Rebalancing my hormones one more time.

Last week I mentioned I was feeling the testosterone a lot again. So far that has only gotten worse. It really does feel like it did when I first started testosterone. I remember suddenly understanding why teen aged boys were complaining all the time. And once again I really do. It's all very impractical.
I wake up early because I am hungry. I am hungry all the time. I could eat non stop and I would if I wasn't so nauseous again. In the morning it's not so bad but in the afternoon it sometimes gets so bad I feel the need to lie down and wait for it to pass. Eating in the evening is difficult but sine I'm so bloody hungry I still do. Three cheers for protein shakes. They're a real lifesaver at the moment.
My energy levels and concentration fluctuate a lot. I've been trying to work but it's far from easy. I can't stay focussed for very long most of the time and am tempted to just crawl back into bed. But not at night. When I actually should be sleeping I am wide awake, tossing and turning. I allow myself to stay in bed late by my standards and didn't get up until 9:30 this morning. I also take naps in the afternoon if I can't push myself to do anything useful anyway. I know my body needs to get used to not having any oestrogen at all any more and this will pass. I'm trying to listen to what my body needs as best I can but it's frustrating. It would be nice if my body would agree to get that sleep at a more convenient time. I have no idea how long this will last but there is nothing I can do about it.
One of the things my body needs a lot of food and rest for is my muscles. After not training at all for 2 months your body gets a bit of a shock anyway when you start working out again. But with the new hormonal balance it's even stronger. My muscles want to grow and so far every time I did a BodyPump class I was able to put a bit extra on my barbell. I'm not getting very sore at all which is good I guess. I'm trying not to up my weights too fast even though it is very tempting. When I was still figuring out the right dosage for my testosterone my muscle mass and fat mass fluctuated too much and I ended up with a shoulder injury. I don't want that to happen again so I'm making sure I'm going easy on my joins. They need time to get used to the extra strain. I really can't wait to get to proper weights again though. I can finally create the body I've always wanted.

Getting back to work is harder then I had thought. It has been a while since I completely focussed on my own creative processes. The past few years I have been so busy with other things, like running the gallery, I didn't have much time for my own stuff. Now I've had time to think about what I really want in life I have decided to give myself another chance and really go for it. After painting abstract for about a decade I am going back to more figurative work so this means I'm back to drawing. Only slightly frustrating as I used to be pretty good at it but am not quite rusty. I'm practising the basics again, doing model drawing from a book, which I see as a necessary evil right now. Once things get better it will start being fun again I'm sure. And then I can paint again.
I am at my fourth set up for my book on my transition and feel like I finally have something that could work. I had planned to use this blog as a base to work from but copy pasting large passages seems pointless. People can just read the blog then. Right now it is taking on a novel like shape. Page one of chapter one seems finished right now but I still have about 300 pages or more to go so it's very well possible I'll rewrite that page or move it at some point. It feels good to have started though. I'm really curious where this will take me. I have started writing so many novels when I was younger but never actually finished one. This would be the first. It's a new life indeed.

Pictures of my work can be found on my Facebook page.

Recovering from surgery: week 6.

Officially it takes 6 weeks to recover from surgery so this was my last week. Honestly it felt like there wasn't much left to do. I already felt fit and everything. I just used the recovery as an excuse not to ride a bike. I don't like biking. If I could I would just walk everything. But now I don't have any excuses any more. I really have recovered.

My doctor told me I wasn't allowed to lift anything heavier then 3Kg per arm. I really tried to stick to that. I really did. But it's more like a guideline anyway. People heal at different speeds and my starting strength was a bit higher then average anyway. So on Monday, 3 days before my recovery officially ended, I went to the gym for a BodyPump class. As an instructor I used to push quite a bit of weight but not having done this training in 6 months plus the surgery I had to go all the way back to beginner's weights. This did mean 3.5Kg per side for the chest and back track but I figured it would be fine. I managed but to be honest it was a bit of a shock. Mostly for my legs. They started shaking during the back track (number 4) and didn't really stop. I was glad we didn't have to do lunges that day. My legs and biceps were sore for 4 days. The rest wasn't too bad. And what's the best thing for muscle soreness? You got it! Thursday I hit the gym again. Since I had officially hit the 6 week marker I decided I could up the weights for the chest and back by one kilo and this felt much better already. I really missed it. My body had missed it. I'm only slightly sore now, hardly at all. It seems like my body got the message: we're moving again. And my body likes it.

I'm not sure if it's because I started training again or if it's because all the oestrogen is completely gone now, but the past few days I seem to be getting the same effect I did when I just started hormones: I'm tired, hungry and horny. I feel like 16 yet again. I hope this will help me get back into shape sooner. When I first started I was able to built a lot of muscle in a short period of time. It would be great if I could do that again. Even though I am quite content with the scars at the moment, I'm less happy with the overall shape of my body right now. The scars are still fresh and they well get less hard and red eventually. I know it takes time and when I look at some of my old scars I have nothing to worry about. But the shape of my body is something I will need to fix myself. I'll keep on tracking my physical process on tumblr.

As far as my transition goes all that is left now is paperwork. I can pick up my new passport on Monday and then I can start changing my names and gender everywhere. I'm planning a little trip with a friend of mine in November, just to have crossed the border with my new passport. It felt like I was stuck here for ages. It will be so good to be able to spread my wings and celebrate my regained freedom.

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Going where no girl has gone before.

Diandra wrote:

Hey :) you probably get this question often but I would really like to know how it is to join "the other club"? Do people treat you differently now that you are a man on the outside too? Do you feel that you have access to areas you couldn't access before? Take care xxx

I have been out as transsexual for a bit over 2 years now so people have had plenty of time to get used to me being a guy. Changes happen gradually most of the time. Now I've had the surgery part of me feels like not much has changed as I was already living as a guy. There are differences in how people treat you when you're a guy. People are more direct when talking to you. I like that. I notice other guys are much more relaxed around me then before. Even though I had always been 'one of the guys' actually being one of the guys is different. I don't think they notice it themselves but men simply respond to the presence of a woman. Having been one, or at least having tried to pretend to be one, I can see what happens much more clearly then most guys. I noticed it again the other day when I was at a friends house to play RPG. There is one woman in the group. She was tucking in her son when I came in so it was just the guys sitting in the garden chatting. As soon as she joined the group you could see subtle changes in posture. Everyone adjusted the way they sat just a little bit, slightly more straight up. As if everyone was mentally tucking in their shirts. The fact that she is 'one of the guys' doesn't matter. She's still female and that makes all the difference. So that's not an actual physical space but it is in a way an area that I didn't have access to before. It's the mental space, the atmosphere men create when they are among themselves. 

