tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34923011018610960752023-11-15T09:29:52.381-05:00Dream.Flight.GenesisThe journal of a 30 something pre-op transexual woman. Subjects range from personal and transitional journaling to thoughts on transgender issues.ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.comBlogger131125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-4100239347338206012012-08-03T23:20:00.002-04:002012-08-03T23:20:32.112-04:00Back!<br />
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<br />
I noticed an email from Caroline a few hours ago that reminded me I haven't written in ages. I've often wanted to, but everything has just been so busy. <br />
<br />
While it has been a long time since I have written,itI feels even longer to me, because it has been such a turbulent year and my life has changed so much in that short time. <br />
<br />
Katie and I are doing well. This time a year ago I was in love, but I really wasn't sure how well I knew her. Over this year, we have grown so close, and found so much in common. Her companionship has made the last year so much easier, and through the hardships of the past few months, I'm not sure how I would have made it without her. <br />
<br />
Transition-wise, things are basically at a stand still right now. I've gained wide acceptance in my town, and am treated well. My day to day life feels very typical. I no longer have the feeling that I could be insulted any second when I'm out in town, and I don't sit at fast food restaurants looking around to see if I'm about to get insulted. At work, people almost always get pronouns correctly, and if they slip up, they correct themselves imediately. My boss used to seem uncomfortable around me, to the point that I worked in isolation, mostly cut off from the rest of the department. Now things are less awkward between us, and I have been mostly re-integrated.<br />
<br />
It has been long enough since my surgeries that everything has settled. I'm very pleased with my face, though teh differences are subtle. Just a little more open around the eyes, and my brow doesn't look so heavy in ccertain lighting. It was something that I was very self concious about. My only complaint is that one corner of my hairline is noticably higher than the other. I could probably get a free revision, only, it wouldn't be free since it would involve travel to Mexico. I'd rather save my money ahead for GRS. <br />
<br />
My breast augmentation went very well. I can't honestly claim to look natural, but I'm pleased with the results anyone. I was at the Lexigton, KY Pride event last month with Katie, and I met a gay male couple at an ATM. One asked if my boobs were real. The other said "Of course that's all real. Don't be rude!" The first guy said something like "Honey, when your straps fall down and the boobs go up instead of down... that's not natural." LOL! I had been drinking margaritas and really didn't have enough focus to keep the top of my dress under control.<br />
<br />
Got to add this! It turned out we were all going to the same place. When we got to the bar, me and the second guy ended up at the counter at the same time. We were sitting around chatting and he was like "I just have to say, you are absolutely gorgeous. You remind me of Angelina Jolie. I feel like I'm sitting here talking to Angelina Jolie!" It was probably the most flattering thing anyone has ever said to me, and he meant it. He wasn't interesting and trying to pick me up and had no real reason to suck up to me. Of course, he was also half drunk. There's that beer goggle effect, you know? LOL!<br />
<br />
<br />
Amid all the positive changes and pleasant experiences though, this has been the hardest year of my life. Not because of transition, but because I lost my mother. Through a lot of last year, she had strange medical symptoms, and wasn't looking well. I tried to be supportive and encouraging. Even when she was going for exaimations, I had myself convinced whatever was happening was going to be something treatable. In November we found out she had cancer, and they weren't sure what kind. I still clung to the hope that it would be something treatable.<br />
<br />
In May we lost her. The chemo and radiation never really helped. Nor any of the surgeries. In the end, her quality of life would have probably been better if she had just stayed home. But she was a fighter, and she wouldn't let go. Through it all, she never complained. I have always felt I was tough, standing up through the things I've been through. But Mom was tougher.<br />
<br />
I have so many regrets about Mom. Most of my life, I felt distant from my family, because I was harboring such heavy secrets that I felt they didn't know me. Then, since I came out, she and I have had such a war of wills. Some of the things she said to me are hard to forget. But what I didn't know was that the emotional distance I put between us to avoid fighting would eventually hurt more than words ever could. Most of her last healthy months, we got along and didn't fight, but never did a lot together.<br />
<br />
In the end, she accepted me and we were back on good terms. The last day she was alert enough to hear, I held her hand and told her how proud I was of her strength, and how much I wanted to be like her. I told her so many things that were important to me. But now the memory is hazy and it doesn't feel real. It's like my mind is trying to push those memories away to protect me. But I do remember that she had the look around her eyes that she always got when she smiled, and then a tear fell fromm her eye. At the time she couldn't talk or even move. The tear let me know she could hear, and that the smile around her eyes wasn't just my imagination. It was the first time I'd been able to really tell her she was a role model to me, and how much I admired the way she lived her life. How much I appreciated the selfless loving way that she raised me. I so wish I had told her so a long time ago. But, in truth, I don't think she would have been any more ready to hear it, than I was ready to say it. <br />
<br />
The day of her funeral, I was just in shock. So much so that I totaled my car. My mind was just working so slowly that I looked over to see if my phone was in the passenger seat, and it took me so long to process it, that by the time I faced forward again, I was already running off the road. It flipped and I just remember sliding along vaguely hoping to live. There wasn't even a shaky adrenalin rush. Just stepped out of the car in my black dress covered in glass, and my sliced, bloody hose, and stood around completely detached from the whole thing. It just wasn't important enough to care. <br />
<br />
The last two weeks of July, Dad, Katie and I went to Yellowstone together. We all love nature, photography and getting outside, which has been good for Dad and I. We just try to give eachother things to look forward to, to pull through. It's very hard for Dad, but he stays busy. On the vacation, we explored the park more thoroughly than we ever have, and came back with lots of great landscape and wildlifephotos. Dad says he wants Katie and I in his life as much as possible, which makes me very happy. This fall, he and I are going to build kayaks together, and hopefully we all have lots more outdoor adventures in our future. <br />
<br />
I've been happier since vacation. It gave me enough distance from Mom's passing, and my everyday existence to gain some perspective. I have a lot to live for. Lots to be thankful for. I've recommited to my fitness since mid June, and I feel so vital right now. I'm surrounded by good friends, and a wonderful family. Life is short, but its a blessing. A very fragile, temporary blessing and you have to relish every moment, and cherish every close human connection. It's all temporary, and it can all change in a heartbeat, but that is not something to be bitter about. It is what makes it all so precious.<br />
<br />
Wednesday was Chic-fil-a appreciation day. Ridiculuosly high turnouts of people protecting the right to disccriminate against others, with a thin excuse that it was really about freedom of speech. Most of us are fine with the man and the company have a right to an opinion, and a right to spend their profits where we wish. We just do not wish to support it with our money. And yet conservatives come out in droves to protest our boycott, calling us hypocrites, for using our freedom to simply choose where we wish to spend our money. <br />
<br />
Reading all the hateful and ignorant messages in news story reader comments and social media all day, I started feeling more alienated than I have in a long time. It made me feel like all the optimism I've felt about our direction as a culture was misplaced. I felt outnumbered, vulnerable, and suddenly the future looked bleak. I dreaded Thursday. Going to my largely conservative work place. I thought I would feel so out of place. Instead, everyone was unusually nice, and my tensions started to ease. I was being naive, and the world is not that dark. And the acceptance I have recieved localy is very real after all. Still I felt a paranoia, and an insecurity in town that I haven't felt in over a year. <br />
<br />
When I got home, I decided to fight it. I wanted to remind myself that I have the same rights as anyone else, and can go where I want, and do what I want. So I slipped into some pink spandex running shorts and a job bra and took my 1 mile evening run doing laps around town square instead of around the highschool track. .<br />
<br />
I half wanted confrontation, or at least some mean stares. If there were any rednecks feeling smug and thinking their kind rules the country after Wednesday, I wanted to remind them that they don't control me, I'm not afraid of them, and that I'm still proud of who I am. Didn't even get an odd look though. Some guys watched me run, but not in an offendedvsort of way. <br />
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Afterward, I walked into BP to buy a drink. I hit the door feeling like a 5'11", sweat drenched tranny in skin tight running gear, out to be confrontational and make the statement "I go where I like, and if you don't like it, you'll have to deal." Left just feeling like a regular girl- stopping by for a Gatorade after a run, like any normal person has a right too. No odd looks. No stares. The lady in line in front of me gave me her place in line. <br />
<br />
"You go first!"<br />
<br />
"Are you sure?"<br />
<br />
"Yes, you only have one item, and you look burnt up honey!"<br />
<br />
"Yeh, I've been out running."<br />
<br />
"I'd pass out running in this heat!"<br />
<br />
I guess I don't have the shock value I used to. Feels nice! <br />
<br />
By the time I got home, I felt like a normal person again. The fearful ghosts conjured by the Chic-fil-a fiasco had dissapeared as quickly as they had emerged.<br />
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<br />ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-15626575186321991262011-08-04T23:28:00.001-04:002011-08-04T23:31:47.364-04:00Poles Apart<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i>Did you know all the time but it never bothered you anyway</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i><br />
</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i>Leading the blind while I stared out the steel in your eyes</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i>-David Gilmore</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i><br />
</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I've not been around a lot lately. I have regrets about that. Basically my life is so full that I do not have as much time to write as I once did. I'm also far enough into transition that most of my day to day life doesn't revolve around gender anymore, and it leaves me with little relevant to say here on a regular basis. It's just work and love and family an all the mundane things that mark a typical life now. There are steps I still need to take in transition, but in the interim, I have very little to contribute. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Lately I've been thinking about some of the blogs I once followed closely, and friends I haven't spoken to in a while. I just wanted to catch up, so I returned to read. But the very first entry I read reminded me of the divides in the trans blogging world. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">On one side, you have a faction of crossdressers who lash out at transexual women. They assume that transexual women have the same motivations they do, that they are delusional, and that transition is not healthy for anyone. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">On the opposite side, you have a few elitist transexuals who think that anyone who does not share their motivations (or in some cases, just have not completed the transition process) have no right to express their gender.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Between these two extremes you have so many people who are just innocently trying to document their transition or their transgender experience, who get bombarded with comments that pull them into this completely pointless debate.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">What I really want to ask, is why can we not all get along? Can we not accept that people have different motivations, different goals, and that there is no reason to judge each other?</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">We are each the primary stakeholder with regards to our own gender identity. Why can't we just accept each other at face value, give each other the proper respect and move on? Does it matter if someone else is on a different path, has different motivations, or has a different understanding of gender? Some of it deserves intelligent debate perhaps. But does misgendering, bullying and childish name calling really contribute to an understanding of gender? I don't think it does.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I'll probably be quiet again for a while after this. The whole debate just makes me sad and I don't like getting pulled into it. This little corner of the internet used to be so pleasant and informative. Now it feels like two polar opposite factions vying for control and everyone else just in the middle trying to dodge the bullets. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">The irony is that both sides of this want mainstream society to embrace them, take them at face value and give them respect. If you can't respect another view, and respect another's right to gender expression, how is it fair to expect the mainstream to embrace you? Don't ask for more than you are willing to give. </span></span>ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-59791805097574323942011-06-06T13:06:00.003-04:002011-06-07T13:25:36.523-04:00Casa De Las FloresSaturday April 23 was my first day waking up at Casa De Las Flores. Despite the pain from my surgeries two days past, the quaint charm of my surroundings was not lost on me. The walls had niches and inset areas, and everything was painted in unthinkable color combinations. If someone painted a room yellow, green and pink in America, it would not work. For some reason when you see it in Mexico it just feels bold and striking. The colors were not the only reminder that I was not in Kentucky anymore. Every flat surface and decorative niche was filled with beautiful Mexican folk art, and all the counters were done in tiny hand painted tiles. A giant picture window looked out on the courtyard, which was an absolute wonder. I had seen it online, but was still taken by surprise at its beauty upon arrival the previous day.<br />
