplation, I decided to go in for another consultation in April of 2018 with Dr. Gurjala to get it corrected. I am much more happy with the results now.

Between 2012 and 2013, I suffered from painful and unbearable cramps. I have not had a menstrual cycle since being on hormones. My obstetrician-gynecologist informed me that there wasn't much she could do for me as the treatment for my cramping would contradict with my testosterone, and we don't want that. In 2014, I decided to have a full hysterectomy done through Kaiser's women's health clinic. With this surgery, the pain I had been suffering from was eliminated but along came post-menopause. This means I would have low estrogen which leaves you at risk for osteoporosis, heart disease and genitourinary atrophy. After a year of healing from having a hysterectomy, I did start to feel more fatigued than normal.

If there is one thing that I regret from having a full hysterectomy, it would be that I did not opt to freeze my eggs. I was pulled back by the yearly cost of storing them. But hey, it's too late now and there's always other options for having children like In Vitro Fertilization, surrogacy, or adoption.

Bottom surgery has always been something that floated in the back of my mind. After endless research on phalloplasty, I had my first consultation with Dr. Chen in 2015. After meeting with him, I felt confident and set my date for ALT phalloplasty in October 2016. Sadly, when my surgery date nearly arrived, Dr. Chen left the practice. I was left to float around, waiting for a call to see what my options were. I decided that I would hold off on bottom surgery since I did not feel comfortable with a new surgeon.

In 2017, Kaiser no longer worked with doctors outside of their network. I was informed that Dr. Salim would be the head surgeon to perform bottom surgery for their transgender clinic. I went in for a consultation in August of 2017. Though I did not feel 100% sure of him, I decided to set a date anyway for May 2018. That would give me at 9 months to do more research on him and mentally prepare myself. Came April 2018, I received a call from a job that I applied for. I was given the great news of an attentive offer that I could not refuse. I decided to cancel my surgery date and start my career in May 2018. I was given a one year probation with this job position. It has now been 1 year and 7months and I am very happy of my decision to delay bottom surgery.

Today, I am happy to say that I'm finally in a content place in my life where I don't foresee anything that will stop me from getting bottom surgery. My job is secured, my finances are in control, and I will be finished with my degree next spring. I had my "brush-up" consultation with Dr. Salim a couple of weeks ago. I will be having ALT bottom surgery this coming summer of 2020.

Though my current life situation is content, there are things around me that are quite influential to my mental state of mind. I think it is important to talk about these matters and why it affects us the way it does. This blog is not only meant for my personal experience through the stages of phalloplasty but also other things in my life I feel is good to talk about ranging from relationships, culture, religion, and more.

#FTM #transman #HmongFTM #transgender #hmongculture #transgenderblogs #transpaent #asianftm #asianamerican #hmongamerican

[isitgintimeyet]

The Ties That Bind

Previously

AO3

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoy the next chapter.

Thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta

Chapter 4 : An Emergency Appointment

Cure sometimes, treat often, comfort always. Hippocrates

Jamie sat on the hard plastic chair and shifted uncomfortably. The fluorescent strip lighting overhead was giving him a bit of a headache and he was conscious of the mobile in his pocket, silent now, but Jamie knew at any minute it would start chirping away and he would have to talk to his sister.

Wee Jamie, on the other hand, seemed in fine spirits as he sat on the trolley in the little cubicle, curtains partitioning them off from the other Emergency Department patients. “Wot’s ‘at?” He asked his uncle, pointing.

“Hand sanitiser, makes yer hands nice and clean, gets rid of wee germs.”

“Wot’s ‘at?” He repeated, pointing in a different direction.

“Box of gloves, sae the doctors and nurses can put them on when they have tae examine ye… are ye sure ye’re feeling alright? How’s yer arm now?”

“‘S poorly.” Wee Jamie looked down at his left hand, motionless in his little lap. “Ouch… sweetie?” He added hopefully.

Jamie laughed despite his worry. “Ye wee gomerel. Ye never miss an opportunity, do ye? Dinna fret, afore I deliver ye back tae yer Mam, we can get some sweeties. Seeing as she’s goin’ tae shout at me anyways for letting ye hurt yerself, we can just add ruining yer teeth tae the list.”

The curtains parted slightly and a young nurse poked her head into the cubicle. “Mr. Fraser, we’re just waiting for the orthopaedic surgeon on call to come and take a look at your nephew. Shouldn’t be too long now.” She smiled coyly at Jamie. “Can I no’ get ye anything? Tea, coffee, sandwich?”

Jamie smiled politely. “No thank ye. But have ye a wee bit of juice or milk for my nephew?”

“I’m no’ sure he should have that, in case they need tae operate. Let me check”

Jamie blanched at the thought of a possible operation. His nephew was so small, to see him have to go through that would be unbearable. And with Jenny so close to her due date, too.

“Unca, wot’s ‘perate?” Wee Jamie still seemed unconcerned by everything going on around him. Easily distracted, he quickly added to his requests whilst his uncle was in the mood to spoil him. “Chips too an’ sweeties, pease?”

“Aye laddie. Chips and sweeties it is. After we’ve seen the doctor.” Jamie leaned over and planted a kiss on his nephew’s forehead.

The rustling of the hospital’s paperlike curtains took Jamie’s attention away from his nephew. He looked up as the doctor came into the cubicle. His breath hitched in his throat, no... more than that, the expression ‘take your breath away’ had never been so true.

After mere glimpses of her at Rupert’s wedding last month and in the pub less than a week ago, here was the woman who had invaded his daytime thoughts and his nighttime dreams. Her long legs were encased in baggy green hospital scrubs with the matching top camouflaging her curves. Her dark curls were haphazardly tied back in a ponytail, with corkscrew wisps escaping and gently feathering her forehead and cheeks. She was all that he remembered and more. He forced himself to stay calm. This was about his nephew, not him.

Claire’s hand flew instinctively to her hair, trying, ineffectually, to tidy the wild ponytail. She looked straight at the Viking who had captured her imagination at that hotel the month before. And he was here… with a small child. Great, Claire tried to compose her thoughts, pull yourself together, Beauchamp. He’s here, worrying about his child and you’re busy feeling disappointed that he’s already taken. Get a grip!

“Hello.” Claire directed the greeting to the small boy now sucking his thumb. “My name’s Claire and I’ve come to see how I can make you feel better.”

Without removing his thumb, Wee Jamie eyed her up and down before silently passing judgement and snuggling closer to his uncle. Jamie pulled him fully onto his lap.

“ Now, Jamie, that’s no way tae greet the doctor who’s gonna make ya feel better.”

“That’s no matter.” Smiling, Claire pulled up a chair and spoke directly to Jamie. “Well, Mr Murray, I’ve reviewed your son’s x-ray…”

“He’s no my son, I’m Mr...er... Jamie Fraser.” Fearful of Claire getting the wrong idea, Jamie quickly interrupted. “I mean… that is… he’s my nephew… my sister’s laddie. I was mindin’ him today and... weel…”

“Ah, sorry, ok… is his mother on her way?” Ignoring the butterflies fluttering in her stomach at this welcome piece of news, Claire maintained her professional demeanour.