The only example of a physical space I can think of is the men's room. Not just public toilets but also the locker room at the gym. When I joined a new gym in January I went into the men's locker room there for the first time. You can check out my blogpost about that. I was only at that gym for a few months and have now signed up at a different gym again because I missed the Les Mills classes too much. I thought a class with a friend there for a while some time ago so I do know some people there. No one batted an eye when I went into the men's room. As a transsexual you are much more aware of your own body then most people are. You're more aware of your own body then other people are in general I guess. A lot of people are insecure about stuff that other people don't notice because they are too busy with themselves as well. But since I've just had surgery I have 2 huge scars on my chest. Check out this link if you want to know what it looks like right now. Okay, they're not huge huge but they are very visible. No one paid any attention though. The only person who seemed a bit puzzled at my being there was the instructor whom I know. I guess he hadn't expected me to walk out of the shower. Yes, the shower. I gave it a lot of thought during my transition and I decided that I really do prefer showering at the gym after a class. If I just do fitness I don't mind showering at home but after a proper class I'm sweaty as hell and I don't want to have to walk home in wet socks if it's freezing. So I decided to take the plunge and go for it. This was the only thing I hadn't dared before. It seemed unacceptable to shower in the men's when I still had boobs but now I have had my surgery and even my passport has changed I figured I had every right to be there. So I did. And it was awkward as hell. But I'll just have to get used to it and so will the rest of the people in there. It does feel like a victory. You can't get more 'in' then this. 

So I guess that's it. I can go where all the boys go now and no longer where all the girls go. If I'd walk into the lady's right now they would kick me out and they would have every right to. I don't belong there. Never have really but now it really is a closed chapter. 

I'm not sure if this fully answers your question. If it doesn't feel free to ask more detail. 

Recovering from surgery: week 5.

Time really does fly. It feels like it has been ages since my surgery. It feels like I have almost fully recovered. Last Tuesday was my birthday and as a special surprise my stitches finally decided to let go. Most of them are gone now. Only a few bits are still sticking out and they will have to dissolve with time. It feels quite liberating. As long as the stitches were still there it felt like things could still go wrong but now their really just scars and those will fade eventually. I have most of my mobility back. The main reason why some movements are still a bit tricky is because the drains made quite a nasty impression, literally. Also my skin is still not completely recovered, mostly where the stickers were that were keeping the drains in place. All the scabs from the hysterectomy are gone as well. The lowest one that was the biggest is quite hard and still a bit sore. Other then that I'm doing fine.

Officially I still have to wait a whole week before I can start lifting again but that doesn't mean I can't do anything at all. I was going nuts having to sit still all the time. So I decided cardio should be okay. I signed up at a gym again this week and went to take a BodyCombat class last night. It was great to be moving again. I kept my movements small and skipped the push ups but I was honestly surprised at how well it went. My lower abdomen will take a bit more time to get back in shape but I turned out to be a lot fitter then I had expected. I am somewhat sore now but in a good way. I feel alive again. It's a good kind of sore. I really can't wait to go again. Next week I can start doing BodyPump again. I'm really looking forward to it.

There isn't really much else to tell about my recovery at the moment. I'm doing great. I guess my life starts at 36.

Recovering from surgery: week 4.

After 4 weeks you're allowed to take of your binder during the night and then slowly keep it off during the day. The thing was driving me nuts. My skin was getting really irritated and I didn't feel like I was benefiting from it at all. When I would first take it off I would feel the need to put it back on after a while but by now that was completely gone. I figured it was more a guideline anyway as every body is different. I replaced it with a tight tank top during the day for a few hours to see how it felt. It was much more comfortable. Slowly I increased the time I would wear the tight shits but would keep on the binder at night. Eventually I decided it was enough and took the binder off during the morning to never put it back on again. This was 3 days before my doctor recommended to slowly cut back on wearing it. I know I went against medical advise but I really feel much better. My skin is recovering quickly and I can feel my strength coming back. The last bit of scabs are held in place by the stitches that still need to dissolve. My chest is still itching on the inside as it heals but I feel I am getting closer to the end every day. It's getting harder and harder to restrain myself and not start lifting heavy things again. My gynaecologist told me I could start exercising again but right now that means anything waist down. So, in addiction to my daily walks, I started to do squats again. I'm only using my own bodyweight but at least it's something. It feels good to be moving again. I used to work out 14 hours a week and sitting still is really not my cup of tea. Two more weeks and I can really get started. I'm thinking about slowly adding some exercises so it won't be too much of a shock when I hit the gym again. I really can't wait.

As far as the hysterectomy goes I'm really just waiting for the scabs to fall off and that's about it. Everything is pretty much back to normal. Except the tension in my muscles of course. I really need to fix that. All in due time.

Other then that I am back to work; painting and working on my book. It feels good to be doing something useful again. I'll be using my trans related blog posts as a guideline for my book so I'm printing them out and rereading them all, sorting them out by theme to make chapters. It's really interesting to see how much has changed and how little I actually knew when I started this journey. I have learned a lot. And the people around me as well. Hopefully the book will help even more people.

If you want to see pictures of how my chest is healing you can go to my tumblr account.

Recovering from surgery: week 3.

After two weeks I was allowed to remove the tape from the cuts on my chest. For me this was one of those moments when hope turns into reality. Before removing the tape I wasn't sure what it looked like and it could be anything. I knew it wouldn't be perfect. I knew it would still be healing and it would still get better in time. I knew it would be better then how it was before because that fitted me even less then this would. You know there will be scars and when you remove the tape they're still wounds even. You know all this. But when you remove the tape it becomes real. At least, it did for me. Before the surgery I felt deformed. I knew after the surgery I would be mutilated. I know that sounds dramatic, but in a way it's true. Your body has been altered permanently because someone has cut you up and the scars are there for life. It is a constant reminder that I am not 'a real boy'. I had quite some trouble accepting what I saw. I'm slowly getting used to it and now it's healed even more it is starting to look a bit better. It doesn't look like wounds as much as it does as scars and that feels better because that means it's in the past and I can move on. I'm sure there will be days when I hate the way it looks but I am glad I did it. It was the lesser evil and I do feel better. I have no regrets. It just takes some time to get used to this new body.

The binder still had to stay on though. Officially it has to stay on for 4 weeks and after that I can take it off at night and slowly get used to not wearing it. For me it feels ridiculous. I can move quite freely and feel confident when doing normal things around the house. The first few times I took it off to take a shower it did feel awkward and unsafe to talk around without it for more then half an hour. But now I actually take it off for an hour or longer every day so my skin can recover a bit. The binder is tight and wearing it 24/7 chafes my skin. It's getting really irritated and it feels like a graze wound is developing under my arms and around my chest. The heat really doesn't help either. I can't wait to be able to take it off as right now having to wear the binder seems to be costing a lot more energy then I get benefits from it.

My gynaecologist, doctor Milo, wanted to see me for a check up that week. They had made an appointment for me without asking me and the letter they had send to confirm had ended up at a different address so I didn't know until they called on Monday to ask if I could come earlier the next day. Luckily I could. I actually got the letter and some get well soon cards from some friends that afternoon. The person who had received my mail had just returned from holiday and dropped them into my mailbox.
Honestly it felt a bit like a waste of my time. I was on my way for two and a half hours and was only in his office for about 5 minutes. He took a quick look at the scabs, told me to keep them clean and that I shouldn't ride a bike for another 3 weeks or so and that was it. He told me there was no need for me to come back again but if I needed anything I could always call. At least that part is done now. I don't have to think about the hysterectomy any more other then letting the scabs heal. The lowest one is giving me a bit of trouble though as my underwear, jeans, etc cover it and it gets irritated. I hope it starts healing properly soon because it's really annoying. I don't mind walking around in my birthday suit at home at these temperatures but I do need to put something on when I go outside. I guess it just takes time.

