Life in Transition

Removing Gender

2008-06-12T21:34:00.000+10:00

As an IT consultant, my job often involves clarifying with clients exactly what it is they want a software system to do, and contribute suggestions because, quite often, what they think they want isn't actually what they want. Today, while meeting with a client for this purpose, we discussed a piece of their software which allowed them to search for a person in their database.

The criteria for searching were pretty typical: first name, surname, etc. That is, except for one particular field - gender. My clients had asked for the ability to search by gender.

Now, it's not my place to tell clients what to do as such; moreso, I'm there to, well, consult. So I pointed out the gender criterion and subtly asked if having to specify gender was actually how they wanted the searching to work. And they sat there and thought for a moment, blinking as though wondering why they'd included gender at all.

And the reason? They had no idea. In their case, there was no practical use for searching by gender (it wasn't as though the clients were running a dating service or anything). If anything, it's rather impractical to have to specify someone's gender when searching for their records, especially if you only have a(n often ethnic) name to go by.

So we struck it off the list. Gone. No more having to discriminate by gender when searching.

A part of me recognises that this was some sort of overlapping line between social traditions (where gender has historically - for whatever reason - been part of identifying someone) and social reality (where it doesn't make sense for a modern business like this particular client to distinguish between male and female). The rest of me is just happy because we got rid of a silly search field and made some clients lives easier.

Radio

2008-06-09T11:35:00.003+10:00

Some time ago, an ex colleague asked if I'd mind appearing for an interview on a community radio programme which he hosts. Well, over a year later, it's going ahead - the Orange Ribbon programme airs on Melbourne radio station JOY 94.9FM at 7pm AEST on Wednesday, 18th June. You can also catch the show at the JOY 94.9 website by clicking the Listen link at the top.

Yes, I'm nervous about saying something stupid that will upset someone in the LGBT communities, or plainly sounding dull as a bollard, or having a fit of inarticulation. It will be live, too, so more's the worry.

Legalities of Gender, Part III

2008-05-19T18:06:00.001+10:00

My application went through, and my legal details have been amended! The certificate lists my name, gender (female), date of birth, and country of birth (Malaysia). Where I might ordinarily provide a birth certificate to identify myself, I can produce this instead.

What does this mean? Well the short answer is, it means I'm legally female!

The longer answer is that it means I can finally have that pesky M on my bank account/insurance/passport changed to an F, and that I have the same legal rights as any woman, entitling me to do things like marry a man (but prohibiting me from marrying a woman, since gay marriage is still illegal in Australia, of course).

Something I haven't gotten my head around is that they've also canceled my change-of-name certificate. I'm not exactly sure what this means, but it seems to imply that, officially, my name has always been Amanda and I've always been female. This raises the question of what I'm going to do about some vestigial things which are still in my old name; I can foresee a lot of confusion if I try to request for a name change using the canceled certificate, and the new Recognised Details certificate doesn't contain any details to link me to my previous name. Hmmm.

The really surreal part is that to me, and to most of the people around me, who I am has become so obvious that the official stuff just seems odd and overstated. But that's our society for you. :)

Please Call Stella

2008-05-18T20:36:00.005+10:00

Another voice post, just to fill the silence while I have nothing else to write about. ^.^ Here's me reading the "Please call Stella" passage: Click to Listen

Beauty of Bureaucracy

2008-05-08T19:06:00.002+10:00

A few days ago I received a letter from the Department of Justice concerning my application to have my gender legally corrected. It read as follows:

Our ref: [reference thingy]

AMENDMENT OF BIRTH RECORD
I refer to your recent enquiry to the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages.

Please return your original change of name certificate in your current name for cancellation. Once I am in receipt of that certificate, I can finalise you [sic] application and send you an amended certificate.

The change of name certificate I'd sent with the application was a copy, not the original, so I thought, "Hm, fair enough" and sent along the original with the following letter:

RE: [reference thingy]

As requested, please find enclosed my original Change of Name certificate to be cancelled/amended.