“I’ve left her some messages, just waiting fer her call. She’s probably nappin’... she’s eight months pregnant, ye ken.”

Fed up with being sidelined, Wee Jamie decided to join in the conversation. “Aye, Mam has big baby tummy, Da says.” He confided.

Claire smiled. “And I’m sure she’s thrilled every time he says that.”

She turned to the computer next to her in the cubicle and quickly pressed a few keys, waiting for the screen to fire into life. “So, would you like to see a picture of the inside of your arm then, Jamie?”

As the x-ray image appeared, Claire began to explain. “So, Mr. Fraser, from the nature of the accident and the pain localised at the base of the thumb, I was concerned that there was a scaphoid fracture of the wrist. But, as you can see,” she pointed at a small white mass on the x-ray. “There’s no fracture there. Which is a relief as that would have needed a cast at best and possibly even surgery. So, we’re looking at a bad sprain, which will get better on its own. Just make sure to rest it plenty, young man.”

Fascinated by the image on the screen, the little lad wriggled in his uncle’s lap and pointed. “Dat my arm?”

Claire nodded. “It’s a picture of the bones in your hand and arm. See, here’s your thumb and fingers…” She leant in as she started to explain. So close, Jamie could almost smell the shampoo of her hair, almost feel the heat from her body. His knee almost grazed against hers in the confined space of the cubicle.

A insistent chirping broke into Claire’s explanation.  

“Sorry,” Jamie shrugged. “This must be Jenny, my sister. I’d better take this.”

In a low voice, Claire continued to talk to Wee Jamie, gently stroking his arm as she named the various bones in his hand and arm. With one ear, she tried to listen in to the conversation Jamie was having with his sister (albeit one-sided).  

“Aye… Aye… Och, ye ken what he’s like with the ducks… He loves tae chase them… Aye… We didna see the tree root… just went flyin’ and put his hand out… it’s no’ bad, just a sprain… Aye… the doctor’s here now… Aye, the orthopaedic surgeon… she says it’s no’ bad… ok...”

Jamie passed the phone to Claire. “Sorry, would ye mind having a quick word with ma sister?”

Claire took the phone. “Mrs Murray? Claire Beauchamp here. Don’t worry, your son is fine. Your brother did the right thing and brought him in to be checked out. There is no fracture, so the sprain should heal itself. Just make sure he rests it… ok… not a problem… I’ll pass you back… Goodbye.”

“Jenny, I’ll see ye in a bit. Jamie and I are goin’ fer a bite to eat… Aye, healthy, I hear ye… no, no chips… bye.”

As his nephew’s lower lip started to tremble, Jamie reassured him. “Dinna fash, lad, we’ll get some chips on the way home. But, shhhh, dinna tell yer Mam.”

Claire pulled her chair back and stood up. “Well, I’d hate to stand in the way of you and your chips, Jamie.” She stroked wee Jamie’s hair briefly. “You enjoy and I hope I don’t see you in here again!” Claire looked at Jamie, trying to keep her professional face together. “Nice to meet you, Mr Fraser.”

Jamie hesitated and looked at his feet. Would it be wrong to ask for her number?  Would I look like a sleazebag, trying to pick her up as she was doing her job, caring for my nephew?

The rustling curtain gave him his answer. She had gone, decision made. Well, at least he knew her name, and where she worked, that was a start.

Jamie stood up and lifted his nephew in his arms. “Come on then, there are chips waiting fer us tae eat them.” He drew back the curtain and headed for the exit. A hand on his arm halted him.

“Sorry tae bother ye.” The nurse talking in a quiet voice seemed familiar to him,  her strawberry blonde hair neatly tied up in a bun. He just couldn’t place her. “I ken the lad’s alright, but, just in case ye need tae consult with the orthopaedic surgeon…” She placed a piece of paper in his hand and walked away.

#outlander fanfic #outlander fan fiction #the ties that bind #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #chapter 4 #wee jamie too #modern AU

[dr-gloom]

The End

a little vent fic

Fandom: Sanders’ Sides

Pairing: Moxiety

Words: 2,016

Summary:  Patton’s life fell apart in the course of two weeks, and he doesn’t think he wants to try and pick up the pieces. (vent fic, very dark)

Tags/Warnings: suicide attempt, depression, suicidal thoughts, implied abuse, breakup, mentions of self harm, self-hate, Patton is transmasc genderfluid, not a happy ending, character with depression, character with BPD, mentions of an eating disorder

if I missed any tags, sorry

Read it on AO3

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like what I do? buy me a coffee or GoFundMe

It had all started about two weeks ago, on a Friday.

Patton was sure they had ADHD, so they'd talked to their therapist about getting screened. Since their depression was doing a lot better, she agreed and had them fill out the papers. On that Friday, Patton got the email that they didn't qualify for screening.

It was a little thing, something that, to a normal person, would be a bummer that they move on from and maybe get a little sad or annoyed about. But Patton was never normal. The depression hit them so fast and so hard that all they could do was stare at their phone as they sat in their car, eyes only seeing two words: not qualified.

Their only thought was that their mother had been right all along. Patton was just making it up, exaggerating their personality and pretending they were symptoms, or something. If she was right about this, what else was she right about? Did they not have depression? Or bpd? Were they tricking themselves into believing they were trans?

But the universe has never been kind to them, and that wasn't all that would happen on what had started as one of the nicest Friday's they'd had in a while.

Patton went to unlock their phone to share the news with their partner, only to see their partner had already sent them a text. A small bubble of happiness grew in their chest, popping just as fast when they read what the text said.

He said Patton had been pushing him away, that they had been keeping him from talking about something that's been bothering him, that he wanted a break.

Two weeks. He wanted to spend two weeks without talking to or seeing each other at all.

Patton felt like their world was falling apart, but they agreed because it was better than him breaking up with them right then and there. It's okay, they told themselves, it'll be okay, he'll miss you and you guys will fix things.

On the way home, all they could think about was speeding right into one of the dozens of trees they saw along the freeway. How fast would they have to go for it to kill them? If they didn't die instantly, how badly would it hurt? Would anyone care? Would anyone tell their online friends?

Whatever sense of self-preservation they had made them climb into bed as soon as they got home, and wouldn't let them leave.

Patton spent the entire weekend like that, in a depressive slump, curled up in bed, barely eating or talking (not that anyone noticed). Part of him was angry, because he knew he had ADHD, he knew the symptoms and he's talked to plenty of people who had a diagnosis, and the similarities were too many to be a coincidence. He was also mad at his partner.