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From the street, Casa De Las Flores looks like a small two story building that would not be big enough to have guest rooms. It is situated on an urban street. From outside you can't see any ground that isn't paved. But once you step inside, you are greeted with office space and a large common area filled with lavish folk art. The back door opens onto the garden courtyard. Two story walls shield the area and exotic plants fill the space with surprising density. Their variety and beauty are impressive. Pavers lead from the outdoor dining area adjoining the front offices, across the courtyard in sweeping curves, to the rear building that contains the guest rooms.<br />
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From my angle on the bed, looking out the window gave the impression that my room was in a tropical rain forest rather than adjoining a courtyard. The beautiful foliage blocked the view back to the front building completely. At least 5 kinds of birds were calling constantly outside.<br />
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While the view from my bed was a wonderful combination of crafts and art inside, with plants and sun outside my window, I was still far from comfortable. My head felt numb and strange, but not particularly painful and my throat hurt a little from my tracheal shave. The main source of discomfort was definitely my breasts. I had opted for 450 mL anatomical implants, and had chosen sub-pectoral placement. That means that instead of placing the implants directly under my existing mammary tissue, they actually lifted the muscles of my chest and placed the implants under them. <br />
<br />
It has advantages and disadvantages. Some research suggests this placement makes a few complications less likely. Plus, since the implants have more separation from the mammary tissue, they do not complicate mammograms as much as sub-glandular implants. It also masks the edges of the implant, making it harder to detect their shape. There are a few drawbacks, but the most immediate one is pain. According to some articles, choosing sub-pectoral implant placement takes breast augmentation from medium pain levels, right past high and potentially into severe.<br />
<br />
"Severe" felt about right this morning. The compression bra still tore into my back and sides, and a sneeze felt like my ribs were breaking. My breasts felt tight and my pectoral muscles seemed stretched and painful. My arms were practically unusable. Laying on my back made the incisions on my chest feel dangerously stretched. I spent the night propped up on pillows so I could sleep sitting almost upright. But I still needed help getting up. It is fortunate that our friend Jen was there, because Kay was in no position to help me. Only one day ahead of me in recovery, her mobility was almost as restricted as mine. <br />
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Kay did not feel like having breakfast the first morning. I didn't either, but I knew my body was healing and that I needed nourishment. So when Jen reminded us that it was time for breakfast, I went reluctantly and Kay chose to stay in the room.<br />
<br />
The breakfast was great. I don't really know how to explain what it was, but it was delicious and filling. After breakfast Jen decided to have a walk around the neighborhood. Kay chose to sit it out. I thought walking might remind me that most of my body was still healthy and help me focus on the positive. Plus exploring seemed a good way to take my mind off the pain. When we stepped out, we both imediately noticed a beautiful old cathedral a few blocks away. I said I wanted to try to walk to it. Jen seemed surprised that I would try for such a distance on my first walk post-surgery, but was optimistic.<br />
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Walking did help me feel better. The sun, the architecture, and all the little nuances that distinguish a community filled my senses and thoughts, distracting me from the pain. I kept up with Jen but breathing deeply hurt. At one point I accidentally stepped off the curb and the sudden shock sent a wave of pain through my chest.<br />
<br />
A few days ago I had been staying at Hotel Morales in Guadalajara city center. My last sight seeing day there, I had worn my favorite strapless floral dress. I got quite a few looks and cat calls. At one point I had been approached by a local guy who asked my name. When I told him, he pretended not to hear me, so that I would lean in closer to repeat it. He kissed me on the cheek. It was more attention than I wanted, but at the same time it was all very flattering. <br />
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Those recent memories made my treatment today seem comparatively discouraging. I felt like a freak, out with visible stitches over unhealed incisions on my head and throat, and with my face still continuing to swell and bruise. The thought was there. "I did this to look better and feel more confident, and now I'm a disfigured freak." I kept reminding myself that it was all temporary and that in a month things would be mostly healed. It was hard to make it feel real though.<br />
<br />
That walk was the first of many. The next morning Kay came to breakfast and started exploring town too. We kept venturing farther, and our walks became souvenir shopping trips. We got to sample lots of local food, and take in quite a bit of local culture. We both got stronger as we went, and toward the end we finally had enough mobility to cuddle at night instead of sleeping completely propped up side by side on pillows. I think that made me happier than any other progress during recovery.<br />
<br />
In the beginning, the pain didn't seem bearable, and it was hard to imagine being free of it. But each day it was noticeably better so I kept reminding myself that eventually I would heal. Often, I worried that I would run out of time to heal. I couldn't imagine handling airports and planes, feeling the way I felt. But by the time of our exit exams at the clinic, much of the pain was gone and I felt positive about the trip home.ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-16058426854222061082011-06-04T19:20:00.000-04:002011-06-04T19:20:11.170-04:00Surgery.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--X1XpQieQos/TdMpJtCEmhI/AAAAAAAAANs/K3EID1lBiuA/s1600/photo1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--X1XpQieQos/TdMpJtCEmhI/AAAAAAAAANs/K3EID1lBiuA/s1600/photo1.jpg" /></a></div>I was sitting on the edge of my hospital bed in the Clinica Angeles Chapalita, looking down at the Clinica Angeles Chapalita logo slippers on my feet as I thought through my doubts and fears. I already felt pretty much committed. Still with only moments left before the anesthesiologist would place the mask on my face, I think it is only natural that I had second thoughts. <br />
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I had spent the previous night in my girlfriend Kay's clinic room, trying to help her and keep her comfortable after her series of surgeries. This morning it was my turn.<br />
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During the planning phase of this trip, I had misgivings about being scheduled second. I'm squeamish of all things medical, and I was not sure I could see Kay post surgery and still be able to go through with mine.<br />
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Instead, it worked out very well. I was too worried about Kay to worry about myself before her surgery. Then after, I was so concerned with trying to make her comfortable that I wasn't thinking about my operations at all. <br />
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At this point I was in my own room though. The doctors had been in just moments before. Doctor Cardenas, another plastic surgeon, and lots of support staff had come into my room. While everyone watched, Cardenas began drawing the incision marks on my chest, throat and forehead. I think that is when the fear set in. Sitting there on the table feeling the marker draw lines that would soon be traced by a scalpel. <br />
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Had I really thought this through? Only months ago, all these operations were a fantasy to me. I had heard about typical US prices and ruled out all these operations because I felt I couldn't afford to do this and GRS too. Then a chance meeting changed my transition plan. I had found Kay, fallen in love, and as a result, learned about surgery options I probably never would have explored on my own. She was already scheduled for surgery on April 20 with Cardenas when we met in early December. When she had gone over the pricing, I had been astonished, and a little tempted. By March, I knew there was no way I could let her go to Mexico for surgery and stay home only getting updates on her condition by sporadic phone calls.<br />
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My need to take the trip had made the idea of taking care of some of my own surgical needs more tempting than ever. If I was going anyway, that meant I could have my surgeries without additional travel and lodging expenses. Plus, Kay already had arranged for a good friend to come along, so I would not need to find someone to look after me. After my own research into Cardenas's practice as well as the potential risks of the surgeries I felt I needed, I was sure I wanted to do it and began scheduling. <br />
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It was barely a month ago that they set my April 21 surgery date. Had I researched enough? Was I even sure I needed all this work? Was it safe to have all this done in Guadalajara, Mexico? I knew these thoughts were no longer constructive. Just last minute hesitation. I had researched. I knew these operations would help my confidence and self esteem. It was worth it, and that had all been settled.<br />
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Moments later they came to take me to the operating room. It was not at all the way I imagined it would be before arriving here. The walk was not a big white, sterile corridor with that lingering hospital smell. Instead, the door to my room opened into a courtyard surrounded by two story balconies. The floor was stone. Benches and various plants punctuated the open space. The nurse walked me and my IV bag stand part of the way around the courtyard to another door that opened directly onto the surgical suite, which thankfully looked a lot more sterile, but frightening compared to the open, natural feel of the courtyard.<br />
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I was terrified. My heart was racing as they set me on the operating table and began final preparations. When they started taking my blood pressure I thought it would come up ridiculously high, but it didn't. The nurses did realize I was scared though and tried to comfort me. The last thing I remember was looking up into the light, a nurse holding my hand on each side. The one to my right said "You have such a pretty nose." Then I was out.<br />
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I awoke. Just barely. I couldn't feel pain anywhere, and it never occurred to me to open my eyes. I just remember the sensation of sliding, as they shifted me from the surgery table to whatever they took me to my room on, and a sense of motion, then sliding again as they placed me back into bed. Several relaxed voices were conversing in Spanish through my relocation. I was just awake enough to take the conversational tone as a good sign.<br />
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When I became fully awake and opened my eyes, I was back in my room. I had no idea what I looked like. No mirrors. I knew how my head was wrapped because I had seen Kay. Looking down, it was pretty obvious I wasn't flat chested anymore. Bandages completely covered my breasts, which seemed impossibly large. Mentally, I felt a lot sharper than I expected too. But I could barely move, and every part of me felt stiff, sore and unresponsive. Fortunately Kay and our friend were there to take care of me. <br />
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Breast augmentation, forehead reconstruction, brow lift, hairline advancement, and a tracheal shave were all performed in less than three hours. The first day, was uncomfortable, but the day after was worse. Pain was constant all day, but bearable. Then by 1 AM, I was out of my bandages and showered. My breasts felt impossibly heavy and delicate. My forehead felt painful and hollow. My throat felt like a typical sore throat and my voice came out raspy.<br />
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I was discharged only 24 hours after surgery, feeling weak and nauseous, with my new surgical support bra tearing into my spine and crushing my ribs. I looked hideous. My curly hair had not been touched in days, a row of stitches followed my hairline around my scalp, and my face was puffy and swollen. The driver our bed and breakfast sent for us looked a little puzzled at first sight of us. I felt awkward being in public at all, and was very pleased to arrive at Casa De La Flores, finish check in and settle into our room for 9 days of healing. :)ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-36987332780816513912011-04-06T00:07:00.000-04:002011-04-06T00:07:16.633-04:00Facing Fears.There has been so much happening this year, and I'm sorry I'v not had time to write about most of it properly. I had to stop by and write this one up though. After lots of financial wrangling, some research, and a little planning, I am scheduled to go to Guadalajara Mexico in two weeks for facial feminization and breast augmentation.<br />