Wednesday I went to city hall. I had thought that changing my birth certificate would just be a technicality but it turned out it did feel like an important step. I wanted to get it done so it would all be official and I could really move on. The lady helping me was really nice. They had made a check list of all the information they needed and everything because they wanted to be well prepared. This was all new to them as the new law had only been passed a few weeks before. I was the fourth transsexual to come and change his passport under the new law in my city. One of my oldest friends happened to be nearby so he came along and we had coffee and a chat while the nice lady went to dig up my certificate and scribble on it. It feels really good to have that done. It's a load off. Things are finally getting real. And soon I can really get on with my life. Just a few more weeks of recovery and I'm good to go.

Recovering from surgery: week 2.

The second week after my surgery I felt much better. The drains were gone and I regained a lot of range of motion rather quickly. I still needed some help but less every day. Slowly I started picking up chores around the house. I would manage making myself a salad for lunch and then I would lie down and take a break before eating it. I always want to do everything myself but I'm also quite capable of listening to my own body and after something like that my chest would clearly give off a sign for me to slow down. Everything took a lot longer then usual but at least I managed. That was the most important thing. If you just sit down and do nothing for 6 weeks it will take longer to recover. You need to keep the blood flowing to supply building blocks and to get rid of the rubble. You need to keep moving to keep the muscles and tendons from shrinking. If you don't your body will get stuck and it can take a lot longer before you can do all the things you used to do again. You have to be a bit bold every now and then. Of course, that's not a problem in my case. I was actually more surprised to see myself holding back and not pushing things too much. The first time I went for a walk again I just went around the block instead of just heading off for a longer distance. Pretty quickly I managed a whole hour again but I didn't force it. By the end of the week I felt like I could do pretty much anything again. as long as I didn't lift anything too heavy.

I got really lucky with how quickly I recover. I still have some time to go but I improved much faster then I had expected. I thought I would still be drinking through straws by now. Turns out it's really not that bad. I guess a lot of your recovery depends on how fit you are when you go into surgery. I don't smoke any more which also helps a lot and I eat very healthy stuff. Plus I heal pretty well in general. My body seems to be quite resilient. I'm just lucky that way. I know I'm not a standard case and most people aren't able to sleep on their sided or stomach even in the second week. I'm not complaining.

One thing people tend to forget is that when you take out your ovaries and don't produce much oestrogen any more your body changes. This is usually called: The Change. But in transmen the testosterone should replace most of the functions of oestrogen. Testosterone and oestrogen are not the same though and you do have some effects of menopause. How much is very different for people. I know one transguy who had horrible night sweats and all of that. Some people hardly notice anything. I got a few hot flashes for about 3 days and that was pretty much it. The only thing I really noticed was how unhappy my bladder was. Your fluid balance changes when you go from oestrogen to testosterone. They simply have different set points. So you lose some weight because you lose some fluids. A lot of women get bladder infections during this period because of the ridiculous amount of fluids that pass through. Three cheers for cranberries. It wasn't just the hormones though. With my uterus gone everything in my belly had started to move around. The first week this was really uncomfortable but it settled quite a bit the second week. Still, it felt weird. And my bladder probably needed to get used to the new neighbours as well. This might take a few weeks but it's not something I need to worry about. It would be nice not to have to get up 3 times at night to go to the bathroom though.

Recovering from surgery: week 1.

The first 2 days after the surgery I had to stay at the hospital. I wrote about that in my previous post. On Saturday morning they sent me home with my drains. I was really happy to go home and at that point I didn't care about having to keep the drains. Well, it sucked, but I figured it was better to go home with them then having to stay. I felt much better just wheeling out of there. The dear friend who was picking me up had decided it would be fun to push me around in a wheelchair and she was right; it was.

She dropped me off at home and stayed for a cup of tea. It was so nice to be at my place again, with proper tea and a nice sofa. And no nurses sticking things into my ears and all that. I slept really well that night, even with the drains. The next day I felt even better. This didn't last too long though. Having the drains was, well, draining. The stitches that were holding them in place really hurt. That was actually all that hurt. I quit taking the diclofenac on Monday and on Thursday I took the last paracetamol which I had felt was symbolic anyway. But the pain from the drains made it really hard to move. I was also impossible to have a proper shower and I needed help to get into and out of my binder. I still felt really dependant on other people. I was. Good thing I had lots of help.

This is something I was really surprised about, in a good way. A lot of people will tell you: if you need anything, just let me know. But when push comes to shove you just have to wait and see who actually shows up. My friends had told me I really had to ask and I had assured them I would. But I didn't need to. They offered. And they came. People sent me text messages or PM's on Facebook, asking me if I needed anything and when they could stop by. I actually had to make an effort to keep the visitors down to 2 a day and sometimes someone would just show up and I actually would have 3 people over in one day. People bought me flowers. I never get flowers. But I did now. People brought me vegetables and prepared food for me. They did my dishes. I even got help with my laundry. I couldn't believe it. I felt so blessed. I have a hard time asking for help as I've always needed to do everything on my own and have been quite a loner most of my life. This was a new experience for me and I'm very happy for it.

The rest of the time I mostly spent on the sofa with a book symbolically in my hands. I managed some reading but not much. Having to drag around the drains was exhausting. They ruled my every move. Getting up to walk to the toilet or kitchen was something I needed to prepare for mentally. As the days went by and the fluids got less and less and the drains therefore more useless and just an annoyance, I started to feel like a prisoner again. I went looking for ways to get rid of them as soon as possible. I first asked a friend who is studying to be a doctor but she told me she had never removed a drain so it didn't seem like a good idea. My GP is an idiot. He told me I should just put my drains in a bad and walk over there if I wanted him to take a look at it. Sorry but I just had a hysterectomy, I'm not even supposed to go outside the first week. He didn't understand how that could be a problem. It sounded like he was just panicking and didn't want to help me because he didn't know what to do. Like I said, he's an idiot. I figured I didn't trust him with something like this and I should be getting a different GP anyway so I decided against it in the end. I called the hospital on Monday, hoping they would be willing to get me an appointment sooner then Thursday as they had first suggested. They gave me Wednesday. What a difference a day makes. It seemed much closer now and I had something to count down to. I counted the hours.

The same friend who had picked me up had offered to give me a ride again and she actually had time that day so it was all perfect. My plastic surgeon first removed the drains without question and I felt better right away. People told me that removing the drains can feel really weird but one I didn't feel at all and the other one felt a bit like something was pulling on the inside but that was what was actually happening. It didn't feel awful or anything, just a bit strange. She took a look and told me everything was fine. She asked if she could take some pictures so she could use them for a presentation in November. People kept asking her about the volume of nipple stems so she wanted to use me as an example. About what? During the chest surgery you cut loose the nipple which has a cluster of veins and nerves (I think it's called the stem). If the stem is too long you have to cut it and do a loose nipple transplant, reattaching it elsewhere. If the stem is short enough and strong enough you can keep it in tact. The advantage of keeping the stem is possibly regaining sensation in your nipples again. They can function close to normal again if you're lucky. The downside, for a lot of transmen, is the bulk of the stem. Most transmen want to be as flat as possible because they want to be as passable as possible. But people are now wondering how much bulk we're actually talking about here. So she needs examples. She asked me to send her pictures of my chest in a couple of weeks and I told her I would also send her some end of October so people can see how it looks in the long run. Four months isn't that long but it's all the time we've got. If you want to see the whole development you can check my tumblr. I'm posting pictures almost every day.
Then she send me home again. I didn't have to make a new appointment or anything. Of course, if I felt the need I could call. I felt home feeling great. You always do when a burden has been lifted. All I had to do now was keep on my binder for another 3 weeks and then try not to run to the gym for another 2. Just a few more countdowns and I can start my life.