It felt horrible to say, but it was true; they'd both been busy lately, so they haven't had much time to talk. At most, they said hi and asked how the other's day was, and the conversation petered off. So what did he mean when he said Patton had been keeping him from talking? He combed through their old texts, even checking their Tumblr chats, and he still had no clue. He was mad, and confused, and depressed, but he was also terrified. Patton didn't want to lose him. He didn't want to be alone.

Monday night, in his child education class, they were doing a culture assignment where they brought something in and explained how it was important to their culture. A few of the foreign students brought things from their cultures back home, while everyone else typically brought something relating to family. Patton listened to everyone talk about their loving families, their traditions, the happy memories, then he stood up and showed them his pride keychains, and talked about how he's been harrassed, oppressed, disowned, and how ignorance is the basis of cruelty. He talked about how important it was to educate others so that someday, kids don't have to go through what he went through. A couple friends in the class clapped and told him how strong and amazing he was. He didn't believe it.

Tuesday, they couldn't stop thinking about him. They wondered if he was okay, how he was doing, if his rehearsals were going well. They drove home for a couple hours before their next class, and ended up dropping and shattering their phone right outside their house.

It was another one of those little things that should have meant nothing, but felt like everything. Patton picked up the phone gently and pressed the side button to light the screen, but it stayed black. They held it down to turn it on, but nothing happened. Frustrated tears welled in their eyes and they went inside.

As soon as the door was shut, they threw the phone onto the couch and screamed. “Dammit!” They paced the living room, pulling at their hair, breath coming in quick pants. Their mother was going to kill them. They swore again and again, wiping their tears away angrily.

When they had managed to calm down a little, they grabbed the house phone and left their mother a message telling her what happened. She liked to randomly call them to see where they were, and they didn't want to make their punishment worse by making her think they were ignoring her.

Wednesday, he got an email saying the surgeon who'd be conducting his top surgery was leaving Kaiser and couldn't do the surgery. Patton sat on his bed, feeling as if the rug had been pulled from under his feet. He had a consult set up with a new surgeon in a month, but something told him he wouldn't like the results.

Thursday, they went in to see if they could get their stuff off their phone. They'd moved their SIM card into a new phone, but the only thing that copied over was a couple phone numbers they never contacted and their own data like their phone number.

The phone people told them that if the screen didn't work, they couldn't do anything. They thanked them with a forced smile and went back to their car, thinking about all the lost pictures and friends and rubbing their stomach as it growled. They hadn't eaten in three days.

They were fat enough, anyways.

Friday, they tried to kill themselves. They felt so alone, so lonely, so stressed and scared, that they didn't want to even try anymore. Of course, like most things, they fucked up. They woke up on Saturday in tears and laid in bed until their mother yelled at them for being lazy.

Monday, they got an email from their supervisor telling them they haven't been meeting dress code, and they had until Wednesday to get business-casual clothing. She blamed them for their lack of hours, despite the fact that she was the one in charge of their hours. Patton was tired. So, so tired. They'd been angry for a moment, but they didn't have the energy to stay mad.

Tuesday night, Patton went clothes shopping with his mother. He could tell she was angry that she had to spend more money, but she would never complain about him in public, so she stayed quiet. He had to go up a pants size because, in her words, “it looks like your ass is eating your pants”.

He didn't eat anything on Wednesday.

He couldn't sleep Thursday night. He knew the next day his partner would message him and give him the verdict, and he'd been through this enough times to know it was almost certainly going to end badly.

Friday. They went through their day like normal, helping their supervisor with speech therapy and desperately trying to distract themselves. They went home and checked their phone; sure enough, he texted them while they were working.

I don't want it to seem like I'm having the last word or anything, and if you have stuff to say I definitely want to hear it, but I think I'm just gonna go ahead and say my piece. I think it would be better if we broke up. And I mostly think that because over the two weeks we didn't talk, it felt like almost nothing changed for me, except maybe this time I wasn't waiting around for anything. I told you how we didn't talk before and what I was thinking, so I'm not going to repeat that, but if you go without talking to your partner for two weeks and it doesn't feel like there's even any change, there's something wrong. I don't know if this is actually true or not, but it genuinely felt like you had hated me the majority of our relationship and then got tired of pretending. It felt like I was in a relationship with someone who couldn't care less what happened to me. When you told me you were going to cut yourself, and there was nothing I could do about it, I stayed up all night having panic attacks. I burst into tears at rehearsal just thinking about it. I felt like a complete failure. I felt worthless. And when I told you I was suicidal, at most we would have a five minute conversation, at worst you would more or less say you were too tired to deal with it. But I spent hours BEGGING you not to hurt yourself. This is getting way longer than I expected. I'm sorry. I know I fucked up a lot, too. But I tried my hardest to make you happy and to do what you wanted, and towards the last couple weeks it felt like talking to a wall. And I saw your post about how people promise not to leave and then they do it anyway, ((you said "fucking liars")) and I'm not mad, I completely understand that vent, but I did assume it was about me and, Pat, you didn't give me a choice. You practically shoved me away yourself. Okay. I'll shut up now. If I don't answer it's because I'm showering or thinking, I promise I won't ignore you.

Patton sat in their car staring at their phone, much like two weeks ago, feeling empty. They wanted to apologize, to say they love him, have always loved him, that they don't know what they did wrong but they want desperately to fix it. They wanted to say that he deserved so much better than them, and beg him not to leave them, and a hundred other things, but….

But what was the point? They'd done that before, and the person always got angry and it got so much worse. So they just send one word.

Okay

The reply is almost instant.

Do you have anything to say…?

Patton sighs, getting out of their car and heading inside.

What's the point?

Okay, well then I guess that just proves my point. Bye then

Patton lays down. They're so tired. They hate themselves so much. Why are they so fucked up? They thought they'd been getting better…

Actually, I do wanna say one thing I'm sorry, you deserve better Bye, Virgil

They weren't going to sugarcoat it. They fucked up. It was all they thought about as they laid in bed until they fell asleep. They couldn't even cry; a couple tears would fall and then they'd be numb, all the pain and grief pushed down until it became a physical hurt.

They stayed in bed the rest of that day and into Saturday. Whenever they're awake, they think over what they did wrong. Patton doesn't understand how they could have fucked up so badly that he thought they hated him. They don't understand when things got so bad.

But maybe that was the problem. They could never tell what they were doing wrong. Patton picks up their phone.

They're going to write one last story, pick up their blade, and try not to fuck up again.

#tw depression #tw suicidal thoughts #tw suicide #tw eating disorder #mentioned eating disorder #implied abuse #break up #patton sanders #virgil sanders #moxiety

[selfiecharmedlife]

RE: I’m Just Really Freaked Out Right Now

      I had a dream last night. In the dream, I was pregnant and waiting to give birth in a maternity ward surrounded by other women. Even though I was having contractions and everything, everyone in the dream kept telling me that I couldn’t be having a baby because I’m trans. It was freaky and I woke up feeling very upset. I’ve been having more dreams like this lately and I’m sure it has to do with the stress I’ve been under leading up to my FFS/SRS appointment next month. In just about three weeks, I’ll be on the table and be one vagina richer. It’s something I’ve been working toward for years. All those hours and hundreds of dollars spent on painful electrolysis to remove the hair on my penis, all the sick days I’ve saved and all the support I’ve rallied have built up to this moment. I think this is going to be a bigger deal for me than finishing my Ph.D. Lots of people get Ph.Ds, but very few have Ph.Ds and neo vaginas.

