The Fanstastic Ms. Fox

 Last night, I went out to see Romeos at the Vancouver Queer Film Festival.

I just woke up. In my dream, I'd recently had top surgery, and was trying to somehow break this to my Langara classmates. Some part of me said Top surgery? What the fuck did I just do? But I quickly dismissed this - Chill, you worry that every time you go under the knife. This is totally normal.

And then my improv troupe was performing on planes.

Feeling less sick now, trying to get all the MSP business in order.

Hi, I saw Drs. Robinow and Knudson for an appointment on July 9th. They said that everything was fine and that they'd pass on approval to MSP and I should hear from them around now, but Carol McNeill at MSP emalied me saying that she hadn't received any such paperwork regarding myself. Do you know if your office has sent it off?


Imagine being a health care provider and fucking up.

Now imagine being a trans health care provider and fucking up, then having one of your equal-status nurses or doctors  explaining to you what this was like for them and how this must be for your patient. (This is an important feedback mechanism.)

I think of a scholarship program for people involved in transgendered activism/advocacy (whether they themselves are trans or not) who go into medicine.

I'm getting genital electrolysis done as a prior-to for surgery. And I gotta tell you, it sucks.

I'm using Lydocane, a by-prescription-only topical analgesic: it numbs the surface of my skin and it still hurts. Aftewards the combination of hot needles and hair removal and genitals and a topical analgesic (Is it strong? Well, high doses "can interfere with resperation") and after an hour, this leaves me wandering around in a half-associated daze, moreso than any playing I've done before.

Then it's off to class.


Every Tuesday.

It's worth it though.

I go for "assessment" at ten tomorrow morning. This involves getting interview by two psychiatrists at once. They form an opinion as to whether Sexual Reassignment Surgery is warranted in my case.
Whatever you call it, I'm very happy that I will be going for it at some point soon.Some aspects of this still annoy and intimidate me
But there are things that make this easier

I have an appointment to be assessed for sexual reassignment surgery. AKA "the big switch." AKA "genital surgery."

I am glad that I have an appointment, but I'm pissed off that I have to go through with assessment.  Really pissed off. As in having-trouble-sleeping-so-I'm-writing-it-down pissed off.

The present criteria for assessment for genital surgery, derived from the Harry Benjamen Standards of Care (or HBSC) are as follows:


And here is what pisses me off:

1. I have already gone through this, and don't see why I have to do it again.
2. This system is billed as "making sure we do what's right for the patient" but is mostly designed to cover doctor's asses.
3. This system is arbitrary
4. No. I mean really arbitrary
5. Really, really arbitary. Or should I say "homophobic?"
6. The in-role period makes no sense
7. This process is gratingly slow.
8. The assessment criteria are buggy
9. Many assessors act like jerks.
Conclusion:

( Read more... )

This is wrong. I don't like it, and I don't want to enable it.

Results:
Some people see me and, in surprise exclaim "Wow. You look really different." or even "Yeah - you look good."

Others say "You had surgery? I can't see any difference."

I am getting more reactions from strangers that indicate that they see me as female

All this is fine and welcome, but what is important is that I can see a difference. Moreover, I can feel it.

I look in the mirror and see a subtly different face, but, as I hoped, my mind quickly integrates the image as "that's me." I'd even go so far as to say that there's less surprise than before.

Only when I think about it - that this is not the same reflection that I am used to, do I get a moment of weird.

And I'm back. It's all done. The sutures are out, leaving little blood-dotted tracks across my forehead like a map to I don't know where. Flakes of hair shed around the suture line. Hope that stops soon. A shallow grove runs under my nose. In my mouth, tangles of dissolvable/edible sutures slowly recede across two streak-like lesions.

This knocked me on my ass. I can walk, and run short distances, but I get tired easily. No heavy exertion for one month. No contact sports (or other roughhousing?) for four. The restrictions are not due to fatique, but rather due to the potential fragility of the sutures.

I clean the sutures once a day with hydrogen peroxide, trying to break up any scabs or flakes. I give them neosporin twice per day. I sleep on my back, with my head elevated. I bind my jaw with an ace bandage, Jack and Jill style. Anesthetic mouthwash.

I'm healing quickly. My cheeks are less swollen each day. Thisis good. First it relieves the surprising strain my neck bore by carrying them around. Second it makes it easier, or just possible, to eat. Third, it makes me look less like a guy - my swollen jowls gave me a kind of "sleazy landlord" look. My skin is still tight and sneezing on coughing pulls across it to draw on sharp sutures. But I can see that there has been a change for the better.

My jaw, or at least the bone, feels in place now. I touch it and think, yeah, that's about right. Ocular ridge lines up. The distances are right. The bone is right.

This also means that I no longer have to take special measures in bright light, or have to manage my hair to avoid the bald streaks.

This is good.

Yes, I am glad I did this.

The swelling is going down now. I can close my lips now, which makes eating not just easier, but possible. Everything looks like it's healing fine. Just under the swelling, there is a visible difference.


Yeah. Good choice.

Looking forward to being on the other side of this.

Swelling has narrowed my vision to a tear-streaked La-Forge-esque strip.

Indeed.It feels like I have taken a small muppet, stretched it and shoved my head up its ass until it fits like a belaclava.

Fortunately, I'm not having trouble sleeping on my back. I am having trouble with stress/narcotic-induced repetitive dreams that gradually turn sour and more baffling over the course of the night. I've been up for a coule hours, hoping to shake them.

Also, slight tinglings in numb places herald diminished swelling and the return of nervous sensation. Good.

So I get to be done surgery (or at least this round of it) and there's some sort of substantial bodily improvement thrown in for free? Wow! That would explain why I agreed to this in the first place.

My only concern now is that they will do a good job.


- less than 36 hours to go -