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It has been a hard decision for me. I could have afforded GRS almost with the money this will cost. But your face is the first thing people see when they meet you, and while I have been blessed in a lot of ways, there are some things that combined with my height are a dead giveaway. Since I have been full time I have come to the conclusion that while I am mostly passable in brief encounters, like dining out, passing people in the mall and such. There are other situations where it's a lot harder. At work or in social situations, people see you day after day, in every kind of lighting, at every angle, and eventually your full range of facial expressions. Under that kind of scrutiny, the occasional glimpse of an adam's apple, or a heavy brow shading your eyes a bit too much and people can get enough evidence to draw conclusions.<br />
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Until this year, I thought I wanted to try to get by without facial feminization, or at least try to manage without doing it until after GRS. In the end though this is needed for pass-ability and will help my confidence a lot. If things go well I think it will leave me passable enough that when I decide to relocate, I can interview comfortably knowing that being trans isn't part of the equation at all. Of course that confidence will make work and everyday interaction easier too.<br />
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I have decided not to have any work done on my lower face. What I will have done is forehead restructuring, a brow lift, and a tracheal shave. I will probably drop some links summarizing the procedures as the date approaches.<br />
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In addition, I am considering breast augmentation as well. My plan has always been to wait until I am near the end of my growth potential to see if I have a chance at becoming a fairly full A cup on my own. While it was looking hopeful for a while about a year ago, it is pretty obvious now that it is not happening. My growth spurts have been rare, short lived and almost undetectable in the last 8 months, and I will have been on hormones for 3 years very soon. <br />
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Right now implants are on my surgery schedule, but I am still researching it and trying to make up my mind even as the date of my surgery approaches. I'm almost sure I will go through with it, but just not quite sure.<br />
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I'll keep you posted, and I'll try to post before and after photos soon! For those interested, I am going to Dr. Lazaro Cardenas for the work. He gets great reviews on FFS newsgroups and seems to have excellent credentials and associations. In email correspondence he has been very courteous and helpful. <br />
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More to come soon!ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-16691645817119168202011-02-28T21:06:00.004-05:002011-02-28T23:22:27.036-05:00Star Crossed 2I got a comment on my last post today that reminded me just how long I have been away from blogger and I feel terrible about it. I hate it that I have fallen out of touch. It has just been a busy few months for me.<br />
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<div>I think part of the problem is that the longer I go without writing, the more there is that needs to be written, until eventually it feels impossible to catch up and becomes overwhelming. Things are starting to settle a bit now though and I'm happy to have time to continue. </div><div><br />
</div><div>*~*~*~*~*~*</div><div><br />
</div><div>The chance encounter I described in the previous installment left me feeling a little confused. For the next few days, I could scarcely think of anything other than her, which was a bit odd for me. Those striking blue eyes, those perfectly formed full lips, her delicate form. Physically, she was beautiful. But there was more to the attraction than that. I have met lots of women who are pretty. While I can acknowledge their beauty there have been very few times that I would have considered myself strongly attracted to a woman. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It definitely takes more than beauty alone to inspire the level of captivation that I was feeling. Beauty combined with a subtle hint of interest in me? No, it's not that simple either. That has happened a few times since I started transition; the rare woman who can accept me as female and finds me attractive. On the few times that I've encountered that situation, I've felt extremely flattered, but not attracted to my admirer.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Was it because this particular lady happened to be trans like me? No, that is definitely not it. Before I met her, I thought I wanted a man. I had been in relationships with women and decided that was not what I wanted. And the one thing I was absolutely certain I didn't want was a relationship with another transgender woman. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Somehow the prospect seemed totally different after meeting her though. I could imagine how much we would have in common. Our life journeys so much alike. Our current situations very similar. She would understand my vulnerabilities and insecurities. I would understand hers. Similar needs. Shared hopes and dreams. It had never appealed to me before, but suddenly it seemed it would be the most wonderful thing in the world to have that.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I've mentioned what I used to want in a relationship in other entries. I thought I needed a man. I loved the duality of a typical heterosexual relationship, the clearly defined roles. I had been imagining someone who wouldn't trespass very far into my gender role. Someone who would pursue me, and make me feel attractive. Someone stronger than me to make me feel vulnerable, yet at the same time, protected. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It had felt like the sincere desire of my heart, and I've had my share of crushes on men. But suddenly I found myself not really caring if I ever had that sort of relationship at all. I became aware that many of the reasons I had wanted it were practical and mundane. I had wanted rigid gender roles because I had thought it would be affirming. I felt I needed someone stronger and more masculine, to make me feel more confident in my own femininity. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Plus there are the social aspects. A relationship with a man is the generally accepted thing for a woman to do, and of course, I have always wanted people to accept me as female. One of the reasons I ruled out a relationship with a woman, trans or otherwise, is because I felt a strong need to achieve that acceptance. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It all seemed instantly petty. If I could have this girl in my life it would mean more to me than acceptance, or gender affirmation, or any of the things I had worried about. It just didn't matter any more. I felt I had a chance for something bigger than any of that. I just knew that she was what I wanted and I couldn't stop imagining how wonderful we could be together.</div><div><br />
</div><div>It took me a couple of days to ask her out. Not because of any doubt that I wanted to, but because I was terrified. I'm not used to making the first move, and on the few occasions I ever asked anyone out, it was after I was sure the answer would be yes. How awkward would it be if she said no? We had so much in common. What if I ruined a chance at a very special friendship by admitting an unrequited romantic interest? <br />
<br />
</div><div>Still I was sure I needed to ask her. For a couple of days we danced awkwardly around it. She was on my Facebook friends list before we had actually met. I was afraid to send anything too overtly flirty but I wanted to send her signals clear enough that she would feel confident responding in kind, or maybe ask me out first-which would have made things lots easier. I would find out later that the same game was being played on her side. I thought so, but the evidence was never quite clear enough to make me certain. That was also mutual as it turns out. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I couldn't sleep. I just laid awake at night thinking of her. We had met on Saturday. By Tuesday, it felt like a month had passed. Finally I sent her a message in Facebook at 1:30 AM. There wasn't anything subtle about it, and though I did it somewhat sillily to take some of the gravity out of the situation, I pretty much just asked her out straight up. She was awake too...</div><div><br />
</div><div>And she said yes. :) Then my life began to change in wonderful ways. :)</div><div><br />
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</div>ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-18167638808434720482011-01-06T20:48:00.002-05:002011-01-07T12:13:58.248-05:00Full Time!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iBIGb1DPT8M/TSZwnz1eqCI/AAAAAAAAALU/7ACMBGJYGHo/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_iBIGb1DPT8M/TSZwnz1eqCI/AAAAAAAAALU/7ACMBGJYGHo/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>I'm holding off on the next chapter of Star Crossed one more time, to bring more transition news!<br />
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A while ago I went to court and started the name change petition process, as I mentioned a bit ago. They charged me a $53 filing fee and set a court date of January 4, which was this Tuesday.<br />
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I showed up at 9:30 as I was advised, and found the courtroom to be packed. I have been full time since January first, so I was dressed fairly well, though casual. Prisoners in jump suits waiting for hearings sat in rolling office chairs on the front row, while people on civil matters and minor offenses waited in crowded bench seats. They called people alphabetically for the most part. After hearing tons of drug and traffic related judgements and a preliminary trial about a burglary, we were down in the W's and I still had not been called.<br />
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When there were only about 8 people left in the room, they called me forward, by my old name. I got a few odd looks. I think perhaps I was placed late on the docket intentionally to give me a bit more privacy. I approached the bench feeling fairly confident. The judge looked stern, but I had seen him handle quite a few cases at this point and he seemed a nice guy.<br />
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He read the petition, then asked me to verify the accuracy of both my chosen name and my given name. Then he verified my address, date of birth and such. He was very conversational, at one point asking if this finishes the process for me. Caught off guard I answered "Almost." with a shy smile.<br />
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The form for a name change order was not in the courtroom so he sent someone for it and I was asked to return to my seat. There were still a few odd looks, and one guy in particular was trying hard not to stare. <br />
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When the form arrived and was filled out I was called back forward. The judge announced that my name change was official and wished me luck. I settled into the same peaceful content I often feel at milestones now. I left the courthouse with a huge smile. <br />
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Since then I've been spending a bit of time each day away from work running the errands needed to finish the process. Wednesday I picked up my certified copies of the name change. 4, just in case. They waived the $3 fee per copy, which was very kind. On the way out, I stopped by the county clerk to file with them. I think there was a $12 fee.<br />
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Then I drove over to the social security office, where they were very expedient about my name change. My new social security card should arrive soon!<br />
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Today was the exciting part though. I got to go down and get my driver's license made with my new name and a photo representing my new look. They were extremely nice at the court clerk's office and chatted with me through the whole process. <br />
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Despite the M in the bottom left corner, seeing that license gave me such a sense of accomplishment. =)<br />
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Work has went smoothly, though I went full time on schedule without any communication whatsoever to the general staff. I have gotten a few odd looks, but most people have been very nice, and even quite complimentary. I've been called he very few times this week.<br />
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In town and away form work things are even better. I feel pretty much completely accepted. Ma'ams shes and hers abound. Also I've had doors held for me several times.<br />
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I'm in uncharted territory right now, and I'm very nervous; always looking to gauge the reactions of those around me. But with every positive interaction my confidence grows. <br />
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When my SS card comes I'll file my name change at work and then start communicating with the companies I'm on file with. Also at that point I'll be asking permission from upper management to send a communication to the staff for clarification. <br />
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It's looking like I'll be busy for a while! But I'm so happy. Transition is going great, and there's more happy news besides. But that is another entry altogether. :)ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-1655696529575496622010-12-29T15:56:00.000-05:002010-12-29T15:56:21.073-05:00ChangeI'm so far behind on writing. There are lots of positive things going on right now and it's become difficult to document. For one thing, I'm just so happy and excited that I can't slow down my thoughts enough to convert them to words. And for another, there are so many things I could write about I don't know where to begin. It's like all the pieces are falling into place right now. I really need to write the rest of Star Crossed, but today I am taking a break and writing about general transition stuff instead. It's just a quick update to document some transition related things while they are still current.<br />