           However, I’m having a hard time getting myself excited about it. The stress is immense both in the looming cost of the procedure as well as the prospect of having to manage life during an extensive and potentially traumatic recovery. I carry my tension in my shoulders and can feel that weight impacting everything I do. I’m getting tension headaches and fucking up in basically every area of my life. It’s also alienating on top of that. I don’t have anyone close to me that’s undergone the same procedure and the deeply personal nature of the process makes it hard to find meaningful comparisons to draw from. Of my trans friends that I feel close enough to talk to about this stuff, I’m the only one that’s doing this. I have a lot of support, but I’m the only one that will go into the operating room and I’m the only one that will have to do the dilation afterward. It’s lonely. I’ve been reading a lot of subreddits and other blogs, but it’s so different for every person. Some people describe feeling like time is going by slowly, but I feel like I’m hurdling toward some unknown and have no control.

           When trying to unpack this anxiety with my therapist she suggested that it might be stemming from my attempts to assert control. Control is a hard thing for me to give up. Even though I’ve already caused a lot of irreversible changes to my body, I’m the one that did them. They were gradual and I could stop at any time. With surgery, it’s just going to be done. I’ve been trying to imagine what that day is going to be like to try to get control over the situation. I’m going to arrive, receive an epidural for pain control, meet with the surgeon, get a shot in the arm and wake up with a vagina. Imagining that only makes things worse though. When I think about what getting an epidural will feel like or what I’m going to feel like the first time I see my post-surgical vagina, I can feel my chest get tight and my mind starts to race. I have so little agency and I’m putting a huge part of my life in another person’s hands. For someone that struggles to not be in control, it’s almost a perfect storm of stressors.

           Anther way of trying to feel like I have some control has been imagining the recovery and procedure. That’s gone great coupled with my existing anxiety because I just end up imagining the worst-case scenarios. What if I never regain feeling, what if hidden costs end up being more than I can afford, what if no one finds my attractive, what if I regret it, what if my who I’m attracted to changes after surgery, etc etc etc. It’s a deep a terrible hole that I’ve managed to dig for myself. Even looking at photos of post-op trans women as they recover just makes me feel like my own recovery won’t go so smoothly. There is just no way to know and nothing I can really do but wait. It’s agonizing.

           I tried to explain all of this to a cis friend and he suggested that I might want to push my surgical date back. I thought about it, but delaying won’t make me feel any better. In some ways, I was lucky that the surgeon had an opening only three months after my initial consult. It was going to be like this no matter what and only having to sit with it for a few weeks is a mercy compared to doing this in February or March. It’s getting harder to do this as the date gets closer, but I’m trying to remember how I got here. The future is scary, but so was the past where I was outed while trying on a dress at a boutique because it was a little tighter than I realized or the shame I felt when I didn’t want my partner to touch or even see my penis. Never mind the embarrassment of having to be on the receiving end of pat down every time I fly because the TSA body scanner flags my penis as a security hazard or the fear that the sound of my urine is going to out me in a women’s bathroom. As a psychologist, I believe that people are moved to a course of action when the outcomes are preferable to an alternative course of action or inaction. Right now, I’m scarred shitless but not doing this somehow feels worse. I just have to try to dig out those feelings and remember how I got here. On November 13th, I’m going to wakeup with a penis and go to sleep with a vagina. Whatever happens on November 14th is unknown, but the new Pokémon game comes out on the 15th. It feels childish but that’s something I can focus on. If I’m lucky, I’ll ever be released from the hospital that day and can spend my early recovery playing that instead of worrying about the future and the surgical packing still inside my body. For now, that little bit of grounding is doing a whole lot for my mental health.  

[raytothejtotheg]

TW- transgender suicide/suicidal ideation/depression

As a transgender man who grew up in a very religious/Christian home, this song speaks to my heart in the depths of the desperation I have suffered from for so long-

“Feel the sting of the whip on my shoulder

With the salt of my sweat on my brow

Elohim, adonai, can you hear your people cry?

Help us now!

This dark hour.

Deliver us!

Hear our call, deliver us!

Lord of all, remember us here in this burning sand!

Deliver us! There's a land you promised us!...

(Translation of the next to lines from Hebrew to English which I could sound out potentially, but not type in Hebrew-

“My good and tender son

Don’t be frightened and don’t be scared”)

My son, I have nothing I can give

But this chance that you may live

I pray we'll meet again if He will deliver us!

Deliver us!

Hear our prayer, deliver us!

From these famished years as slaves, we've grown too old to stand

Deliver us! There's a land you promised us!

Deliver us from the bondage and

Deliver us to the promised land.

Hush now, my baby, be still love, don't cry

Sleep as you're rocked by the stream

Sleep and remember my last lullaby

So I'll be with you when you dream

River, oh river, flow gently for me!

Such precious cargo you bear!

Do you know somewhere he can be free?

River, deliver him there!”

For the the past three years, I have worked 50-70 hour weeks. Every week. I’m good enough at what I do for a living that I’m the manager of my department at the Toyota dealership I’m employed by and I love what I do... But I have been internally struggling and suffering for so long that I simply have nothing more left to give. I have no energy; the fight has worn and damaged my soul beyond recognition. I believe I’m fully aware and logically register all the people who care about and love me.... But not emotionally. Emotionally I’m secluded, but not by choice. Everyone always shits on people who choose to be stealth, but sometimes it is necessary. I have little choice on whether I am visible or not for my safety and survival. I believe it to be an even harder road to be stealth than visible because whether or not you have friends who are transgender and can understand/relate is irrelevant. My husband is a transgender man, as are many of our good friends, but I’m the only one of them who’s stealth (minus an out of town friend). The emotional damage of this isolation is destroying slowly as the days pass. Let me clarify the situation and perhaps you may understand (if anyone has even read this far) the desperation of the hope in an end and in a beginning. That job I mentioned that I love so much? It’s slowly digging me a grave. First off, the dealership franchise I am employed by has exempt or “grandfathered” healthcare... Meaning NOTHING related to my transition or related to complications arising from the situation is covered. I was on the what I thought was insane wait list for (at the time) a consult with the only top surgeon in the state. As in, I waited a year for a consult after waiting six months to get a letter of mental health approval for top surgery and I can’t have surgery because I can’t afford $20K + time off work for 6 weeks (I would have to take the full six weeks off due to heavy lifting). The main problem is as followed- I could give a flying f*ck about top surgery. . . But I cannot ignore the pain and dysphoria I feel inside because bottom surgery is not even a possibility at this rate. I would trade top surgery for bottom in a heart beat. I can not fully relay how much I can’t handle it, but I’ll try. It feels like I’m in a coffin that I’m running out of air in. On the one hand, if you knew you were going to suffocate in two hours, would you pull the trigger before you suffered those last two hours gasping for breath? To be perfectly honest, the only thing that stops me is that I CAN’T be buried in a body that isn’t mine. This isn’t my home. I have had anxiety attacks over the thought of dying in an accident or something with my body as it exists at this point. I’m a broken man, through and through. I cannot fight this feeling of a breathing corpse wandering aimlessly until it’s over.