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Surgery part two: my stay at the hospital.

Hospitals are strange places. Nobody really likes them. It's where you go when something is wrong, usually. I don't like hospitals either. One of the things hospitals are, unfortunately, well know for is the bad food. I know I'm difficult with food in general but hospitals are a really bad place to have food allergies and not sticking to the food pyramid. I eat primal and low carb. Grain and I are not friends. I told them this and so they served me gluten free bread. Maybe it's just because they don't serve it a lot (most of the time it arrived frozen) but it tasted like cardboard. It also had the texture of cardboard. I know the anaesthesia didn't help but my stomach reacted pretty much the same way as to normal bread. Not well. I had brought some food myself but not enough and it didn't stop them from trying to feed me cardboard and milk all the time. I didn't have the energy to explain to them why I didn't want any so just repeated I was allergic or simply said no thanks. So this was no fun and really didn't help my recovery.

Don't get me wrong. The nurses were all really nice and trying to be helpful. But they also had instructions to follow, protocols and such. Just like with the people who did my surgery I felt like they had to take an empathy course or something at that hospital. I was truly amazed. They really tried to make me as comfortable as possible with the means they had.

The other thing that didn't help was the lack of sleep. Hospitals are very noisy. And with the heat we had to leave the window open to get in some cooler air. This meant we were also letting in all the lovely sounds of the train, the tram, the highway and the huge flock of blackbirds. I don't sleep well in unknown environments in general and if they are noisy I can pretty much forget about it. A nurse coming in at 1 and 6 in the morning to check my pulse and blood pressure didn't help much either. My temperature has been checked more often during my stay at the hospital then in the 10 years before that. And if the nurses weren't chatting just outside the room which was at the beginning of the hall so everyone had to pass by our room, the other trans guys would be snoring softly. If I had been able to move I would have been tossing and turning all night long. But I couldn't. The drains made it impossible to lay in any other position then coma mode; flat on your back with your arms along your sides. Both your chest and abdomen had been stitched up so you didn't want to put your arms anywhere on your body. Truly wonderful.

After a hysterectomy (removal of the uterus and ovaries) you only have to stay one night but after a mastectomy (the chest surgery) you have to stay a bit longer. It depends on the drains sticking out of your armpits. Usually it's 2 or 3 nights and then they remove the drains. Sometimes they send you home with drains though. After 2 nights of about 3 hours sleep each I was ready to go home. I felt like a prisoner, claustrophobic and helpless. I'm not good at giving up control and having people prod and poke me 6 times a day, feeding me bad food and pills while I have a bunch of tubes sticking out of me was not my idea of a good time. I was amazed at how quickly I plummeted into feelings of depression and it really scared me. I knew I had to get out of there. So on Saturday morning I managed to convince the nurse to convince my doctor to let me go home, drains and all. She called my doctor and a few hours later I was on my way home. I felt so relieved. At that point I didn't care I had to keep the drains for 5 more days until my check up. All I wanted was to go home so I could sleep. And I did. I slept 10 hours that night while I usually sleep about 6 or 7. I was so happy to be home. The worst had passed. Things were only going to get better.


For pictures of my recovery check out my tumblr.

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Surgery part one: the surgery itself.

It has been 12 days since my surgery and I am healing well. I'm feeling well enough to attempt to write a blog. I'm not sure if I'll be able to finish it in one go but we'll just have to wait and see.

First things first: how was the surgery?
Scary. No matter how well you prepare and how ready you think you are, you get scared. Even if it's just for a few seconds. I knew I would and I knew it was okay. A wonderful friend drove me to the hospital at 6 in the morning and waited with me until they wheeled me to surgery. I had to be at the hospital at 6:30 and would be brought down to surgery at 7:30. This meant they had an hour to check a my vitals and some data, give me painkillers, and let me get nervous. You sit there in your blue gown, waiting, and you have time to think. Am I making the right choice? Do I really have a choice? What if something goes wrong? What if they do something I didn't sign up for? What if there are complications and the results are horrible and I would have been better of not having the surgery? And a ton of other similar questions. But they're not real questions. It's not real doubt. There is no way back. I  passed the point of no return two and a half years ago when I realized I had to go into transition if I ever wanted to be happy. In for a penny, in for a pound. I knew I had to do this.

At some point someone told me I would be fine, after all, this was what I wanted. This comment really bothered me and still does. A lot of people think that, being transgender, you want to have surgery. Actually, you don't. You want the results surgery can give you. You don't actually want a bunch of strangers knocking you out, laying you out on a table, naked and completely defenceless, cutting you up. Nobody wants that. That was one of the scariest bits about it all. I didn't see her again and was glad. The anaesthesiologist I had recognised my Terry Pratchett tattoo and that immediately put her in the category of good people so that helped a lot. Everyone was really nice and they asked me several times which procedures I was having to make sure I knew what was happening and it reassured me we were on the same page and they weren't going to do things I didn't want them to.

So now it's 13 days as a friend stopped by and I didn't get around to finishing this yesterday. On with the story.

They didn't ask me to count down from whatever when they put me under. They gave me oxygen and told me to take deep breaths while the drugs were pumped into my veins through the IV. And then I woke up again. So that was that. It had been done.

You don't feel yourself falling asleep or anything. It's like a light switch. One moment you're there, the next you're gone. When I woke up I was not in pain. I was mostly just dizzy from the morphine. I felt like I really had to lie down, even though I was already flat on my back. I felt like I had smoked bad weed. Not very comfortable. A nurse asked me something and I tried to respond but my throat was sore and I could barely talk. She told me it was from the tube they had used to breath for me. This came as a bit of a shock as no one had mentioned this to me. I had read it in one of the many brochures they had given me but it was so much information I hadn't registered it. The thought of not having been able to breath on my own is a scary one but I didn't have time to really think about it. They were pushing more morphine into my IV and I felt too dizzy to comment on anything. My heart rate and blood pressure went up. Looking back I think it was caused my the morphine. I'm a very independent person and am terrible at not being in control of my own body. The morphine pretty much paralysed me and my brain gave off a fight or flight response. Luckily I had been given a PCA so after the first shots I could regulate the morphine myself. I cut back to one tenth of the allowed dose and felt better quickly.

Both surgeons stopped by to tell me how things went. The gynaecologist was very happy. He said everything went really well and blood loss had been minimal. I should make an appointment for a check up later on. He is going on a holiday for 3 weeks mid July and if I didn't manage to get an appointment before then it was fine to come see him when he was back. If he doesn't see any need to see me sooner then in 6 weeks time or so I feel like I have nothing to worry about at all when it comes to the hysterectomy. This was very comforting.