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My birthday is tomorrow. That was my deadline for going full time. Am I on target? Actually yes, I think. Christmas weekend I was on my way out of town. (Where doesn't matter and gives away another story I need to write separately. :P) I made two stops here before I got underway. The pharmacy, and the gas station for a Red Bull to keep me alert. I was wearing horizontally striped grey tights, a black and grey empire waisted dress, a pea coat, and carrying a trendy little purse. Both places were completely fine with me and other customers barely gave me a second glance. Both clerks knew me, but seemed unsurprised and were cordial.<br />
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Since then I have made several trips into town dressed more casually, but not androgynously by any standard. People have been using correct pronouns and have been very nice at the local restaurants and pharmacies. <br />
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Last week I baked Christmas cookies with my awesome friends Jack and Diane. We were at my Granny's house and I wore a black low heeled boots, gender appropriate jeans, a lavender tank and a hoodie in a very girly cut. Full make up, natural curls and a silver bracelet rounded out the look. Mom came up for lunch and didn't mention my mode of dress.<br />
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Since then she has seen me coming and going from the house dressing as I choose. The day I came home wearing a pea coat, 3 inch heeled boots, jeans and a dressier top, I went straight to my room and came back out in a tank and jeans. She didn't mention it, but she looked like she had been crying as I changed clothes. It makes me sad that this is hard for her, but I'm very happy that she has chosen not to confront me. <br />
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My brother was in around Christmas as well. I had written him about my transition in advance and was worried about the visit. Things went well though. He felt a little distant, but he seemed comfortable. Things were much as they have always been between us, despite my change in appearance and it was very nice having him visit. <br />
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I've been a little pre-occupied lately and I've gotten off schedule as a result. I've not completed the work communications I intended to send before winter break. I'll probably still send some form of communication to coincide with the end of winter break. I still consider myself on schedule though, and I will be full time after tomorrow. <br />
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Monday I filed my name change petition. It was all fairly comfortable, despite a degree of nervousness. The Kentucky name change petition form is available online as a fillable .pdf file. I completed it, took it to the courthouse, asked around about the right department and they processed it and set my court date. January 4, 9:30 AM. Reason for request to change name? I simply typed "Transexual-Requesting name change in accordance with gender." Everyone was very professional about the filing of the petition.<br />
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I always imagined this would be scary. This was it. The big move. I had done the one thing that takes my transitioning status completely out of the realm of rumor and makes it a matter of written public record. This is bridge burning on a grand scale and I always thought that watching the flames, there would be fear. How will my family respond to my fully coming out? How will things go at work? How will this community respond? Despite all those unanswered questions I didn't feel at all afraid. I left with a deep contentment; a satisfaction that things are under way.<br />
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I'm sure there will be challenges in 2011, but there is this sense that everything is coming together for me. Between the new social aspects of my transition and other recent shifts in my life, I'm feeling happier and emotionally healthier than I ever have. =)ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-57981301311820863982010-12-16T20:28:00.000-05:002010-12-16T20:28:36.766-05:00Star Crossed*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*<div>Warning! This post is very sappy.</div><div>*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*</div><div><br />
</div><div>A few weekends ago, I was at a gathering. I had arrived on time ,which is odd for me, and things were going well. I was catching up with friends, having a good time. I felt confident, happy, and very much in control. I'm well into my transition. The remainder of the immediately possible steps are laid out nicely. I have wonderful friends. I was content, but I was about to be reminded of the one thing missing in my life. The one thing I wasn't allowing myself to think about, because I considered it out of reach and complicated, was about to suddenly become the center of my thoughts.</div><div><br />
</div><div>As I was sitting contentedly chatting a friend, the door opened to admit the most strikingly beautiful creature I have ever seen. She was so unusually beautiful that she caught my attention immediately and my first thoughts were of jealousy and comparison. I can be catty sometimes. :P</div><div><br />
</div><div>Then, as she scanned the room our eyes locked briefly, we each smiled, and something amazing happened. I was instantly captivated. For the remainder of the gathering I couldn't get her out of my mind. I never approached her and instead kept my original seat. I never made eye contact again. But I was just constantly aware of her presence - wondering if she noticed me and what I looked like from her angle of observation and silly things. I really wished I could talk to her but I wasn't sure how, and I wouldn't want her to figure out I was interested in her. If it turned out not to be mutual that would be just far to embarrassing.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Eventually as she was circulating around the room she approached me and a few friends, and we finally got to chat. We were standing face to face, and at this range she was even more beautiful than ever. Her eyes were so blue and brilliant. Her smile was breathtaking. Her voice was soft and quiet, with a touch of huskiness. I could have listened all day. I had this urge to reach up and brush her cheek with my fingers, and found myself wondering what it would feel like to kiss her lips. </div><div><br />
</div><div>As we talked it turned out we had quite a lot in common. We both work in technology, and our skill sets overlap somewhat. We are both kind of dorky and have some common interests. I felt shy talking to her. I rarely waste much energy thinking about things romantic, and my sudden interest in this girl had taken me completely off guard. I had no idea how to act. She seemed a bit shy as well and little things about our communication seemed to hint that she might be interested in me too.</div><div><br />
</div><div>One thing I worried about was her age. She looked to young for me. At one point the subject of age came up and upon reporting my age she seemed highly surprised and said she would have guessed another age; an age thirteen years younger than my real age. I asked her age and it turned out we were only five years apart, rather than twelve to thirteen years I would have guessed. I was so relieved that I just stared into her eyes smiling for a moment. She was smiling back.</div><div><br />
</div><div>At the end of the night we were among the last to leave, and we parted with a brief hug. Nothing romantic,;just the same friendly hug I would have given any friend. But I found myself wishing so much I could hold her tighter or kiss her good night. I walked to my car without looking back, and have scarcely thought of anything but her since. </div><div><br />
</div><div>*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*</div><div>Part 2 Later :P</div><div>*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*</div><div><br />
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</div>ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-88802561343905864222010-12-10T02:41:00.000-05:002010-12-10T02:41:05.437-05:00PreludeIts been a quiet few days on the blog, but there is lots happening with me right now. In fact, I think something happened Saturday that will effect the rest of my life in amazing ways, and every day since has been charged with positive emotion. I can't write just yet because there isn't enough time for a few days, but after this weekend I hope to be able to share my news. <br />
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Keep an eye on the blog roll, and I'm sorry I've been so distracted. :)ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-33039371730564501952010-12-02T19:24:00.001-05:002010-12-02T19:40:23.560-05:00MonsterToday after work I wanted a snack. Now a year on spironolactone, I have become accustomed to the sudden salt cravings that take me at strange times. It is nothing that a bag of barbecued pork rinds and a V-8 can't settle in a few moments. With that in mind I took a detour on my drive home and stopped at a gas station in my quiet little town. <br />
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It is a typical country store with a modern cookie cutter twist. Tobacco advertisements line the walls behind counter, along with assorted odds and ends for sale. Encased in glass on the counter a row of rottiserie chicken and other greasy edibles bask in the glow of a heat lamp. On the shelves the selection is much like any other fuel stop in the United States and the building is a very typical gas station type structure; the kind that even if you tore out the pumps and left it standing derelict for a century, you would still be able to tell it was originally a gas station. This one generally has a very down home feel even though I have never known exactly why. Maybe it is just that it is never quite completely clean and there is a well worn feel to the place. Maybe it is that the staff is almost always incredibly nice.<br />
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Today there was a bit of a line and I didn't know the clerk. I was feeling ill at ease and wished things would hurry along. It had been a long day that ended with hanging a very heavy projector mount in a drop ceiling. My makeup was worn out, my hair was frazzled and the red crew neck I wore over a long sleeved green thermal showed traces of the dust I had hastily brushed away before entering.<br />
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While I was standing there waiting my turn to check out I noticed the guy behind me was incredibly close. If he had been any closer I could have probably felt his breath down my neck. I suppressed a giggle. Obviously he had no idea who I was. Most men would never violate my personal space in this town for fear of me, or if not that then fear of being seen that close to me.<br />
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Maybe I wasn't looking terrible after all I thought to myself. Still I was aware of the dust, the tousled hair, and the fact that I had ceased shaving yesterday in preparation for more electrolysis on Saturday. The insecurity mounted. Then I looked outside through the window and a reflection caught my eye. Suddenly my insecurities seemed well founded. Behind me and the guy standing so close was a short lady a bit older than me. She was leaning out of the line and craning her head in my general direction. I knew immediately she was looking at me. In hind sight I am not so sure, but at the moment I was sure she was trying to get a glimpse of the infamous local tranny.<br />
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At the counter the clerk took his time checking out the two people ahead of me. "Have a good evening ma'am." "Have a good evening sir." He was tall and lean. Probably fifteen years older than me, with a slow drawl and a friendly manner. I stepped to the counter and his manner completely changed. Without a word he scanned my items. Beside me the man who had been immediately behind me had suddenly seen fit to give me lots more space once he had seen me in profile. I had laid a five on the counter and the clerk didn't bother to mention a price. Instead he quietly slipped the five off of the counter and never met my eyes until he handed me my change. <br />
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For that second that he was looking at me I decided I wanted to at least try to come across as friendly and non-threatening so I smiled. For the effort I got a hesitant thank you. I told him to have a good evening and headed for the door. As I touched the door the awkward silence broke. "Haven't seen you in a while!" the clerk said to the man in line behind me. <br />
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I walked to the car quietly contemplating the nature of my local infamy.ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-59109311714842536402010-11-27T08:58:00.000-05:002010-11-27T08:58:51.007-05:00Work Fashion Preview<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A sampling of my new work wardrobe stuff. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iBIGb1DPT8M/TPENW7Mby2I/AAAAAAAAAK8/TOaJwqUMxiY/s1600/Photo+on+2010-11-25+at+15.42+%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="393" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iBIGb1DPT8M/TPENW7Mby2I/AAAAAAAAAK8/TOaJwqUMxiY/s400/Photo+on+2010-11-25+at+15.42+%25232.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iBIGb1DPT8M/TPENXpxUOXI/AAAAAAAAALA/HWrFYgExPCs/s1600/Photo+on+2010-11-25+at+15.42+%25234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_iBIGb1DPT8M/TPENXpxUOXI/AAAAAAAAALA/HWrFYgExPCs/s400/Photo+on+2010-11-25+at+15.42+%25234.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iBIGb1DPT8M/TPENYY7B4PI/AAAAAAAAALE/CPfX3ObGOGQ/s1600/Photo+on+2010-11-25+at+15.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_iBIGb1DPT8M/TPENYY7B4PI/AAAAAAAAALE/CPfX3ObGOGQ/s400/Photo+on+2010-11-25+at+15.43.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-61203682465638260732010-11-24T14:07:00.000-05:002010-11-24T14:07:54.277-05:00Shopping and Catching Up With FriendsI haven't gotten to hang out with my two favorite local friends very much lately. So when (hmm, lets make up some names....) Jack and Diane invited me out of town last Saturday I jumped at the chance! <br />
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The trip was required for Jack, who had an all day meeting. That left Diane and I with a girl's day out sort of situation, which was just awesome! We had lots of time to chat and catch up, ate some Taco Bell for lunch in the car, sat on a bench on the college campus for a long chat, and drove around checking out the town. It was all just great.<br />