Yours sincerely,
Amanda [Surname]

Today, what should show up in my letter box but the same Change of Name certificate with a note scrawled in blue pen, all capitals:

PLEASE STATE WHAT NEEDS TO BE AMENDED.

Um, people? Aren't you supposed to be the ones who tell me that? Do you actually know what you're doing? -.-

Nevermind. Retaliate with the original letter I received stapled to their note, adding in my own black ink:

Please see attached. I was requested to supply the documentation for amending without being told what is to be amended.

-Amanda

Guess we'll see what happens.

Boringly Normal

2008-05-05T18:35:00.000+10:00

A week ago, about five weeks after resuming HRT on 1mg of Progynova daily, I started getting hot flushes. Dr Hunter's instructions in this case were to progress to 2mg daily, so I did. Seems to be working - the hot flushes are gone, and I must admit, I feel a little more comfortable on this level of estrogen. Purely an emotional dependence there, I'd have to say, but after the pre-surgery withdrawal, I'm kinda wary about this stuff.

Apart from that, life has been boringly normal from a trans standpoint (which is, at this stage, a really good thing). :P I resumed work last week; had a little trouble sitting at a desk for a whole day to begin with, but I'm fine now - no rubber donut involved.

My application for the formal change of details is being processed - I've been asked to provide my original change of name certificate for cancellation and amendment, which I mailed off today. After that, the Registry of Births, Deaths and Marriages (that strange trifecta of significant times in a person's life) will legally recognise me as female. It's a nice bit of closure for me; something of an end to the ambiguous, somewhat genderqueer existence I've had over the last few years.

And as for the effects of SRS - wow! I feel really secure and confident in myself day to day, something I've only begun to notice due to having returned to work. Guess I was right about reasons for wanting to do it.

Gender issues have simply faded into the background lately. If it weren't for the regular dilation regimen and the fact that I'm still aware of the aches of surgery, I doubt I'd be thinking about the trans stuff much at all. It's really quite liberating!

Bleurgh

2008-04-20T07:43:00.003+10:00

Well, healing has been going well: the feelings of hypersensitivity have thankfully faded, swelling has reduced significantly, and I'm at two months post-op without experiencing any significant difficulty with dilation (and no loss of depth). I've stopped the Betadine rinsing and application as instructed, which saves a bit of time each dilation. I can also mostly sit without the rubber donut, even in a car, though it does hurt after some time. I think I can drive without too many problems, in fact.

All in all, I figured I'm doing well enough to be back at work in another week, and told my workplace so.

However, I now seem to have caught something severe and flu-ey off mum. >_< Dizzy, sniffy, coughy, and achey. Timing could have been better, I must say. Tonight was supposed to have been dinner with some friends; sort of a first outing after surgery, but the way I'm feeling, I think I'm going to pike.

Legalities of Gender, Part II

2008-04-14T10:01:00.004+10:00

Last Wednesday morning, I had my first post-op appointment with Dr Harte. And really, it felt more like a "welcome back" than a therapy session: he asked how things went, whether I was back at work (I'm not), and whether I was experiencing any post-op depression (I don't think I am), and gave me a couple of questionnaires to fill out regarding my mood and experiences post-op. He also asked if there were any aspects to the Monash gender clinic's processes that I felt could be improved; I replied that it had mostly gone well except that I wasn't so sure about Dr Kennedy's suitability, to which he kind of gravely nodded and acknowledged that others share the same concerns.

Dr Harte also asked if I'd be willing to speak with some of his students for one session, as he felt I'd be representative of a down-to-earth individual who'd been through a successful transition rather than a "crazy". I told him I'd have no problems with that; after all, it's in line with my own feelings on how to spread awareness without looking like a lunatic.

In turn, I had him fill out his half of the Application for Alteration of Sex in Birth Register or a Recognised Details Certificate form. In my case, this is for the recognised details cert, as my birth certificate is Malaysian. The application requires two medical practitioners to verify that you've been through SRS (or possibly at least an orchiectomy; I'm not sure where Victoria stands in that regard), and two other medical practitioners to witness for them. As it turns out, the second half of the application was filled in by a visit to a GP on Friday morning. In both cases, the formal letters from Dr Suporn were sufficient as evidence of SRS.