The plastic surgeon stopped by as well. She was also quite happy with how things went. She was able to leave the blood vessels and nerves to my nipple in tact so this means in time I can actually get some sensation back. I was very happy to hear that. And that was pretty much it. All that was left was waiting until they would let me go home so I could start recovering.

If you want to see some photo's of my chest and how it's healing you can check my tumblr.

The first day of the rest of my life.

If all goes well the day after tomorrow will be the first day of the rest of my life. I'm still half expecting one of my surgeons to have the flue or something. But it will happen. It has to. I have been waiting for this too long already. My bag is packed, I'm ready to go. I have a friend driving me there, another one picking my up and a few visiting me during my stay (including a friend who is like a brother to me who will come visit on his birthday! Love him to bits). After that I have plenty of offers from friends to help me with stuff I need like cooking, food shopping and other chores around the house. Everything is set. All I have to do now is wait for 36 more hours and that's it.

People want to know if I'm nervous. That's a silly question. If course I'm nervous! Something would be wrong if I wasn't. But I'm not scared. It's like the first day of school. Or more like the start of a journey, like I'm moving to a different land. I bought my ticket, I know where I want to go and when I've landed I have to make sure I find my new apartment. Once I'm there everything will sort itself out. But first I have a plane to catch and luggage to check in and pick up again, passport checks and metal detectors to walk through, and a long while of sitting and waiting to get there while I'm moving through time and space. I have been preparing for this for over 2 years now and it is finally happening. Yes, I'm nervous, because this is very important to me and I am very excited, but I'm not scared.

I've said this before: transition is like having a baby. You think about it for a long time, then you make the decision and start preparing for it. Once things have been set in motion you can't go back. There is a lot of waiting, a lot of people poking your body and your mind, and hormones going off balance, but you know it will be worth it. You've been making changes around the house, in your wardrobe, in your social life, all preparing for this. And then, suddenly, it is really happening. It's just around the corner. You are really doing this. You already knew you couldn't go back any more, you passed the point of no return the moment you made the decision to do this, but now it really is final. There is no other option but to go through with this. It's not that you're having doubts. Not at all. It's just that you know that your life will never be there same and you don't know what it will be like after that moment. In a way, very little will change. But in a way, everything will change. It's scary. Change is always scary, no matter how exciting it may be. I'm pretty sure I'll be crying tears of relief after the surgery. And after that? Who knows. It will be the first day of the rest of my life and anything will be possible.


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Two weeks and counting.

Fourteen days and one night until my surgery. That doesn't sound very long does it? When I called the hospital to ask when I could get my surgery they told me 4 to 6 weeks after the surgeons have seen you. In my case it turned out to be 11 weeks and it took a lot longer to see my surgeons that I had hoped as well. You are allowed to have surgery one year after you have been given permission to start hormone treatment. Waiting your turn for the screening and the actual screening take quite some time as well. In total it has been 2 and a half years since I came to the conclusion that this was something I had to do. Two and a half years. That's a long time. So what's an extra three months? What's two more weeks? It's a lot I tell you. A lot.

I know I come across as very level headed. Everyone thinks I'm a stable, independent, resilient, strong person who can handle things very well on his own. And they're right, usually I can. But it has been two and a half years of my life constantly revolving around my transition. Me jumping through hoops and sitting on my hands while waiting for others to make major decisions over my life. To say it has been stressful would be an understatement. And I am done. I am tired of it all. I need this to be over. After this I still have to change my passport and of course the VUmc has designed a few more hoops to jump through before I can do that. I can see if I can arrange it some other way once I've had my surgery but that would be more hoops still. I'm not sure which would be easier. I'm tempted to give in and pay the VUmc the 65 euro's simply because I don't have any fight left in me, even though I should have the right to change my passport without their expert statement after my surgery.

I am a strong person. I'm an adult. My transition has been relatively easy. The only people who objected to my transition are people who are not really part of my life any more anyway. Until recently I didn't have any real trouble with the hospital or insurance company (delays don't count, they are normal). And still, I am at the end of my rope. I am done. I am out of energy. I am so tired I feel like banging my head into the wall. I can't sleep, I'm too restless. I can't eat, I'm too stressed. I can't work, I can't focus. Even breathing takes effort. I need this to be over. But there is nothing I can do. 14 days, 12 hours and 17 minutes. I'm counting.

Countdown to surgery.

Yesterday I went from counting the weeks to counting the days left until my surgery. I have thirty days to go. When I first got my date I still had over 7 weeks, almost 2 months. It felt so far away I was able to put it out of mind and not get too distracted by it. Now it's getting closer. I can feel my energy levels dropping. I'm restless. I wander around my apartment. I stare out the window, watching the rain. I open the fridge but can't really bring myself to eat. I'm too tense. I try to read or to paint but have a hard time focussing. I take breaks while watching a movie. I watch nonsense on YouTube to distract me because it's stuff I don't really need to think about anyway. I'm going nuts.

I had not expected this. Not this soon anyway. But here it is non the less. This surgery basically means the end of my transition. I still need to fix my passport after that and I told myself that would be the point where it's officially over but it doesn't feel that way. The passport feels like a technicality. It's the surgery that makes it all real. That's the rebirth. That's the moment from which on my life will never be the same. That's when I can start my new life. I know that all sounds really dramatic but that's how it feels. It's one of those big markers in one's life. For most people it is the birth of their child, or a wedding, or something like that. A moment that changes your life for ever. And you know it's coming. You have that date marked on your calender. That's when it will happen.

You know what the big event will be and that it will impact your life on every level. You just don't know how. You have no way of knowing how it will affect you. Therefore there is no way you can prepare for this change. You just know it is going to happen. You just have to wait and see what happens. I could tell you I'm worried about the surgery but I'm really not. I have a great team and they will do the best they can. I could tell you I'm worried about the anaesthesia and how I will respond to that but somehow that doesn't really worry me either. I'm pretty sure I'll be fine.

Other trans people warned me about the big black hole after transition. I hadn't expected to fall for it. Not like they meant anyway. It's about something different for me. For the past 6 years I have been working very hard on being okay. I kicked anorexia, depression, addictions, self harm. This is the last thing on that list of things I can do to make my life better. After this there is no other clear problem that I can fix to make things better for myself. What if I'm still not okay after this? I know I'm going to be stuck with the scars. From the surgery, from the self harm, from the anorexia, from everything. I still have a lot of nerve pain that never really goes away. I live with it because that's the only thing I seem to be able to do. My energy levels are still fragile compared to most people, especially when you look at how well I take care of myself. Those things won't go away. So what do you do when you have fixed everything you can fix and it's still broken?

Don't get me wrong. I can't wait to have the surgery. I'm really looking forward to seeing the results and being free of those bits that are holding me back so much right now. It will be so nice to see what my chest really looks like without those weird blobs covering the muscle. I'm curious what will happen when the oestrogen is no longer holding back the effects of the testosterone. I'm going to grow a big ginger beard, just because I can! And yes, I will post a picture ;)



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Oh my... hair!