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But the highpoint was the shopping. We hit Factory Connection and the merchandise and prices were amazing. I've mentioned for a while now that I need work clothes and that I have a hard time shopping for them. When I think about work I always imagine that I'm going to be under my co-workers' microscope and completely over analyzed this January. Thinking about it makes me feel a need to over-analyze too, and to make sure every purchase is inscrutable. <br />
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When I walked into this store, I was hit with much the same feeling. I just started going through the racks, feeling overwhelmed by all the worries. Shopping for clothes is easy. Shopping for acceptance-not so much.<br />
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Diane was great though and helped me get past it. She started pointing out things she knew I would like. She was so excited about all of her finds and the enthusiasm was contagious. Before long, I was actually picking out pieces to too, and once the dressing room was unlocked and I had tried on a few things, I was pretty much unstoppable!<br />
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I ended up with stuff that is work appropriate, flattering and very much in sync with my sense of style. I didn't hold back and this trip marks a complete departure from the androgynous clothing choices I've made in the past few months. I think I am geared up for the entire winter season now. After winter break I will be full time, and my limited wardrobe was one of the biggest remaining hurdles. It is very exciting to finally have that sorted. I love the way I look in all these clothes too, which helps my confidence. And coming out at work, confidence is always a good thing. :)<br />
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After Jack got out he had Taco Bell too, and then we hit the next town over and shopped Burke's Outlet. Jack and Diane walked around checking out the whole store. I had a very specific purpose in mind though. For my coming out I have clothes, shoes and outerwear all covered. But I needed a nice versatile bag.<br />
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In the end I found a brown metallic Kathy Van Zeeland bag at an outrageously low price. It is probably the nicest bag I have ever had, and the color should prove versatile.<br />
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I've really always wanted the convenience of being able to carry a bag. I stopped carrying men's wallets two years ago, and since then everything I carry on a daily basis gets shuffled between coat boxes, the car glove box, pants pockets, desk drawers and my laptop case all day. Then on weekends when I am out, it all gets migrated into luggage and purses. Its very hard to keep up with anything this way.<br />
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It is going to be so wild, being able to just put everything in a bag and always know where it is. As my first bag for every day carry, I'll probably end up developing quit an attachment to it. I also got a wallet and a 7 day pill box to take care of my remaining storage needs.<br />
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In Burke's we ran into one of my co-workers, who was, according to Jack and Diane, sneaking around trying to get a good enough look to positively identify me. I really wasn't dressed for greeting co-workers, in much less androgynous clothing than I generally pick for around the office. They are used to turtlenecks, crew necks and such, not off the shoulder cowl necks and embroidered stretchy jeans with rhinestones all the way down the sides. I could not leave the bag though, so I decided to take my chances and check out anyway. She ended up striking up a conversation with Jack and Diane as they waited in line behind me and I knew at that point I had definitely been made. I still didn't turn around though. I'm full time in just a few work weeks and the game is up. No worries!<br />
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After Burke's we all got sandwiches at Penn Station (where they wrote me up as Shana yet again.) Then we headed home for an evening of chatting and watching movies. We picked Avatar, which turned out to be a bit of a let down. Diane pointed out some similarities between it and Pocahontas and we ended up making fun of most of the first half. Then the movie got more serious and I ended up getting drawn in despite all the Mystery Science Theatre 3000 type commentary, and the presence of umpteen gazziolion cliches, from the bad ass marine with a heart of gold, to the stereotypical tomboy femme fatale pilot, and General Duke Nukem. <br />
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I stayed over night and Sunday we watched Steel Magnolias, which I could write a whole separate blog on. I have an acne spot beside my right eye that probably has something to do with all the crying I did. Steve fell asleep. LOL!<br />
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We spent the last part of the evening on a technical project for Diane's class. I love that sort of thing so I enjoyed helping out, and learned some software stuff I didn't know too!<br />
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Monday morning it was hard to believe the weekend was over, but it was only a two day week and I was feeling so confident had happy after the wonderful weekend. I was very productive and happy for those two days. <br />
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In the hall during the last class change of the day a student stopped me. "I saw you this weekend!" she exclaimed happily.<br />
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"Oh, where at?" I asked, more curious than alarmed.<br />
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"Burke's."<br />
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"Oh yeh!" I said, and waved as I made my way down the hall.ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-67938522364767268102010-11-24T09:09:00.001-05:002010-11-24T09:28:01.044-05:00These dreams move on.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i>Is it cloak 'n dagger?</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i><br />
</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i>Could it be spring or fall?</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i><br />
</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i>I walk without a cut,</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i><br />
</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i>through a stained glass wall.</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i><br />
</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i>Weaker in my eyesight,</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i><br />
</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i>the candle in my grip,</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i><br />
</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i>and words that have no form</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i><br />
</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i>are falling from my lips.</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"><i>-Heart </i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">A few months ago I wrote a silly blog about a romantic dream I had. In the comments I ended up discussing the snake dream that used to wake me often. It started happening in my childhood. In the dream I was always walking somewhere and would suddenly spot a coiled snake in range to strike. Then I would start running but everywhere I went there would be more and more snakes. I would run past them faster and faster, my speed making it harder to spot them on time to stop or turn before being bitten.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">In the comments last time I mentioned that those dreams started to happen less often after I started transition and eventually ceased all together.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Last week I dreamed about snakes again for the first time in two years. It started the same as ever. I was walking along, this time through my parents' house, and happened upon a partially hidden snake at close range. Normally my mind would have cast it as a threat and I would have began running and then my subconscious would have generated more snakes to terrorize me as I ran. This time though something different happened. My sleeping brain decided to cast it as a pet. As I looked at the snake, I knew I was supposed to take care of it. I was somewhat afraid of the snake, but I felt responsible for it. As it crawled around the house, I had to keep the dogs from killing it, keep it away from Kupo, my parrot, and try to protect it form people who might accidentally step on a creature of such short stature. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Toward the end I rolled over the back part of its tail with an office chair and I was absolutely terrified that I might have hurt the snake and was doing my best to nurture and mend the poor thing.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I'm not big on dream interpretation but when you have a scary dream all of your life, then it quits happening, and the object of your dream returns cast in a totally different light, it is hard for even a skeptic not to wonder if there is some meaning behind it.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Maybe the snake represents my gender issues, and while I was terrified and running, I am now trying to address those issues, to take care of it. That is sort of like the snake I suppose. Last time this was discussed in blog comments I looked up a meaning that suggested snakes are often guardians in dreams, locking away primal parts of your nature. I am a woman and I kept that locked away and tried not to face it for years. Maybe the snakes in my previous dreams were guardians of that locked away portion of my nature, and now that I've accepted and begun to express my gender I don't need fearsome guardians to bar that door any more so my sleeping brain now casts the snake in a different light</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;"> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: 11px;">At any rate, I was terrified of those dreams as a child, and ran from the snakes several times a month well into adulthood. Then as I started to come to terms with my gender issues the dreams stopped. And now, on the cusp of presenting full time in my proper gender, the snake is back in my dreams but I'm not running. I'm nurturing it. That shift from fear to nurture is what makes it so intriguing to me. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">There have been lots of other shifts in my dreams too. My own physical manifestation in dreams has always been very closely tied to reality. I was always cast physically male, but not happy with it. I never dreamed of an idealized me, but rather of the image that haunted me in the mirror daily in my waking life. The same was true with my treatment in dreams by other people. Much as in real life, I was generally treated as male. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">When I started going part time, it changed a little. Sometimes I would be cast in that role, and I would be wondering in my dreams if I was getting clocked and if I was about to get outed. Sometimes there were moments in dreams when I would be talking to some imaginary dream person and they would realize my biological origins and their demeanor would change. Just like in reality. All the fears in my real life follow me into my dreams with a very direct representation with no symbolism really involved.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Now as my confidence builds, I'm generally socially accepted as a girl in my dreams, and the fears of being outed aren't there as often. I'm troubled by such thoughts less when I am encountering new people in reality, so I guess it makes sense that such fears have less impact on my dreams now. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Since lots of things are represented directly in my dreams, it seems logical that the snakes might actually represent snakes and noting more. I have always been afraid of them. But if so the sudden change in the snake's role in my dream doesn't make any sense. I saw one in person toward the end of this summer and my heart was racing. As I settled afterward I actually felt shaky, stiff, and a bit dizzy. So the new dream definitely isn't based on a new bravery toward the concept of snakes. :P</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Helvetica, Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">To me the whole thing feels like some sort of subconscious graduation. LOL!</span></span><br />
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</span></span>ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-44366756099528339822010-11-21T19:49:00.000-05:002010-11-21T19:49:33.809-05:00Mistaken Identity...This post has some made up names in it. LOL!<div><br />
</div><div>*~*~*~*~*~*</div><div><br />
</div><div>Today I walked into a local store. I was looking rough. I had worn makeup the day before, had not washed my face because I was staying over night with friends and went to bed late. Basically I just got up this morning, brushed my teeth, threw on my more androgynous clothes from Friday and hit the store for something me and my friends could fix quickly for lunch.</div><div><br />
</div><div>When I got to the counter with my Tostino's party pizzas, Lay's chips and Tostito's queso, the clerk gave me an odd look. My first thought was that she just thought I was weird looking. It turned out that instead she was trying to decide whether she recognized me. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"Are you Cindy's daughter?"</div><div><br />
</div><div>"Er... No, I'm Bill and Jeana Darkstar's ....." I faltered. Daughter was on the tip of my tongue and I so wanted to say it. But this is a small community and everyone mostly knows everyone. She would realize right away that to her knowledge Mom and Dad have no daughters. And if word got back that I was saying I was female already, it would push things to fast. My coming out is still a month away. I thought it through quickly before finishing my sentence. "....son."</div><div><br />
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</div><div>It stung to say it. I am a woman and being recognized as my true gender is always a triumph. Especially when I'm presenting in such a natural state. It felt awful refuting her completely accurate gender assertion. The word "son" tasted bitter in my mouth.</div><div><br />
</div><div>She looked completely confused. "What?", she asked with a quiet politeness.</div><div><br />
</div><div>"I'm Bill and Jeana Darkstar's....." I trailed off, unable to speak that bitter word a second time, and still regretting the first time. </div><div><br />