“River, Oh River, flow gently for me,

Such precious cargo you bear,

Do you know somewhere he can be free?

River, Deliver him there!”

#princeofegypt #princesofegypt #calabhyles #deliver us #deliverustothepromisedland #trans #ftm #transgender #femaletomale #transman #dysphoria #lgbt #bottomsurgery #surgery #plagues #moses #river #phalloplasty #top surgery #hysto #ftm hysto #hysterectomy #suicide #depression #anxiety #fucktrump #allieverwanted

[rennesairanenlove]

Hämmästyttävän tyylikäs ja ajatuksia herättävä tämä elokuva Predestination. Predestinationissa on ammattiosaamisella tehty tarina.Tämä pohjautuu Robert E. Heinleinin kirjoittamaan novelliin All You Zombies jota ei olla suomennettu mutta jonka englanniksi löytyy netistä jonka olen kopioinut Robert E. Henlein All You Zombies:  2217 Time Zone V (EST) 7 Nov. 1970--NTC-- "Pop's Place": I was polishing a brandy snifter when the Unmarried Mother came in. I noted the time---10:17 P. M. zone five, or eastern time, November 7th, 1970. Temporal agents always notice time and date; we must.The Unmarried Mother was a man twenty--five years old, no taller than I am, childish features and a touchy temper. I didn't like his looks---I never had---but he was a lad I was here to recruit, he was my boy. I gave him my best barkeep's smile.Maybe I'm too critical. He wasn't swish; his nickname came from what he always said when some nosy type asked him his line: "I'm an unmarried mother." If he felt less than murderous he would add: "at four cents a word. I write confession stories."If he felt nasty, he would wait for somebody to make something of it. He had a lethal style of infighting, like a female cop---reason I wanted him. Not the only one.He had a load on, and his face showed that he despised people more than usual. Silently I poured a double shot of Old Underwear and left the bottle. He drank it, poured another.I wiped the bar top. "How's the 'Unmarried Mother' racket?"His fingers tightened on the glass and he seemed about to throw it at me; I felt for the sap under the bar. In temporal manipulation you try to figure everything, but there are so many factors that you never take needless risks.I saw him relax that tiny amount they teach you to watch for in the Bureau's training school. "Sorry," I said. "Just asking, 'How's business?' Make it 'How's the weather?'"He looked sour. "Business is okay. I write 'em, they print 'em, I eat."I poured myself one, leaned toward him. "Matter of fact," I said, "you write a nice stick---I've sampled a few. You have an amazingly sure touch with the woman's angle."It was a slip I had to risk; he never admitted what pen--names he used. But he was boiled enough to pick up only the last: "'Woman's angle!'" he repeated with a snort. "Yeah, I know the woman's angle. I should.""So?" I said doubtfully. "Sisters?""No. You wouldn't believe me if I told you.""Now, now," I answered mildly, "bartenders and psychiatrists learn that nothing is stranger than truth. Why, son, if you heard the stories I do---well, you'd make yourself rich. Incredible.""You don't know what 'incredible' means!""So? Nothing astonishes me. I've always heard worse." He snorted again. "Want to bet the rest of the bottle?""I'll bet a full bottle." I placed one on the bar."Well---" I signaled my other bartender to handle the trade. We were at the far end, a single--stool space that I kept private by loading the bar top by it with jars of pickled eggs and other clutter. A few were at the other end watching the fights and somebody was playing the juke box---private as a bed where we were."Okay," he began, "to start with, I'm a bastard.""No distinction around here," I said."I mean it," he snapped. "My parents weren't married.""Still no distinction," I insisted. "Neither were mine.""When---" He stopped, gave me the first warm look I ever saw on him. "You mean that?""I do. A one--hundred--percent bastard. In fact," I added, "no one in my family ever marries. All bastards.""Oh, that." I showed it to him. "It just looks like a wedding ring; I wear it to keep women off." It is an antique I bought in 1985 from a fellow operative---he had fetched it from pre--Christian Crete. "The Worm Ouroboros... the World Snake that eats its own tail, forever without end. A symbol of the Great Paradox."He barely glanced at it. "If you're really a bastard, you know how it feels. When I was a little girl---""Wups!" I said. "Did I hear you correctly?""Who's telling this story? When I was a little girl---Look, ever hear of Christine Jorgenson? Or Roberta Cowell?""Uh, sex--change cases? You're trying to tell me---""Don't interrupt or swelp me, I won't talk. I was a foundling, left at an orphanage in Cleveland in 1945 when I was a month old. When I was a little girl, I envied kids with parents. Then, when I learned about sex---and, believe me, Pop, you learn fast in an orphanage---""I know""---I made a solemn vow that any kid of mine would have both a pop and a mom. It kept me 'pure,' quite a feat in that vicinity---I had to learn to fight to manage it. Then I got older and realized I stood darn little chance of getting married---for the same reason I hadn't been adopted." He scowled. "I was horse--faced and buck--toothed, flat--chested and straight--haired.""You don't look any worse than I do.""Who cares how a barkeep looks? Or a writer? But people wanting to adopt pick little blue--eyed golden--haired morons. Later on, the boys want bulging breasts, a cute face, and an Oh--you--wonderful--male manner." He shrugged. "I couldn't compete. So I decided to join the W.E.N.C.H.E.S.""Eh?""Women's Emergency National Corps, Hospitality & Entertainment Section, what they now call 'Space Angels'---Auxiliary Nursing Group, Extraterrestrial Legions.'"I knew both terms, once I had them chronized. We use still a third name, it's that elite military service corps: Women's Hospitality Order Refortifying & Encouraging Spacemen. Vocabulary shift is the worst hurdle in time--jumps---did you know that a 'service station' once served oil fractions? Once on an assignment in the Churchill Era, a woman said to me, 'Meet me at the service station next door'---which is not what it sounds; a 'service station' (then) wouldn't have a bed in it.He went on: "It was when they first admitted you can't send men into space for months and years and not relieve the tension. You remember how the wowsers screamed?---that improved my chance, since volunteers were scarce. A gal had to be respectable, preferably virgin (they liked to train them from scratch), above average mentally, and stable emotionally. But most volunteers were old hookers, or neurotics who would crack up ten days off Earth. So I didn't need looks; if they accepted me, they would fix my buck teeth, put a wave in my hair, teach me to walk and dance and how to listen to a man pleasingly, and everything else---plus training for the prime duties. They would even use plastic surgery if it would help---nothing too good for our Boys."Best yet, they made sure you didn't get pregnant during your enlistment---and you were almost certain to marry at the end of your hitch. Same way today, A.N.G.E.L.S. marry spacers---they talk the language."When I was eighteen I was placed as a 'mother's helper'. This family simply wanted a cheap servant, but I didn't mind as I couldn't enlist till I was twenty--one. I did housework and went to night school---pretending to continue my high school typing and shorthand but going to a charm class instead, to better my chances for enlistment."Then I met this city slicker with his hundred--dollar bills." He scowled. "The no--good actually did have a wad of hundred--dollar bills. He showed me one night, told me to help myself."But I didn't. I liked him. He was the first man I ever met who was nice to me without trying games with me. I quit night school to see him oftener. It was the happiest time of my life."Then one night in the park the games began."He stopped. I said, "And then?""And then nothing! I never saw him again. He walked me home and told me he loved me---and kissed me good---night and never came back." He looked grim. "If I could find him, I'd kill him!""Well," I sympathized, "I know how you feel. But killing him---just for doing what comes naturally---hmm... Did you struggle?""Huh? What's that got to do with it?""Quite a bit. Maybe he deserves a couple of broken arms for running out on you, but---""He deserves worse than that! Wait till you hear. Somehow I kept anyone from suspecting and decided it was all for the best. I hadn't really loved him and probably would never love anybody---and I was more eager to join the W.E.N.C.H.E.S. than ever. I wasn't disqualified, they didn't insist on virgins. I cheered up."It wasn't until my skirts got tight that I realized.""Pregnant?""He had me higher 'n a kite! Those skinflints I lived with ignored it as long as I could work---then kicked me out, and the orphanage wouldn't take me back. I landed in a charity ward surrounded by other big bellies and trotted bedpans until my time came."One night I found myself on an operating table, with a nurse saying, 'Relax. Now breathe deeply.'"I woke up in bed, numb from the chest down. My surgeon came in. 