When you start testosterone treatment several things tend to happen. I already told you about how my body composition and my voice changed. One of the things most people ask me when they haven't seen me for a while is: do you have a beard yet? This is actually a question I don't mind so much as I would really like to have a nice big beard. There is one thing that people usually don't realize though. When you start using testosterone you get more hair, period. Like, everywhere! And this was something I wasn't looking forward to at all. I didn't want to get hairy all over. Luckily this is something that happens gradually. You don't go to bed smooth and wake up a bear the next morning. It's not like Kafka's beetle. This means you have time to get used to it. Opinions among transmen vary. Some really dislike the extra hair but it seems like a lot of them are quite eager for it. I'm guessing this has to do with personal taste for some part, but probably also with passability. My spelling checker doesn't think that's a word. I wish it was right.

Now what's weird about this? If you google Men's health cover you might notice something. They are all as smooth as a baby's bottom. And Men's Health is the standard of how a guy should look, right? Then why do all these transguys want to be hairy?


It does seem that body hair on a man is coming back. Maybe it started with the movember movement. I'm not sure. Maybe it's the bear scene that is becoming more prominent. They had their own Bear Pride in Amsterdam this year for the first time which I think is awesome.


And then I head about the Don't Risk Dudeness ads by Feet.

The campaign was taken down rather quickly because it was deemed sexist. And right they were. But it did give me some idea of why a lot of transguys are comparing how much hair they have. Whether you like body hair or not, one thing is certain: it's not feminine. And therefor it must be masculine. And masculine is good.

It took me a while to realize I see it the same way. I used to shave absolutely everything. I like the smooth feeling of it, true. But mostly it was because I was afraid people would label me as masculine. I was afraid of getting caught. When you're in an unclear state during your transition you cling onto every little thing you can to make clear to the world what you are. So you grow hair anywhere you can, to ensure dudeness.

Right now I only shave my face. Not very often though. It will be a while before I will be able to grow a proper beard. Things are happening though. I'm not sure how hairy the rest of my body will become. It's hairier then before, that's for sure. But I'm not a bear. Not yet anyway. There is no way to tell if I ever will be until I am. Because I used to be so afraid of body hair it took me a while to be okay with it. I am now. I don't really care either way. If it grows, it grows. If it doesn't. it doesn't. There is nothing I can do about it anyway. I could shave again but I totally understand now why part time drag queens often don't shave. Male hair is much thicker and nastier and there is more of it. And really, I can't be bothered. I'm fine the way I am. It's my body and I am getting more and more comfortable in it now it can finally do what it really wants to do. And if it wants to be fuzzy, then let it be fuzzy. If it doesn't, then that's fine too.

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I had my meeting with my surgeons.

Last week I went to the Slotervaart hospital in Amsterdam for 3 meetings.

The third one was with the anesthesiologist. He turned out to be a very nice guy who clearly enjoyed his job of making people as comfortable as possible. He told me not to worry and he would take good care of me. I'm getting an PCA which means as much as patient controlled pain medication after the surgery. I'm very happy about that because being dependent on whenever the nurses can find the time to listen to you and decide you might actually be right and either need more medication or not, is not exactly ideal. I have a high pain threshold but also get used to pain medication really quickly. So that's something that could go either way. Like this I will be in full control and will get what I need.

The second meeting was with the gynecologist. He's a bit of a quirky man but he's a professional alright. He told me what he is going to do. They will put air in my belly to make room to work. Then they will make 4 tiny incisions; one for a camera so they can see what they are doing, and the other 3 for tools. There's already a larger opening they can use to pull out that annoying bit of tissue. Then all they have to do is stitch it shut at the top and they are done. He told me a whole bunch of things that can happen after the surgery that might freak me out but I don't need to worry about. He also told me a few things that could happen that would mean I should call him. But in all cases I don't need to worry because if anything goes wrong they'll just fix it, no problem. Okay doc, what ever you say. I an 100% confident that he will indeed set things right.

Now the first meeting was the one I was nervous about. It was the surgeon that will fix my chest. In broad terms there are two ways of doing this. The big surgery and the small surgery. The big one means two large incisions below the breasts. With the small one they make circular incisions around the nipples. Clearly, the big one causes bigger scars then the small one. Most transmen are really set on getting the small on. It's a big deal. It's important because else you are mutilated for life with those huge ugly scars across your chest that will remind you for ever and always what you went through and will cause the whole world to ask what the hell happened to you. People had told me I should be able to get the small one. People told me it was important for me to get the small one. Everyone wanted to small one so of course I would want the small one as well. So when my surgeon took one look at me and said: no way, I was in shock. I had counted on getting the small one. After a while I realized I felt like I had lost some sort of competition. This confused me and later got me mad. This is why it took me a while to write this update. I wanted to figure out where this feeling came from.

Among transmen, or trans people in general really, there is this silent competition to be as passable as possible. I feel very conflicted about this. The problem is that if all transsexuals just disappear after their last surgery it makes it harder for the people who live further away from the norm to find a place in society. As a transsexual you stand out for a while during your transition. It's a big deal. It's heavy. It's hard. And also, it's very visible.You can't go into a cave and come out a few years later and go: tadaaa! It doesn't work like that. You are forced to do it in plain sight. This is why transsexuals get a lot of media attention. But once you are done, you are done, and you can pretend it never happened most of the time. You can go back to your ordinary life. Sure, some will still stand out but these days people can start transition during their teens and most of them are absolutely passable once they are done and sometimes even before then.

A lot of people who are transgender but are not transsexual don't have that luxury. They don't go though an awkward phase and then come out as themselves and can fit one of the boxes on every bloody form on the planet. A lot of them are somewhere in between. They always stand out. They can't just put on a shirt to cover the scars and pretend they're one of the guys. They need our support.

The other things is that there seems to be a shame culture happening here. Even though people are now coming out as trans on television and there are shows being made about trans people and all the media attention and people shouting that transsexuals should be accepted a lot of trans people still seem to be ashamed of the fact that they are trans. It's like being ashamed of being black, or of being ginger, or of being short, or of having blue eyes. It seems to me that a lot of transsexual people feel the need to be as passable as possible because they are afraid that people will still see them as less, as inferior, of not one of them. They are afraid of not fitting in, of being cast out. They want to hide part of who they are, part of their history, in order to secure a future.

I am not ashamed of being a transsexual, just like I'm not ashamed of being ginger and short. I'm not ashamed of having Indonesian ancestry even though no one sees it. I'm also not proud of it. I didn't do anything to be any of these things. These are the cards I got dealt. That's all. There is no shame in that. There is also no pride in that. It simply is what it is. So why did I freak out when she told me I was getting the big surgery? Because people had told me I should. Well, not directly, but they did make me feel that way. Personally I don't have a problem with a few extra scars. I have plenty already and they all have a story. This would just be another story, one that I'm not ashamed of. So that's why I got mad. My peers had, unintentionally, made me feel like I should be ashamed of who I am. This makes me sad and it worries me. I am able to take a good look at who I am and how I feel about myself and get past this. But not everyone can. There are a lot of trans people who are very vulnerable and who are unable to stand up for themselves. I can imagine some people would get very depressed hearing such news, maybe even suicidal. If they really feel like they should be ashamed of who they are and that they will be rejected by society if people find out there is something seriously wrong. It's all fine and dandy that we have those tv shows now and that there are so many people coming out publicly but there is still so much work to do.