</div><div>She paused and thought a long moment before saying "You look a lot like Cindy Darkstar's daughter."</div><div><br />
</div><div>I was blushing. The girl she had confused me with is a distant cousin 7 years younger than me. Pretty high praise for a mid transition transexual girl coming off of a long day of shopping and a long night of movie watching who hasn't shaved, done make up, or combed her hair in 36 hours.</div><div><br />
</div><div>She tried to apologize, and I told her it was fine. She told me that I'm pretty either way. "That's a good thing right?"</div><div><br />
</div><div>I thanked her for the compliment and we said our good byes. As I was stepping away from the counter we both said "Thank ya' much." in perfect unison. So odd because I don't think I've ever heard anyone besides me say exactly that line. 15 years ago I would have said "JINX!" LOL! </div><div><br />
</div><div>I left the store feeling extremely good about myself and with a sudden burst of energy. </div><div><br />
</div><div>*~*~*~*~*~*~*</div><div><br />
</div><div> There have been so many positive signs this weekend. But the rest of the story is a bit longer and more involved. Maybe I'll get to type it all up tomorrow. Right now though, I'm just feeling incredibly blessed and very much prepared for coming out completely during the late part of next month. I've got the most amazing friends, and transition is going wonderfully. Just so many blessings and I'm trying very hard to relish it all and take none of it for granted. :)</div><div><br />
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</div>ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-10832682394893825972010-11-21T08:52:00.001-05:002010-11-21T19:18:27.429-05:00An EmailFor a few weeks now I've been saying that I absolutely must open communication with my brother by some means. Shortly after those early mentions I wrote an email that came out to be fairly lengthy. I opened by mentioning how hard it was to tell him in particular because the importance of his opinion and because I hate to worry him. From there I gave a description of what it means to be transexual, a brief history of my lifelong issues, and a rundown of my current situation. The huge steps coming in the near future were also discussed in short. I closed with the most important part; that whether he approves or understands, I hope that our relationship will not be damaged. <br />
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I read the letter over, occasionally making small changes, over the past few weeks. No matter what though, it always felt blunt and jarring. So I never sent it. That is until last Wednesday. The holidays are fast approaching, everyone in the county knows yet my own brother does not. Something had to be done. I reread the letter a few more times that evening and made a few small adjustments. I realized at this point that no matter how you say it, there is no way to comfortably tell a very close friend and relative that you are transexual. I could text, I could call, write a shorter email, a longer email. In the end, emotionally it will be very much the same for the person receiving the communication. There is no magical way to make it all easier. <br />
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My cursor hovered over the Send button for quite a while. I wasn't scared like I have been sending similar emails over the past few years. There was just a sense of gravity and anticipation. He is one of the most important people in my life. When I clicked Send finally, there was a strong sense of relief and I went to bed happy. I had finally opened one of the most important lines of communication I ever would. <br />
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I. I was a bit nervous waiting for a response, but not disappointed. I knew it would take some time for him to digest the information, and that the actual response might not be easy to write. I checked at every opportunity, excited for news, but did not truly expect to hear anything back before the weekend. <br />
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Friday when I found his name in my Inbox I smiled. As I read I just wished I could hug him. He wrote back a letter every bit as long as what I had sent, and it was very clear that it was just as well thought out. He told me that he had known something was up with me for a while, but had not known exactly. The rumors had not found their way to him and Mom and Dad had hardly mentioned it. He suspects our parents had decided to stay vague to shield him for now. I find that very likely. That was one of the reasons I waited to tell him too. He is just so busy with school and work, and didn't need more to worry about. <br />
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He said it was hard to understand, but was trying and it would take time. He wrote that he intends to be supportive though and that I'll hold no less of a place in his heart, though it is almost like having someone new step into the place reserved for his brother. He also mentioned that his fiance is very supportive of me, which was great news as well. One of my favorite thing about his letter is that toward the end he was comfortable interjecting a bit of humor. <br />
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His response seemed very sincere and caring, and I couldn't have asked for more. =)ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-23507880787222202052010-11-16T20:19:00.001-05:002010-11-16T20:19:31.677-05:00More of my insane spontaneity.Last weekend was supposed to be mostly relaxing. I had an electrolysis appointment in Lexington, but after that I was going to call friends in the area, see if anyone wanted to hang out for a bit, then drive home before dark and settle in to rest and take care of things at home for the rest of the weekend.<br />
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Instead, while I was in electrolysis, I got a call from my friend Debbie in Louisville, another hour and a half from home. They were wanting to have dinner out, then go to another restaurant that was presenting live music at the bar. I explained that I was recovering from electrolysis, had no luggage, no clothes, was dressed ridiculously casual. She offered full access to her closet (we were the same size until she dropped a dress size this year) mentioned that another friend had left a bag of shoes in my size that I was to take home and could therefore use. Being a Mary Kay rep she offered me access to a wide array of beauty supplies to make up for my lack of luggage. It seemed doable!<br />
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I explained to my parents that I was extending my trip and told about my plans. Mom seemed fairly comfortable with it so I started on to Louisville. I arrived with plenty of time, so Debbie and I ran out to Kroger so I could get a few cheap essentials I was short on since I wasn't packed for travel. While there Debbie talked me into dying my hair before we went out.<br />
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I've never done home color but Debbie talked me into Clairol Natural Instincts in Nutmeg. I was nervous about it, and my first impression afterward was not at all good. It seemed to kill my natural highlights and low lights, leaving an unnaturally flat and uniform color. It looks fine as I write now several days later, but on the night in question I was terrified. :P<br />
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Debbie suggested a few possibilities for my evening wardrobe, but in the end we both preferred a black velour fitted shift dress. The dress was a major confidence boost - almost enough to counter not having my own colors of makeup, the uni-tone hair, and the facial swelling from electrolysis. Up until now, I have not been very confident about my figure being dramatic enough and tended to pick stretchy dresses to push for every bit of curvature I could show. This dress lay lightly across my curves, not too tight or too loose, but just perfectly following the contour of my body as if tailored for me. <br />
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As I was preparing to leave I had such a funny moment. I was walking down Debbie's hall, and at the end is a full length mirror. Standing there was someone who looked like me, yet more refined. Pearls and a classy black shift, with black angle boots and a strand of pearls. Watching myself glide down the hall toward the mirror I was near laughter. Maybe for one night I could trick people into thinking this Taco Bell chick actually belongs in five star restaurants.<br />
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We met up with the rest of our friends and had a great dinner at Winston's. The food was far costlier than I am accustomed to, but it was quite nice. I had 3 little medallion cut steak things under a bleu cheese sauce and garnished with.... I have no idea. At any rate it was good, and the atmosphere was nice. <br />
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After that we proceeded to Jack Ruby's downtown. The band was great and I felt pretty comfortable despite the elitist crowd. Out of our party of five, three of us were either CD or TS and quite tall, making pass-ability somewhat of a challenge. The other transgender girls in my party seemed very uncomfortable with the attention, but I didn't care. No one said anything out of the way but the group at the next table over ask to pose for photos with us at our table, which I found a bit insulting. Though they were very polite and gracious about the whole thing it still left me feeling like a bit of a curiosity. <br />
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Afterward we went bar hopping. Our options were limited because a few of us had come without IDs. We ended up at some hole in the wall called the Monkeywrench. They had a live reggae band, practically no one was on the first floor, and the first floor smelled like marijuana. A blonde with dreadlocks trippin' on drugs opened a rather one sided conversation with us that mostly consisted of telling us to "Stay cool." and other such sage advice. Tina would have loved her, as she was incredibly mellow. LOL! After about 15 minutes in the bar we decided it wasn't really our scene and decided to move on. She left us with the parting words "Hey ladies, be nice." Next we were at the Back Door, which has a pool hall/road house kind of feel. It was a rough looking crowd but we were treated well. <br />
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We all got home by 2 AM, but Debbie and I chatted until 4. We were all supposed to be back up and ready for brunch by 11 AM, so I only slept until 9. Sunday was hectic. My confidence from the previous night was gone with the black dress back in the closet and again wearing my jeans and top from the day before. I managed to have a good time at brunch anyway though. <br />
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We ended the day with shopping at Dillard's but I didn't buy anything. I'm not really sure what I want to wear for work. Usually I can shop for stuff that catches my eye and shop without over thinking it. But in January I can't break this feeling that I have something to prove and I keep worrying and overcomplicating the decisions. :P<br />
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I enjoyed my trip, but by the end I was so ready to be home. Shorty after I hit the road though I realized I had left my phone in Mary's car. Hmm, no phone. I can't find any house in town except Debbie's without help, and ten minutes until Debbie was leaving for work. I rushed back to her house and caught her just before she left and she called Mary who had already found my phone and voicemailed Debbie. While she was waiting for me at Oxford mall I got lost, couldn't find her on the lot and I was stressed about wasting part of her weekend waiting around. <br />
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I hated getting a late start but it was nice getting to chat Mary for a bit. I've only met her on two trips but she is one of the most encouraging people I've ever been around. Debbie had asked me at brunch when I planned to do GRS and such and Mary seemed legitimately shocked that I wasn't finished. She said she had just assumed. At Jack Ruby's she said I was one of the prettiest girls there, and I think she actually meant it. Her compliment came as pretty high praise in that haughty crowd and eased the sense of inferiority I was fighting at the time. Just incredibly sweet.<br />
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It was a whirlwind weekend and I didn't feel at all rested Monday morning, and all the food and drinks were too costly, but it was definitely all worth it for time with my amazing friends. :)ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-59466028441741528222010-11-11T20:25:00.000-05:002010-11-11T20:25:07.542-05:00VLOG: Electrolysis UpdateYes, one of my rare, and terribly boring vlogs. If reading my nonsense in the previous post didn't put you to sleep, here's a brand new shot at Shandy Alexis dullness. :P<br />
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<object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/k3kjShE2R9U?hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/k3kjShE2R9U?hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-90360378096191018272010-11-11T19:16:00.000-05:002010-11-11T19:16:41.330-05:00Pronoun Confusion and an Aside Regarding Bras.I was in a computer lab trying to assist a teacher with the recovery of some missing writing assignments stuck out on the network somewhere. One of the students began logging in, though it was pretty much a waste with the issues we had at the time. <br />
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So the teacher said, "Wait until he- Wait 'til ... is done working on them!" I felt so sorry for her. The rumors are out there, and my presentation is mostly in order, yet I'm still not officially out. So awkward for everyone. It was very considerate of her to try avoiding "he", I think. <br />
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This pushing the edge of androgyny grows more awkward by the day. People who read my blog regularly are very familiar with my current mode of dress. Women's jeans, stretchy women's tops in gender neutral colors and necklines. I wear my hair as curly and voluminous as I wish, and I don't shy away from makeup, though I try not to get to carried away. Male elements? Pretty much just the shoes, or if it is very cold I sometime's use a men's button up shirt as a cover up part of the day. The shoes are a sort of odd hold out. As long as people are calling me he and I can't correct them, it just feels odd wearing something that makes a blatant gender statement. My clothes hint strongly at my gender, but by cut, shape and fit only. Most of the shoes in my wardrobe go well beyond that. It is the same for jewelry. My ears need re-pierced now, but, I would gladly wear studs to work, while the styles I actually prefer, I would probably never consider until out.<br />