'How do you feel?' he says cheerfully."'Like a mummy.'"'Naturally. You're wrapped like one and full of dope to keep you numb. You'll get well---but a Cesarean isn't a hangnail.'"'Cesarean' I said. 'Doc---did I lose the baby?'"'Oh, no. Your baby's fine.'"Oh. Boy or girl?"'A healthy little girl. Five pounds, three ounces.'"I relaxed. It's something, to have made a baby. I told myself I would go somewhere and tack 'Mrs.' on my name and let the kid think her papa was dead---no orphanage for my kid!"But the surgeon was talking. 'Tell me, uh---' He avoided my name. 'did you ever think your glandular setup was odd?'"I said, 'Huh? Of course not. What are you driving at?'"He hesitated. 'I'll give you this in one dose, then a hypo to let you sleep off your jitters. You'll have 'em.'"'Why?' I demanded."'Ever hear of that Scottish physician who was female until she was thirty five? ---then had surgery and became legally and medically a man? Got married. All okay.'"'What's that got to do with me?'"'That's what I'm saying. You're a man.'"I tried to sit up. 'What?'"'Take it easy. When I opened you, I found a mess. I sent for the Chief of Surgery while I got the baby out, then we held a consultation with you on the table---and worked for hours to salvage what we could. You had two full sets of organs, both immature, but with the female set well enough developed for you to have a baby. They could never be any use to you again, so we took them out and rearranged things so that you can develop properly as a man.' He put a hand on me. 'Don't worry. You're young, your bones will readjust, we'll watch your glandular balance---and make a fine young man out of you.'"I started to cry. 'What about my baby?'"'Well, you can't nurse her, you haven't milk enough for a kitten. If I were you, I wouldn't see her---put her up for adoption.'"'No!'"He shrugged. 'The choice is yours; you're her mother---well, her parent. But don't worry now; we'll get you well first.'"Next day they let me see the kid and I saw her daily---trying to get used to her. I had never seen a brand--new baby and had no idea how awful they look---my daughter looked like an orange monkey. My feelings changed to cold determination to do right by her. But four weeks later that didn't mean anything.""Eh?""She was snatched.""'Snatched?'"The Unmarried Mother almost knocked over the bottle we had bet. "Kidnapped---stolen from the hospital nursery!" He breathed hard. "How's that for taking the last a man's got to live for?""A bad deal," I agreed. "Let's pour you another. No clues?""Nothing the police could trace. Somebody came to see her, claimed to be her uncle. While the nurse had her back turned, he walked out with her.""Description?""Just a man, with a face--shaped face, like yours or mine." He frowned. "I think it was the baby's father. The nurse swore it was an older man but he probably used makeup. Who else would swipe my baby? Childless women pull such stunts---but whoever heard of a man doing it?""What happened to you then?""Eleven more months of that grim place and three operations. In four months I started to grow a beard; before I was out I was shaving regularly... and no longer doubted that I was male." He grinned wryly. "I was staring down nurses necklines.""Well," I said, "seems to me you came through okay. Here you are, a normal man, making good money, no real troubles. And the life of a female is not an easy one."He glared at me. "A lot you know about it!""So?""Ever hear the expression 'a ruined woman'?""Mmm, years ago. Doesn't mean much today.""I was as ruined as a woman can be; that bum really ruined me---I was no longer a woman... and I didn't know how to be a man.""Takes getting used to, I suppose.""You have no idea. I don't mean learning how to dress, or not walking into the wrong rest room; I learned those in the hospital. But how could I live? What job could I get? Hell, I couldn't even drive a car. I didn't know a trade; I couldn't do manual labor---too much scar tissue, too tender."I hated him for having ruined me for the W.E.N.C.H.E.S., too, but I didn't know how much until I tried to join the Space Corps instead. One look at my belly and I was marked unfit for military service. The medical officer spent time on me just from curiosity; he had read about my case."So I changed my name and came to New York. I got by as a fry cook, then rented a typewriter and set myself up as a public stenographer---what a laugh! In four months I typed four letters and one manuscript. The manuscript was for Real Life Tales and a waste of paper, but the goof who wrote it sold it."Which gave me an idea; I bought a stack of confession magazines and studied them." He looked cynical. "Now you know how I get the authentic woman's angle on an unmarried--mother story... through the only version I haven't sold---the true one. Do I win the bottle?"I pushed it toward him. I was upset myself, but there was work to do. I said, "Son, you still want to lay hands on that so--and--so?"His eyes lighted up---a feral gleam."Hold it!" I said. "You wouldn't kill him?"He chuckled nastily. "Try me.""Take it easy. I know more about it than you think I do. I can help you. I know where he is."He reached across the bar. "Where is he?"I said softly, "Let go my shirt, sonny---or you'll land in the alley and we'll tell the cops you fainted." I showed him the sap.He let go. "Sorry. But where is he?" He looked at me. "And how do you know so much?""All in good time. There are records---hospital records, orphanage records, medical records. The matron of your orphanage was Mrs. Fetherage---right? She was followed by Mrs. Gruenstein---right? Your name, as a girl, was 'Jane'---right? And you didn't tell me any of this---right?"I had him baffled and a bit scared. "What's this? You trying to make trouble for me?""No indeed. I've your welfare at heart. I can put this character in your lap. You do to him as you see fit---and I guarantee that you'll get away with it. But I don't think you'll kill him. You'd be nuts to---and you aren't nuts. Not quite."He brushed it aside. "Cut the noise. Where is he?" I poured him a short one; he was drunk, but anger was offsetting it. "Not so fast. I do something for you---you do something for me.""Uh... what?""You don't like your work. What would you say to high pay, steady work, unlimited expense account, your own boss on the job, and lots of variety and adventure?"He stared. "I'd say, 'Get those goddam reindeer off my roof!' Shove it, Pop---there's no such job.""Okay, put it this way: I hand him to you, you settle with him, then try my job. If it's not all I claim---well, I can't hold you."He was wavering; the last drink did it. "When d'yuh d'liver 'im?" he said thickly.He shoved out his hand. "It's a deal!""If it's a deal---right now!"I nodded to my assistant to watch both ends, noted the time---2300---started to duck through the gate under the bar---when the juke box blared out: "I'm My Own Grandpaw!" The service man had orders to load it with Americana and classics because I couldn't stomach the 'music' of 1970, but I hadn't known that tape was in it. I called out, "Shut that off! Give the customer his money back." I added, "Storeroom, back in a moment," and headed there with my Unmarried Mother following.It was down the passage across from the johns, a steel door to which no one but my day manager and myself had a key; inside was a door to an inner room to which only I had a key. We went there.He looked blearily around at windowless walls. "Where is he?""Right away." I opened a case, the only thing in the room; it was a U. S. F. F. Coordinates Transformer Field Kit, series 1992, Mod. II---a beauty, no moving parts, weight twenty--three