I just have to mail this all in with the requisite proof of identity, wait around for them to process the application, and the Australian government will finally acknowledge me as female!

(And then I get to do the wonderful task of chasing down all my accounts at various organisations to have my details fixed...)

On Trans Support Groups

2008-04-06T10:39:00.003+10:00

Therapists have occasionally questioned my lack of participation in trans support groups, and it's true - I've steadfastly avoided such groups all along. My explanation is straightforward: that I'm not really in need of this sort of support, and that the only connection I would feel with the members of such a group as opposed to any other people is, well, transition. My unspoken reason for avoiding such groups is that it struck me early on when I tried to contact one (not knowing where to turn to when beginning my transition) how insular, internally insecure, and well... stuck-in-a-rut they can be.

I've stopped participating in that group I previously wrote about.

The hypocrisy and self-congratulating was getting to me, as it comes at the expense of those who don't pass well, don't identify neatly with "male" or "female", are in mid-transition, and a whole lot of others. I mean, when you want to expound upon not having a victim mentality, please don't then go into a speech about your transition hardships. When you want to declare that trans folk should fight for anti-discrimination, please don't turn your back on trans activism or marginalise those who don't pass well. And when you want to talk of having moved on after transition and finally living the life that was denied you, don't hang about in a tranny forum continually announcing how wonderful and miraculous your own transition has been.

One is left with a feeling of confusion, but also more cynically so, a feeling of affirmation that trans support groups are less about any actual support and more about having a place for birds of a feather to preen and strut, such that they can put themselves above others who are less fortunate or less privileged and declare just how much trannier they are than thou.

*sighs*

If I ever get like that, someone please shoot me.

Trans-Bigotry

2008-04-04T13:55:00.003+11:00

Since my surgery, I've become privy to a forum of discussion populated by the sorts of people who intend to go - or have gone - about doing all the transitioney surgical things and living as women. And the thing I never realised is that many people seem to undertake transition without the slightest thought to trans issues that nevertheless do concern them. I don't expect that everyone would embrace gender deconstructionism and become academic about the subject (frankly, most of us just want to go about our lives), but the mindsets being expressed in that forum are prickling at my sense of humanity in all sorts of ways that make me question whether I really do or ever want to be stealth.

To pick on one person describing another patient:

"He had hairy arms and legs, dark beard shadow, short hair, and was dressed from head to toe in ordinary male clothing: baseball cap, shorts, short-sleeved shirt, athletic shoes and socks. He had not the least solitary sign of any femininity, whatsoever. Obviously, he had not thought transition through, had not done any RLT, or anything at all that one would expect to see in an SRS candidate. If he ever even SAW a therapist, he was not given good guidance."

Mis-gendering ("he" instead of "she", when this person was well aware that the other patient identified as female). Poor form when done deliberately, and somehow even poorer when coming from someone who probably was subject to the same issues of gender identity at some stage. Seriously, we hate it when the press does it, so how is this tolerable?

The paragraph (let alone the post in its entirety, which says things like don't-undergo-transition-unless-you-are-going-to-be-passable) reeks of elitism and shallowness, and clangs like a brick off all the things I think is right about transition for transsexual people. As if swapping the baseball cap, shorts, and shirt for a tiara and evening gown is what defines a woman. As if undergoing facial surgery is what makes one feminine.

As if transition is about pleasing everyone else's sensitivities.

A further quote, describing the same patient later on:

"...although he was wearing a large, shapeless sundress and sporting a pair of dangly earrings, he wore no makeup, his arms and legs were still hairy and he was wearing his athletic shoes and socks. He looked like he was going to a Halloween party. Just unbelievable."