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That probably sounds like an awkward enough presentation as it is, with people widely regarding me as male, with no word from me to the contrary. But the really odd part? I almost never wear a bra. There are two reasons. The first is much like the shoes, earrings, or tops of gender specific style. A bra generally can't be 100% hidden under the types of top I wear, and makes a very, very strong gender statement. The, other thing is that everyone there has seen me completely flat chested for 8 years, and suddenly rocking up to work wearing a bra, people would probably think I was faking having breasts. For some reason the idea of someone thinking that irritates me to no end. Being flat chested has always been a source of major embarrassment and insecurity for me. Of course I'm still fairly flat chested, but I'm not totally flat chested. <br />
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So my solution has been to intentionally demonstrate for a time that I actually should be wearing a bra. It sounds pretty crazy I'm sure and a lot of my friends are puzzled by this strategy. I suspect it is equally confusing for people at work. Really I've probably already made my point, but that still leaves the first issue. That I am not technically out. I really doubt anyone is going to understand my logic on this one, but at least I tried. <br />
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Today I heard the word "boobs" in hushed tones twice as I entered classrooms, and lots of indecipherable murmurs as kids glanced/smirked/stared in my general direction. The subject may not have been me, but the timing seems suspicious, and it happens often. I'm feeling self conscious but if I can hold out until the start of Christmas break, it's all going to get easier as I can settle into a normal presentation. If I can just pull this off a little longer without embarrassing myself it will all be fine.<br />
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Sometimes I wish I could move. I never have to think about this stuff in Lexington, where people don't know my past. This is just the most awkward place I could possibly be right now. I'm so self conscious about being perceived as male and it leaves me completely insecure. Worrying about the perception of everyone around me keeps me nervous and anxiety always runs high. There are a million instances that cause me no stress anywhere else in the world that leave me feeling inferior and ready to run away in this awkward in-between presentation, surrounded by people who have always perceived me as male. I so wish I could explain it better.<br />
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Let the psych analysis begin...<br />
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*~*~*~*~*~*ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-28870300831124630892010-11-09T01:08:00.000-05:002010-11-09T01:08:21.355-05:00A Meeting...This morning I went to work feeling great, for a Monday. Fresh off of a weekend in Lexington visiting my friends and taking in some much needed electrolysis, with a solid eight hours of sleep I was feeling ready for a productive day. Things started out very routine. I walked down to the library to get the specifics on a work order and chatted with the librarian for a bit about everything from hair to migraines, then returned to my desk to catch up on email. <br />
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The phone rang. I picked it up to find my boss on the line and suddenly things felt a little less routine and I was anxious. For the past few months I have felt out of the loop, and my boss never calls more than once per week.<br />
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After the briefest of hellos, he asked me to come down to the office. My routine Monday skidded to a halt. If he wanted to talk shop, he would do it over the phone, and for most types of meetings he would volunteer the specifics unprompted. I wanted to ask what was up, but if he didn't want to discuss it over the phone there was no point pressing the issue. I simply agreed. Whatever was happening, it was transition related. Was I being fired? Was someone complaining about my appearance? Was this going to be some sort of ultimatum?<br />
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I drove to the new technology office trying to remain calm. My heart was racing though. I was imagining more vividly than ever the choices I would have to make if I lost my job. My worries only solidified as I climbed the stairs to the new technology office in a former grade school building where my boss and the other technician have set up shop, their desks facing each other from opposite ends of what was once a classroom. <br />
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The distance between me and these two men has always been there to some degree, especially in the last year. But the new office is the premier sign of the near total communication break down that has come in the past months. They set up the move in private, told me of it barely before they intended to start packing, and didn't include me in the discussion of what resources would stay and which would go. Besides that, I was never invited. There were a few logical reasons for my remaining behind, but it was very clear to me at the time that I was not wanted here. <br />
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I opened the door without knocking and found my boss at his desk with the other tech standing alongside looking at the same screen. The tech nodded in my direction and announced my arrival to my boss in a low tone. I greeted them. My supervisor answered but the other tech did not. They continued their discussion then the tech left to work on something. <br />
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The conversation segued into things more directly effecting my work and eventually my boss mentioned that when things are slow at the high school I can help out in the main office with network administrative tasks. Then he suggested meeting weekly so that we can all stay coordinated. After these thoughts were explored briefly he mentioned the main reason for the visit. The Board's administrative staff was wanting to meet with me about my transition. I told him any day would be fine, and that I would send out an email to the meeting participants explaining things so that they could decide on their questions. He said they wanted to meet right away.<br />
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At this point my fear started to dissipate. He went on to tell me that they just wanted to find out what was going on and see if they could assist in making my transition more comfortable basically. I wasn't sure that was strictly all there was too it, but I felt ready emotionally, even if on a more concrete level I really had no idea what to say. Except for the shoes, I looked pretty presentable and was feeling confident after a great weekend with supportive friends. I could do this. <br />
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I walked into assistant superintendent's office and took a seat. My boss and the federal programs director were to attend as well, but they weren't in the room yet. The assistant super was very kind and conversational and we chatted about some issues he had setting up a new computer and peripherals for his Dad. He said he had thought about calling me for advice on it over the course of weekend. <br />
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Then my boss and the federal programs director arrived. We all chatted for a few moments, no one seeming to know quite how to broach the topic at hand. Eventually though the assistant super brought the meeting to order. During a lull in the conversation he just said he had called me in because he wanted to talk to me about my transition, which has become common knowledge. I smiled. It has indeed become common knowledge, and I was feeling a little silly for handling my transition in such an unusual way that they were approaching me about this instead of the other way round.<br />
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I explained that by the end of winter break I intended to go full time, and to have everything handled regarding my name change. I didn't really get into the details of what it means to be transgender, or a history of my transition to date. There were questions about my eventual operation and how much down time would be involved. They asked whether I am currently being harassed. I explained that mostly co-workers have treated me professionally and that harassment from students has fallen off sharply, basically no longer posing a problem. <br />
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The bathroom issue came up. I explained that I don't use student facilities for either gender currently and do not intend to in the future. I told them I would be using single occupant staff restrooms only, not bothering to mention a gender. They didn't ask for clarification, seeming mostly comfortable with that response. My boss mentioned that in my stage of transition the restroom situation must be awkward for me. I joked around about the men's room situations I've had, and everyone seemed to find it pretty humorous. I explained that outside the county where no one knows my past, such situations aren't awkward at all, as I can go into a women's restroom anywhere without it troubling anyone. <br />
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The federal programs director asked me how much more I intend to change the way I dress. I told her that generally I dress fairly casual and wear jeans and such at work because I never know which days will be desk work and when I could suddenly need to climb into a ceiling and run wires instead. I went on to say that on days that I wish to do something more dressy I will, within the limits of the dress code everyone else follows. We moved on to the next topic.<br />
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In the end they asked why I expected some degree of backlash once I went official, since there was really very little further presentation change on the way. I explained that by the time I went to the courthouse and requested a name change, finished taking the masculine elements out of my wardrobe and started requesting that people start using the right pronouns, that it probably would generate some interest. <br />
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They asked if there was anything they could do to make things easier. Continued employment and a cooperative attitude is plenty. I told them that I love my job and that being able to be myself without it interfering with my work was all I wanted. <br />
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As I said it I cried. The tears were almost brimming over. I'm glad I managed to keep them back because my mascara doesn't even border on water proof. There seemed to be a bit of an emotional response from almost everyone at this point. <br />
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The assistant super adjourned the meeting and the federal programs director gave me a hug and said she would help me anyway she can. I like everyone present at this meeting, but I also know things in this system tend to move with political undercurrents working below the surface and the ripples on top don't always truly imply what they immediately suggest. After the meeting adjourned no one left immediately except me.<br />
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I am very happy that they took the initiative and opened a dialog with me. I have been meaning to open communication for a few weeks now but have fallen behind on my timeline. Now I am suddenly back on schedule despite my inaction. I still need to decide how to make the staff in the district aware of the situation so that they know what is happening and how to address me. Should I handle it myself, or should I discuss it with central office now so that they can be prepared to send out something more official in my support, if they are willing?<br />
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Off hand I am think I would rather just send my own message to everyone and then deal with breaches in etiquette casually as they arise. To this point things have been slow and subtle, and I've counted on kindness and respect instead of trying to twist arms. It has worked and most people have responded well to me. Changing track now and insisting that the board require people to address me properly seems unnecessary. <br />
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However that pans out I'm so excited. No matter how things play out this is a huge step. :)ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-64175099272150644612010-10-27T23:03:00.001-04:002010-10-27T23:05:33.984-04:00Very Interesting<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I came out to another co-worker! She already knew generally what was happening and I think I learned more from her than she did from me. For instance, lots of the men at work are extremely uncomfortable about this and speculate quite a bit. My boss told her that implying that what I am doing is okay is saying that God makes mistakes. Her boss actually asked her to snoop around and find out for him a while back, whether I am transexual. None of that surprises me, but a little more affirmation always paints a clearer picture.</span></span><br />
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</span></span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Not everything I found out was bad though. She said it's mainly men that have a problem with me. I told her I was going full time by the end of the year, and she told me I already am full time, and that I make a lot better looking girl than guy. She figured I was probably getting a lot of flak over everything and had noticed that there is pepper spray on my keychain. Said she had mentioned the pepper spray to another co-worker, who said that I was to sweet to be bothered and that if anyone was harassing me she would beat them up! :)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">She told me a really funny story too. While I was at central office earlier in the week, a guy I didn't know walked in and joined the conversation at the front desk. Apparently he ended up asking about "that girl here earlier, with the curly hair." </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I was called Miss Shannon again today, this time by a substitute teacher while working in a classroom. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