kilos fully charged, and shaped to pass as a suitcase. I had adjusted it precisely earlier that day; all I had to do was to shake out the metal net which limits the transformation field.Which I did. "What's that?" he demanded."Time machine," I said and tossed the net over us."Hey!" he yelled and stepped back. There is a technique to this; the net has to be thrown so that the subject will instinctively step back onto the metal mesh, then you close the net with both of you inside completely---else you might leave shoe soles behind or a piece of foot, or scoop up a slice of floor. But that's all the skill it takes. Some agents con a subject into the net; I tell the truth and use that instant of utter astonishment to flip the switch. Which I did.1030--VI--3 April 1963---Cleveland, Ohio--Apex Bldg.: "Hey!" he repeated. "Take this damn thing off!""Sorry", I apologized and did so, stuffed the net into the case, closed it. "You said you wanted to find him.""But---you said that was a time machine!"I pointed out a window. "Does that look like November? Or New York?" While he was gawking at new buds and spring weather, I reopened the case, took out a packet of hundred--dollar bills, checked that the numbers and signatures were compatible with 1963. The Temporal Bureau doesn't care how much you spend (it costs nothing) but they don't like unnecessary anachronisms. Too many mistakes, and a general court--martial will exile you for a year in a nasty period, say 1974 with its strict rationing and forced labor. I never make such mistakes; the money was okay.He turned around and said, "What happened?""He's here. Go outside and take him. Here's expense money." I shoved it at him and added, "Settle him, then I'll pick you up."Hundred--dollar bills have a hypnotic effect on a person not used to them. He was thumbing them unbelievingly as I eased him into the hall, locked him out. The next jump was easy, a small shift in era.7100--VI--10 March 1964---Cleveland--Apex Bldg.: There was a notice under the door saying that my lease expired next week; otherwise the room looked as it had a moment before. Outside, trees were bare and snow threatened; I hurried, stopping only for contemporary money and a coat, hat, and topcoat I had left there when I leased the room. I hired a car, went to the hospital. It took twenty minutes to bore the nursery attendant to the point where I could swipe the baby without being noticed. We went back to the Apex Building. This dial setting was more involved, as the building did not yet exist in 1945. But I had precalculated it.0100--VI--20 Sept. 1945---Cleveland--Skyview Motel: Field kit, baby, and I arrived in a motel outside town. Earlier I had registered as "Gregory Johnson, Warren, Ohio," so we arrived in a room with curtains closed, windows locked, and doors bolted, and the floor cleared to allow for waver as the machine hunts. You can get a nasty bruise from a chair where it shouldn't be---not the chair, of course, but backlash from the field.No trouble. Jane was sleeping soundly; I carried her out, put her in a grocery box on the seat of a car I had provided earlier, drove to the orphanage, put her on the steps, drove two blocks to a 'service station' (the petroleum--products sort) and phoned the orphanage, drove back in time to see them taking the box inside, kept going and abandoned the car near the motel---walked to it and jumped forward to the Apex Building in 1963.2200--VI--24 April 1963---Cleveland--Apex Bldg.: I had cut the time rather fine---temporal accuracy depends on span, except on return to zero. If I had it right, Jane was discovering, out in the park this balmy spring night, that she wasn't quite as nice a girl as she had thought. I grabbed a taxi to the home of those skinflints, had the hackie wait around a comer while I lurked in shadows.Presently I spotted them down the street, arms around each other. He took her up on the porch and made a long job of kissing her good--night---longer than I thought. Then she went in and he came down the walk, turned away. I slid into step and hooked an arm in his. "That's all, son," I announced quietly. "I'm back to pick you up.""You!" He gasped and caught his breath."Me. Now you know who he is---and after you think it over you'll know who you are... and if you think hard enough, you'll figure out who the baby is... and who I am."He didn't answer, he was badly shaken. It's a shock to have it proved to you that you can't resist seducing yourself. I took him to the Apex Building and we jumped again.2300--VIII, 12 Aug. 1985--Sub Rockies Base: I woke the duty sergeant, showed my I. D., told the sergeant to bed my companion down with a happy pill and recruit him in the morning. The sergeant looked sour, but rank is rank, regardless of era; he did what I said---thinking, no doubt, that the next time we met he might be the colonel and I the sergeant. Which can happen in our corps. "What name?" he asked.I wrote it out. He raised his eyebrows. "Like so, eh? Hmm---""You just do your job, Sergeant." I turned to my companion."Son, your troubles are over. You're about to start the best job a man ever held---and you'll do well. I know.""That you will!" agreed the sergeant. "Look at me---born in 1917---still around, still young, still enjoying life." I went back to the jump room, set everything on preselected zero.2301--V--7 Nov. 1970--NYC---"Pop's Place": I came out of the storeroom carrying a fifth of Drambuie to account for the minute I had been gone. My assistant was arguing with the customer who had been playing "I'm My Own Grand--paw!" I said, "Oh, let him play it, then unplug it." I was very tired.It's rough, but somebody must do it, and it's very hard to recruit anyone in the later years, since the Mistake of 1972. Can you think of a better source than to pick people all fouled up where they are and give them well--paid, interesting (even though dangerous) work in a necessary cause? Everybody knows now why the Fizzle War of 1963 fizzled. The bomb with New York's number on it didn't go off, a hundred other things didn't go as planned---all arranged by the likes of me.But not the Mistake of '72; that one is not our fault---and can't be undone; there's no paradox to resolve. A thing either is, or it isn't, now and forever amen. But there won't be another like it; an order dated '1992' takes precedence any year.I closed five minutes early, leaving a letter in the cash register telling my day manager that I was accepting his offer to buy me out, to see my lawyer as I was leaving on a long vacation. The Bureau might or might not pick up his payments, but they want things left tidy. I went to the room in the back of the storeroom and forward to 1993.2200--VII-- 12 Jan 1993--Sub Rockies Annex--HQ Temporal DOL: I checked in with the duty officer and went to my quarters, intending to sleep for a week. I had fetched the bottle we bet (after all, I won it) and took a drink before I wrote my report. It tasted foul, and I wondered why I had ever liked Old Underwear. But it was better than nothing; I don't like to be cold sober, I think too much. But I don't really hit the bottle either; other people have snakes---I have people.I dictated my report; forty recruitments all okayed by the Psych Bureau---counting my own, which I knew would be okayed. I was here, wasn't I? Then I taped a request for assignment to operations; I was sick of recruiting. I dropped both in the slot and headed for bed. My eye fell on 'The By--Laws of Time,' over my bed:Never Do Yesterday What Should Be Done Tomorrow.If at Last You Do Succeed, Never Try Again.A Stitch in Time Saves Nine Billion.A Paradox May Be Paradoctored.It Is Earlier When You Think.Ancestors Are Just People.Even Jove Nods.They didn't inspire me the way they had when I was a recruit; thirty subjective--years of time--jumping wears you down. I undressed, and when I got down to the hide I looked at my belly. A Cesarean leaves a big scar, but I'm so hairy now that I don't notice it unless I look for it.Then I glanced at the ring on my finger.The Snake That Eats Its Own Tail, Forever and Ever. I know where I came from---but where did all you zombies come from?I felt a headache coming on, but a headache powder is one thing I do not take. I did once---and you all went away.So I crawled into bed and whistled out the light.You aren't really there at all. There isn't anybody but me---Jane---here alone in the dark.I miss you dreadfully!