Uh huh, so you can't be a woman unless you wear makeup, shave your legs, and slip on some high heels (or ballet flats at a supposed minimum). Is it just me? Or is this about as progressive toward feminism and trans issues as a tortoise on a treadmill?

And keep in mind that the person in question is just recovering from SRS; how many natal women would feel like getting dolled up immediately after major surgery? I think I could barely reach down to put shoes on, let alone shave my legs. And as for the earrings, well, my ears wouldn't even have been pierced, so at least that patient had it better than I did.

So, we have someone who's decided to do something about their gender issues, evidently doesn't naturally pass well, and probably hasn't had or been receptive to many years of female social conditioning. Sounds pretty much like a lot of us, right? So what's wrong with that?

"If he ever even SAW a therapist, he was not given good guidance."

Well, according to this person - this member of the group with passing privilege - it's bad because the individual in question didn't fall prey to an outmoded gatekeeper model of therapy.

And we wonder where trans oppression comes from.

"Just unbelievable."

You got that right.

Back to Basics

2008-03-25T23:45:00.003+11:00

My recent surgery, along with some articles and blog commentary that have been causing ripples in trans circles, has had me thinking about some of the basic reasons behind transition and the kinds of related things people often get muddled up about. I'm also far enough along that I've grown hazy on my own thinking regarding a few of these things, so in the interests of returning to the basics, here's a handful of the common, deeper questions and misconceptions that tend to arise:

Why can't you simply make the best of what you've been given, and accept who you are without changing yourself via transition? After all, you'll never really be female.

I tried, I really did. Even with the support I've received, transition isn't easy by any stretch of the imagination and I'd never have even set a single footstep down on this journey if it wasn't my last recourse. The easy way to understand this, if you don't already, is this phrase:

"I can't imagine ever having a sex change."

Me neither, until a few years ago. I mean, who would honestly want to put themselves through all this stuff if it weren't necessary? That's how strong the gender dysphoria can be.

Never being exactly like a natal female is something I just have to accept. But the primary reason for transition is to seek relief from gender dysphoria, and that's exactly what it has done.

The other side to this is that I'm actually closer to being who I am after transition than before; I'm less guarded and closed up, more open and apt to be happy. In short, this is who I am.

If you are already presenting as female and people are reacting to you as a female, why do you need genital reassignment surgery?

Lots of varying answers to this depending on who you ask, but for me personally, it's because I still saw what was down there whenever I had to undress and it was triggering the gender dysphoria that I'd worked so hard to relieve myself of. Having male genitalia also impacted my everyday life in practical ways, such as making me choose clothing based on having to hide "the bulge". And on another level, it made me feel fraudulent in that whenever someone met me and gendered me as being female, I felt guilty for "misleading" the person because of what was hidden from plain sight.

And of course, it means being able to conduct sexual relationships as a female - something my mind has always instinctively posited and which manifested in fantasies I've had while growing up. The "male way" simply seems distressing and wrong.

As I recover from surgery, I can see that these problems are fading away for me.

If you believe that gender is fluid and a construction of society, wouldn't you then just be reinforcing gender roles by making people see you as female?

That's kinda backwards. To understand why, just ask the same question of any genetic female. Genetic women aren't out there "trying" to be women - they simply are women. The same goes for transwomen.

The problematic area is that transwomen (particularly in the early stages of transition) are more apt to play up to gender stereotypes in order to fit in and pass, but as real life goes on, the tendency to do this generally dissipates (which is another reason I'm an advocate of the Real Life Experience).

A transman having a baby is like having your cake and eating it too - people can't have everything, so why should they be allowed to do these things that other men can't do?

If a transman still retains functional female reproductive organs, then why shouldn't he be allowed to have a baby? There are already enough things denied to transpeople in general, transmen in the specific - after all, there is no reliable surgery for female-to-male genital reconstruction so the vast majority of transmen don't have an option there anyway. The argument that "he wanted to become a man; he is now a man and therefore shouldn't be allowed to carry a child" is nonsensical because it denies the person's past as a natal female: genetic men don't become pregnant because they are biologically incapable, not because they simply call themselves men.