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</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I'm so happy with the way things are going! I'm going full time soon. :)</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
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</div></div>ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-74306106385226102912010-10-25T22:37:00.001-04:002010-10-25T23:47:28.120-04:00Then-Now-Whoah! :P<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The last few days have been so positive. Friday, I switched from the pharmacy I chose for privacy over an hour away, to my local pharmacy. The convenience is nice, but even more importantly it indicates my progress over the past year. I got my first written prescription 15 months ago and the thought of trying the local pharmacy then barely crossed my mind. I imagined having to go in completely in a male mode of dress, with prescriptions that could only mean one thing. It was easy to picture them being rude and I could imagine the rumors that would start. It was unthinkable, and so I chose something more distant.</span><br />
<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even an hour and a half away there was the possibility that a pharmacist or tech could be from my home town. For the first few months I was extremely nervous about going. They were some of the few people in my part of the world who knew about my transition in those early days, and I felt self conscious. Because of the distance it was usually necessary to leave straight from work, and I would get made up and change in my car so that I could present myself with s bit more confidence. Still it was stressful back then. On days that I didn't have time to change clothes and put on makeup I felt miserable going there looking male.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now everything is so different. I can leave on my lunch break, drive 3 minutes to the local pharmacy, and walk right in. I wasn't at all nervous the first visit and the idea that word could get out didn't bother me at all. I'm ready for people to know. My work presentation and physical transition has evolved enough that I felt completely confident wearing my work clothes, which are mostly gender appropriate (except the shoes LOL!) It is just hard to believe that a year ago I was sneaking away to a place an hour away and finding deserted parking lots to do my makeup on. Everyone was nice to me as well.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's a simple change, but I think it indicates how much more comfortable I'm becoming with myself, my home town and the people around me. Sunday I went to the lake with my parents. Mom didn't suggest that I wear a coverup over the V neck thermal I chose. Today one of my calls got disconnected and the caller was routed to Kim when she called back. When Kim handed the phone off to me she told the caller "Here they are, I'll put them on." Rather than he and him. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shortly after the call, I was still in Kim's office and a student came in looking for me. She asked Kim if she could "speak to Miss Shannon." Lots of students are smiling and greeting me now too, even some of the guys! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I think it's all coming together and I can't remember the last time I felt this hopeful about my future here. :)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div>ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-16099766256567602732010-10-21T21:47:00.000-04:002010-10-21T21:47:06.633-04:00A Cage of My Own Design<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">A few days ago while checking email at work I realized that October is drawing to a close. Seems like only a blink ago when it was still September and I was telling myself that if electrolysis recovery was smooth and didn't effect my appearance negatively, that I should feel confident to go full time by the end of October. As I thought about it I realized I still could not see myself standing in line at the courthouse for a name change. It felt impossible and unreal. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I sifted my thoughts, looking for the source of my hesitation. They were myriad. I'm not satisfied with my fall wardrobe. I need shoes, bags, more work appropriate fall tops. With what I have now, I'm just not going to have the confidence. Then there is my brother in Ohio. I've still told him nothing. He should probably know. Those are things that I can quickly resolve though, I realized. I could hop on the Kohl's and Zappo's websites and round out my fall wardrobe with a few pieces easily. I had already written my brother and all I had to do was simply hit the send button. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">The one thing I could not get past though was Mom. I thought back to the weekend, when they invited me out for dinner. As I stepped out the door she reminded me, as she often does, that I was only wearing one shirt. At the time I had been wearing a snug navy crew neck tee with close fitting London Jeans. At the time I felt hurt and angry. It was an insult. It was her telling me that I look to weird to wear a tee shirt and jeans without some big long floppy shirt to cover up my shape. It was her telling me that she was embarrassed of me. it washer saying I should be embarrassed of myself, that I needed to cover up. Every time she says it I grit my teeth and find myself wanting to tell the truth.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I wanted to tell her that my little secret was already out, that I was not embarrassed of my body, that I actually had a degree of pride for the first time in my life and that her shame couldn't take that away from me. But I didn't say anything. I just went back inside and put on a giant men's shirt down past my ass and hit the door looking like a figureless scarecrow.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">If I couldn't even stand up to her enough to handle that, how was I ever going to tell her that I was going full time? So that was the truth I realized. I'm not going to be ready to tell her by the end of October. After November starts I will feel I can't upset the holidays with this upheaval. If I don't act now, then in January I will probably have a brand new excuse. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I stepped into the hall. (My name is not Kimble, but lets pretend for a sec, for privacy sake. :P ) A student stopped me. "Mr. Kimb.......... Ms. Kimble?"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">The girl was wanting to ask me if I had found a keychain in the lab that I was just leaving, but I was still stuck on Miss. Kimble. I get called Miss. But here, I'm not fully out and I wasn't expecting anyone to say that for a while. I was so happy, I couldn't stop smiling. You would have to be pretty sure about what is going on with me to feel comfortable using that title. How much more evidence do I need that it is time to move on?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Today I was in a classroom and a teacher refereed to me as a gentleman. As he said it one of the girls in the class glanced up and made eye contact with me. There was this sense that she had looked up specifically to gauge my reaction. Most people seem content not to bat titles and pronouns around unnecessarily relating to me. I've mostly graduated from tech guy to "tech person" this year, and there's only a hand full of people who ever call me sir. Something as unnecessary as "move so this gentleman can .....blah blah blah..." had caught me completely off guard. As the girl glanced up to check my reaction, I probably looked pretty angry.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I've got to get past this awkward stage. Everyone knows, and by continuing to hide I'm just making everything more difficult than it needs to be. I've been advancing slowly, laying the ground work. There have been no sudden moves, but rather a gradual shift. But its like getting into a cold pool. You can dip a toe and slowly start tempering, but there still comes a time when you have to take the plunge. I think I'm there. I must stand up to Mom and put this in-between phase behind me. It's time to settle this.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
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</span></span></div>ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-58078776109059982212010-10-19T19:29:00.001-04:002010-10-19T19:44:30.858-04:00Zap: Follicles Under AttackIt has been a while since I've written, and things have been fairly eventful. Usually under those circumstances I write up some massive, blathering, sleepy chronological thing to try to catch back up. This time though I'm going to try to do better and cover different topics separately.<br />
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So, let's start with electrolysis. A few weeks ago, it became obvious that I needed to switch over. There is very little hair left, and laser doesn't seem to effect many hairs each session anymore. Shortly before that an electrologist came to the Transkentucky meeting on a session I missed, and I kept hearing good things about her.<br />
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A few weeks ago I called. She was extremely nice and we chatted for some time. During the conversation she seemed both competent and nice. She eased a lot of my fears about recovery time and raised my confidence in the technology. <br />
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Since then I have had two one hour sessions, two weeks apart. Those have went very well. The pain is minimal and the skin looks almost completely normal within just a few hours. Unlike laser, each hair is individually tweezed so there is no waiting for weeks to see how much will shed. Also I was able to shave comfortably the very next day. This is so much easier than laser that it would be easy to start worrying that the settings are too low. But each time a hair is tweezed it comes out without a sharp sensation; no feeling except friction. I think that is a good sign.<br />
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My electrologist says this is mild because its one of the best machines available. We are working with blend electrolysis, which uses galvanic as well as thermodynamic components in tandem, one creating a lye based reaction at the root of the follicle, while the other type accelerates the reaction through electricity or heat. (I get them mixed up.) Either technology is proven to kill hair, but apparently blend has very serious advantages. One of the two individual technologies is faster with less time per follicle, but blend heals more easily, and is therefore a bit more stealthy.<br />
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I'm just so glad I found such a great electrologist. She is one of the only six certified in the state. She has been great about scheduling and has an excellent manner. Pricing is very reasonable too!<br />
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I'll be continuing my treatments every two weeks. Right now my upper lip is almost clear, which is such a relief because it has been a difficult area. Besides that we have started clearing stray hairs along the sides of my mouth as well. Next time it might be possible to get that all cleared enough to start on the chin. :)ms.shandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10804709919987506302noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3492301101861096075.post-56121748803112078172010-10-10T00:39:00.001-04:002010-10-10T00:44:01.007-04:00Something Funny at Penn Station<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"></span></span><br />
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</span></span></div>While out on a drive to London, KY with my parents I stopped by Penn Station for a quick lunch. Dad went in with me and was in line just ahead of me. I was presenting as I often do when traveling with my parents. Men's shirt over a women's crew neck and jeans, no make-up, clunky androgynous boots and curly unkempt hair. After taking my order the clerk asked for my first name, which is typical at Penn Station. They key your first name in at the register and it prints on the order so that the cashier further down can find you if the line gets shuffled, and so that they can call your name when your order is ready.</span></span><br />
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</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">Dad and I got our drinks and waited at a table for our carry out order. It was fairly crowded and loud, making conversation pretty much futile. While I was sitting bored checking my email and sipping at my fruit punch, a second worker started calling for Shayna. There were quite a few people waiting for orders but I realized, very happily, that the first clerk had misunderstood my name and put me in the system as Shayna. Which was nice, because if she had perceived me as a guy and couldn't hear my name she probably would have assumed Shannon, Shawn or something along those lines.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">It felt awakrd though, because I was with Dad. He and Mom have never shown any indication that they consider me at all passable. If I got up and went to the counter I'd be acknowledging that I thought the clerk saw me as female. I could just imagine Dad sitting there silently thinking that I have a totally delusional self image. Worse yet, what if I got to the counter and they had not misheard me? What if I went up and there really was a Shayna. How embarrassing would that be with Dad there?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I snapped out of my garbled thoughts, realizing the sub guy was calling Shayna forward for the third time and was starting to look a bit annoyed. I just stared, still unable to settle on a course of action. Then Dad relieved all my anxiety. "I believe that's you." he said in a low voice from across the table. I dared look his direction for the first time since the name "Shayna" was called. He was wearing a slightly awkward smile. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;">I happily picked up my bag at the counter and sauntered back to the table glowing with pride. Dad was smiling back less awkwardly now. I think he was maybe even happy for me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande'; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px;"><br />
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