I'm getting the big surgery. I am getting two scars on my chest that tell my story. I'm okay with that. I'm still waiting for the date but it should be before my birthday in late July. The surgeon really is a nice lady and she knows what she's doing. She is one of the best in the country. She saw how shocked I was and did her best to reassure me everything would be okay and she would do her best to minimize my scarring. In the mean time I am coming up with all kinds of ideas for tattoos in combination with scarifications for my torso. So I'm not worries at all anymore. Right now I'm just curious about the final result so I can start designing.

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So what happens next?

It’s been a while since I posted my last blog. People have been asking me what my plans are for the future. Or more precise: what’s the next project? How about finishing my transition first? I have been forgetting that actually takes a lot of time and mental space as well. Now I do have time to think about these things a lot has been happening inside my head. Surgery is starting to get real as well. This week I have an appointment with a psychiatrist to get the last signature for my referral letter. Three weeks after that I am seeing my surgeons to discuss the options and my wants and needs. After that there is a waiting list of 4 to 6 weeks. So after 10 weeks at the most I will have had my surgery. The way time has flown by the past few months it feels like it could be tomorrow almost. I’m starting to get nervous in a way you do just before you go on a holiday. I’m trying not to expect too much. Someone asked me how I think I will look after the surgery. I have no idea. I don’t think about it because I can’t know until about a year after the surgery and I have completely healed and my hormones have settled etc. All I can do now is hope for the best and see what happens. It’s weird to be thinking about things like nipples. Most people take them for granted. They’re just there. But now I have to decide if I want my surgeon to do something with them or not. I’m not 100% sure yet. I’ll wait and see what she says. She’s the expert in the end. I don’t feel the need to have them reduced right now but they look quite different on my chest the way things are anyway so it’s hard to tell.

I have decided to have the hysterectomy. I’m not sure if I mentioned that before. There are several reasons for this:

I don’t plan on having kids anyway so I don’t need a uterus.

Hormone treatment increases cancer risks and I don’t really feel like getting cancer.

And, last but not least, the estrogen I’m still producing is counterproductive.

People seem to think that more testosterone means less estrogen and yes, if all is well your ovaries become less active. Not always though. People have been calling me miss again lately in stores. I noticed my body and face had been changing again the wrong way around. I used a bit of extra testosterone for about a week and now seem to be back on track again. In the meantime the extra hair did expand. My voice is also still slowly changing. So the testosterone is doing its work. But when the fat distribution makes my face look more feminine people still misgender me. It’s rather frustrating and I really can't wait to get rid of the estrogens so I can really start looking like myself. I’m getting closer but I know I’m still not there.

Another thing that happens is that people think I’m much younger then I am. I’m 35 and I usually don’t mind if people think I’m a bit younger but when someone thinks I’m 17 I really don’t know how to respond. This really happened two days ago. I’m still amazed. And of course this happens right at the moment when I start to be okay with being an adult. I know that sounds silly but that happens to all of us. We all feel like we are going to be young forever and then, one day, we wake up and we find we are supposed to be adults. We don’t know how that happens, but it does. Just like that. When you’re young you think it’s something that happens to other people and that they will know how to deal with it when the time comes. But I’m guessing there are quite a few people who don’t. Or at least, at first. I guess it’s about attitude, how you deal with things. I think I have grown quite a bit lately in that aspect. Even though I don’t have some sort of job anymore I feel more in control of my life. I finally have time to paint again and I have started to write a book. It feels great to be able to make my own schedule and do things at my own pace. I keep forgetting I don’t work well with deadlines and a packed calendar. I need space to breathe. So that’s what I’m doing. I’m taking responsibility for my own life. If that isn’t a grown up thing to do, I don’t know what is. 

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Things are getting real.

Last night I helped a friend pick up a stove she had bought second hand. When we got there the guy selling it showed us where he had stored it and nodded at me: you take that side and we'll carry it together. There was no question of my female friend carrying it what so ever. This was a man's job. It didn't matter that my friend is probably stronger then that guy was, or that it was her stove. We were men and this is what we do.

Last week I helped out filming a Virtual Pump DVD. Me and that same friend are in the background with our barbells. It was quite an interesting experience. I haven't seen the final results yet and I have no idea how I look on camera but they did post a picture online of the V-Pump team. Of course they tagged me on facebook. An old friend of mine, who I haven't seen in ages, sent me a PM. At first she had just recognized my friend and hadn't really paid attention to the three guys in the picture. And then she noticed I was tagged and it was me. It seems I have changed so much that, at first glance, I don't look like my old girly self any more but really look like a regular guy.

And then there is the new gym I'm going to where I'm 'stealth' and no one knows I'm trans and no one bats an eye when I walk into the men's room.

When I started thinking about transition it was all very abstract. You have some idea of what it might be like but you're not sure. You see other people do it and think it sounds like a good idea. You listen to their experiences, watch people on the street, observe how they behave and everything. You think a lot. But that's all theory. You have no idea what it will feel like. You might think you do, but you don't. No one can tell you what it's like. It's different for everyone. At some point you just know you can't keep going the way you used to and something needs to change. So you take the plunge and you start your journey. And then it becomes a bit like having a baby. You have this long period of waiting, of growing and changing, before it becomes real. A lot of people might think that the surgery is like the birth. I'm expecting the same thing. But sometimes I notice that's not completely true. Unlike having a baby transition is something that happens more gradually. I know quite a few people now who have never known me as a girl. And some people don't even know I'm trans. Experiences like I just described make it real. Slowly you move from 'I think I should be a guy' to 'I'm going to become a guy' to 'I actually am a guy'. Theory becomes reality. It's no longer just in my head. I'm living it. I can feel myself shifting into a new state of being, closer to my true self. I used to really dislike myself but that feeling is slowly disappearing and being replaced by a new confidence I had never experienced before. This isn't just about becoming a man. This is about becoming myself, more then anything else. I am growing in ways I never thought possible. And this is just the beginning. Once I've had my surgery and changed my passport my transition may be finished but my journey will finally begin.

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Into the men's locker room.

Now I don't teach at a gym anymore I suddenly have to pay to be there instead of getting paid. This has had some consequences for my financial state as you would expect. So as a result I have moved to a different gym. A new place where nobody knows me. After some debate I decided to sign up at The Spartan. Also because they have memberships for 3 months and if you sign up in January you get one month for free. This means my membership expires right at the time when I have my surgery. Perfect timing. That way I can relax and take the time I need to recover without feeling the pressure of "I should be at the gym!" I know it's mental but at some point working out becomes a way of life.

http://www.lkvdespartaan.nl/home

The Spartan is an old fashioned gym. I'm not even sure if they really have any classes even though they claim to have aerobics. What they do have is one room for cardio, one with just machines for fitness, and two more with some fitness machines and also an insane amount of free weights. Rows and rows of dumbbells. Huge stacks of disks. The testosterone hits you right in the face when you walk in there. There is a lady's locker room upstairs but I haven't seen any women in there today. In the building that is. I didn't go into the lady's room. When I signed up they didn't need my passport. You just pay for the 3 months in one go and if you want to stay longer you just pay again. Very simple. After I signed up he gave me a key for one of the lockers and pointed to the dressing room. That way. The label on the key said: 19, men. So that was it. I didn't feel like explaining I couldn't shower in there so I decided to just take the plunge and go for it. I took a deep breath and walking in.