[karanan]

personal update on stuff

I went to the plastic surgery clinic in Helsinki for a top surgery consultation yesterday with my friend. Ended up going in an hour after my scheduled appointment time because snow hell and a long wait. That said, the meeting itself was like 10 minutes. The surgeon asked me some stuff and had a poke at my chest, then she drew a lil titty sketch explaining possible incisions and scarring and stuff. I might get away with like two smol cuts sort of across the nip nop area because I’m not huge in the titty department. Also they’ve already started shrinking with T.  So what I got out of this was that they won’t do top surgery until after I’ve been on T for one year, for best possible results since the chesty danglebags tend to shrink a fair amount over that time, and some people won’t need surgery at all if they’re small enough. This surgeon said I’ll probably need surgery though and I’m inclined to agree. The good news is that I can get this surgery done in Turku where I live! The wait time shouldn’t be more than 6 months (legally) and I also said that the most important to me is good results, to which she responded that they should be equally competent at it in Turku. So I’m happy with that, of course I’m gonna ask later next year when they call me in. I need to know that I get a very competent and experienced surgeon and that’s well within my rights.  Also once I’ve had surgery, I only need to stay in the hospital over one night, then it’ll be 3-4 weeks of sick leave.  But yeah that’s all in the future, like I’d wager this time next year I’ll be busy with that. So I just gotta put up with binders and the extra front weight for one more year.

In unrelated news: I’m unhappy with my psychologist. She misgendered me and seemed bewildered when I corrected her. She also questioned why I’m even there and said I’m perfectly normal for my age (I actually got so stunned by her confused “why are you here?” that I forgot why myself. I forgot that my goal was to get put on sick leave or idk something that proves I’m unfit for full time jobs because my energy levels are constantly at like 40% max capacity). I spent our first appointment crying the whole fucking hour and told her about my crippling social anxiety but ok. I guess being a depressed crybaby and having gender dysphoria is totally normal for a 25 year old. She clearly has zero understanding of my identity or queer or trans people. She said my depression was just “depressive thoughts” and honestly I feel fucking gaslit by my own psychologist. I guess I’m just lazy and stupid then??? My problems aren’t real? Did I ever even have problems? I don’t know specifically what’s up, that’s why I’m here in the first place omfgkfkgkf. You know when you’re having an easier time in your life and it feels like you just made up all your problems from before and you’re not REALLY depressed or whathaveyou. Yeah. Anyway, she’s quitting soon so I get 1 more session with her. Our last meeting was really useless, she just zooms in super in depth on shit that isn’t relevant, while ignoring where I’m coming from and my identity and who I am as a person. I don’t need to talk for one hour about what motivates me or whatever. I need to talk about why my emotional drive is so fucked and why I’m so anxious like all of the time etc. Maybe we can start with me being trans in a garbage country that violates my human rights?? That said, I’m gonna go to that last meeting and fill out this paper she gave me of a timeline of my life. I’m supposed to write down all the events and stuff that changed my life significantly in some way. Prepare urself for all my daddy issues and the domestic abuse and the bullying. Also my brother was just diagnosed with ADHD and there’s a very big chance I have it too. Tell me I’m “normal” for my age, then.  I’m going to contact the youth health organisation for help instead because the government sure did an awful job.

This is getting long but I’m gonna dump my shit on here anyway. More ugh news: FPA haven’t responded to my message yet and it’s been 4 weeks. They pulled my rent benefits and requested I pay 1000 euros back to them out of nowhere and despite the fact that I did nothing wrong. I followed all their instructions and stuff so far. There were some news about the government rolling back the rent benefit changes but I have no word on how and if this remedies my situation. There’s just a giant question mark on that entire thing and it sucks because we’re talking a significant chunk of my income here. And the holidays are coming up. It’s Treat-Yourself (and your friends)-Season and I’m caught up in this financial garbage. Thankfully tax returns are coming next week so I’ll be ok but still, being left swinging in the wind is awful.

To end on a good note: We’ve got some snow right in time for December 1st and also Little Yule which is today on Saturday! I fucking love the holidays and I got myself a chocolate advent calendar and I’m gonna drink some hot glögg tonight to start the jolly season. Happy Little Yule to everyone (yes it’s a thing)!

#an update #old Nan yells at cloud #gender bs #there's always at least one hassle or hurdle to deal with I swear to god #but all in all I'm doing p good rn #I think? #personal