There were 3 men in there, talking. They looked at me, nodded, and continued to talk. Like I wasn't even there. That was all. So I hung up my coat and changed my sweatpants and shoes and put my bag into my designated locker. And I walked out. And that was all. No big deal. Well, of course, it was a big deal for me. But the fact that no one noticed it was, made it a success. While loading my barbell for my squats I did realize something. This means technically I'm going stealth here. No one knows I am trans. They all think I'm a regular guy just like the rest of them. I have no idea how they will react if they find out. None what so ever. I don't know these people at all. The freedom I felt when I walked out of the dressing room disappeared rather quickly when I realized that, because they don't know, they could find out by accident. So while I was working out at first I was constantly aware if my boobs and my binder. But then I realized something else. They don't know me, and they don't care. They're not paying any attention to me at all. They are doing their thing and I am doing mine. We are all there for the same reason: to lift some steel. That's all there is. No one cares about anything else. So I'm just going to do my thing there and lift some steel, as a man.

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My uterus and I.

My uterus and I haven't been getting along for quite a while. I'm not completely sure when it started. When I was on the pill as a teenager and in my early twenties I would get my period like clockwork. Tuesday afternoon at 2pm. But when I got a girlfriend I quit taking the pill and my period disappeared. Later I learned it was probably because of my low weight and the fact that I wasn't eating enough. In my mid twenties I started eating a bit more for a while and my period came back. We have been arguing ever since. I never knew when she would wave a red flag nor if she meant it. So eventually I got a coil, hoping to settle things once and for all. Or at least for a few years. No such luck. She still pops up every now and then but never in full bloom.
Now I have started testosterone things have not calmed down at all. In addition there are sharp pains or cramps as I feel my uterus shrinking. She's not going down without a fight.

A uterus is a woman's greatest asset. It's her crown jewel. It brings forth life. But in my case, she is an adversary. She reminds me of what I am and what I am not. Of what I will never be. Every time she cramps up it feels as of she mocks me. She holds back my masculinity. Over the years she has forced me into a shape I never wanted. She has made my life miserable. If all goes well she will be out of my life for good in as little as 4 months. It will be a little bit of death, and a rebirth. I can't wait.

In the mean time, I'm not getting any jewels back. I will be permanently infertile. I will never be able to have children. Then again, I'm 35 and not in a solid relationship where children are even an option. I never even wanted kids in the first place. So this shouldn't be a big deal, right? This is simply moving forwards. A logical step. Nothing to it. Alas, that is not how it works. Having the choice to not have children is different from not having a choice anymore. I know, having been born female bodied, the choice is pretty much over anyway. But my sister is 2 years older then me and is now having her second child. I'm happy for her. We hadn't expected it to happen but it did. So of the still got a chance at her age, why shouldn't I?

But wait, I didn't want kids, right? Right. So why is this a big deal again?

I have been thinking about this and I think it has to do with mortality and the meaning of life. If you have children a bit of you lives on in them when you die. If you don't have children you have to find a different way to impact the world. That's it in a nutshell. A lot of people try to live through their children. It's not always a good idea but it happens all the time. They hope their children will do all the things they never did, for whatever reason they may have had. Their children can compensate for their mistakes. They can undo their wrongs. When you don't have kids, you have to do all of that on your own. That's pretty big. This means that making the permanent decision to not have children automatically results in making the decision to live my life for me and me alone. That I have to do everything myself. That I can not rely on someone to make up for the things I didn't do.

Feel free to accuse me of thinking too much for my own good. I won't deny it.

Another thing is the social implication. Life exists purely to sustain itself. Procreating is the most important thing there is. We have copied that in our social structures. You can see this in any society. Children provide status and security. If you do not have children you are pitied. People generally find it hard to believe that some people don't want to have children. They don't understand why someone would not want to have children. I don't feel the need to defend myself as to why I don't want them, that's up to me and me alone. Often people assume you're just saying that because you don't have the option. But if you actually can't have them, then you truly are pitied indeed. And that is the last thing I need. I don't want this status attached to me of poor transperson who had to give up children. That is not the case. But I know some people that I will meet will think that way because it is easier for them then to accept the fact that I chose to live my life for myself instead of trying to live it through someone else. This might make me not a good living creature, but it doesn't make me a bad person. I think a lot of people would be happier if they focused a bit more on what they would like to do with their lives instead of putting pressure on their kids to have better grades then the neighbor's kids. If you want that's best for your children, don't you think setting an example on how to be happy with yourself would be more valuable then comparing them to others?

Final conclusion: it's time for me and my uterus to part ways. After all, you usually regret the things you didn't do more then the things you did do.

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Oh my.... size.

People generally agree I have gotten bigger in a good way. They say I look impressive, strong. When I look at the statistics they are right. I have gained over 2kg of muscle since I started testosterone and have lost over 3kg of fat. The difference is noticeable. On a good day I would agree I look pretty good. Most days however, I disagree. Most days I feel like I look scrawny. I feel my arms are way too thin and my shoulders too narrow. This is a very strange thing. Let me show you why.

The picture on the left is me, 6 years ago. When I took that picture I felt huge! There was way too much of me and I wanted to disappear. My eating disorder never had anything to do with wanting to be pretty. I simply felt there was something wrong with me and the less there was of me the less wrong I was. A strange construct but it made sense when I came up with it at age 7.

The picture on the right I took this morning. Again, it is impossible to be objective about it. I'm not sure how I feel, but I know it's not what it should be. Part of the problem is obvious. The boobs. They have to go. They get in the way of the rest of me. It's like all of me is hiding behind those boobs. Maybe that's why I feel the rest of me should be bigger. Not just generally bigger, but specifically muscular bigger. Manly.

But that's not the only problem. For a very long time I was very thin. Part of me always knew that, even if there was too much left still. It was part of my identity. And now I am letting that go. More then that. I am actively getting as big and strong as my body wants to be. I'm allowing my body to grow towards it full potential. I know I should be bigger. I know I should allow myself to take up space. There's the thing: taking up space. I used to feel that was such an awful thing to do. And now I am allowing myself to take up space it feels like I'm still not getting enough of it. I need more. I need to be present. I need to manifest myself. I need to stand like a mountain.

I might be over compensating. I am aware of that. But I think it is a natural process that you need to go through. After denying myself for so long I really need to say: here I am, not just to others, but mostly to myself. This is a part of my transition that is more mental then physical, though it may seem to be the other way around. By letting my body change I am slowly letting go of who I used to think I was supposed to be and growing into my own. It's a slow and painful process. Something that doesn't hit the surface much but is still there, constantly rearing it's head. These are the growing pains. Every time I look in the mirror I hope to see myself. On a good day now I do. I'm hoping there will be more and more of those to come.

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