Getting There Slowly

2008-03-24T16:03:00.001+11:00

My anti-swelling and antibiotics medication ran out a few days ago, and I stopped the painkillers at the same time (on the hunch that they probably weren't doing much and because I prefer the less-is-better approach when it comes to medication). The day immediately after was a bit more uncomfortable - noticeably more painful in the morning, but certainly bearable, so I've stayed off them. That means no more medication whatsoever, which is a nice milestone.

I've also discovered that I can sit somewhat comfortably on our couches even without the rubber donut if I pull my legs up under me. Works for me!

And what's more? Being back on hormones for three weeks has meant a return of the vibrancy and tactile quality to the world which I'm just loving - it's like the return of an old friend. It sort of snuck up gradually on me over that period too, rather than being the sudden change I'd expected (since that's what happened when I went on HRT for the very first time). Some of the physical changes which had reversed after I'd stopped hormones have returned too. Very pleasing!

Swelling of the surgical area has greatly improved in the last two days, to the point where I'm realising my reference point for measuring depth while dilating has changed (meaning my apparent depth if I use the same - now un-swelled - spot for measuring is now slightly reduced). Essentially no bleeding - the pads are coming away clean apart from Betadine and Dermazin, which means I'm sleeping without a sanitary sheet now. Yet another thing down!

Can you tell I'm a progress-oriented type? :P

Dilation is becoming a bit more difficult, however. I'm still reaching 6.5 inches with the medium, and moving successfully to the large, but there's a stiffness or tightness creeping in which wasn't there before, so I suspect scar tissue contraction has begun. Just before we left Thailand, Dr Suporn did tell me that my graft healing has been quite rapid, but that rapid tissue healing also generally entails rapid scar contraction (supposedly this is more typical in Asians), which matches what I'm experiencing. I'm glad I have the time off to be able to do three dilations a day for now.

Homecoming

2008-03-21T23:08:00.002+11:00

We landed in Melbourne at 9pm on Tuesday. Perching on my rubber donut for the duration of the flight was actually much more tolerable than I expected, due to: 1) there being an empty seat next to mum and I so we had room to spread out, 2) there being no seats behind us because we were at the end of one "section" so we could kick back, and 3) planes being unexpectedly much less bumpy than motor vehicles (which makes sense given that plane food doesn't tend to go flying off the tray as it might do in a fast-moving car).

No problem with customs, though the floral candle the clinic gave me confused the heck out of the officers watching the x-ray screen. They asked us to open the bag and the box to explain what was in it, but happily let us through once we showed them it was a candle. Must have looked rather odd on the x-ray, I'd imagine. The thing has four wicks coming out of beautiful wax roses, and a round coconut shell base with three peg legs, so for all I know it might have resembled some elaborate bomb, complete with fuses.

It's cold in Melbourne. I mean, coming across from Thailand, ya generally expect that but we'd been forewarned by everyone about the heat wave which was apparently occurring back home only to be greeted by 13ºC weather when we arrived. Brrr.

Out of the baggage area, and finally through the doors into the arrival hall where dad and my brother greeted us at the end of a row of people making oh-it's-not-our-folk noises. I think mum and I were both really glad to see them - it'd been a(n at times harrowing) month, after all. We drove home telling them all about the trip, had a light dinner (as in, a small bowl of soup, in my case, just to go with my evening dosage of anti-swelling, anti-biotic, and pain medication), and half-unpacked before collapsing into bed.

Since then I've been taking my time adjusting back to life here with the new elements of limited mobility and a daily dilation regimen. The first dilation on Wednesday morning was, as expected after missing a day due to the flight home, difficult, but by the end I still managed to reach depth with the medium (31mm) dilator. After the midday and evening dilations, it was about as easy as it had been in the hotel in Chon Buri. On Thursday night, I managed to successfully dilate using the large (34mm) dilator by starting with the medium one first. I'm hoping to eventually be able to dilate using the large one as standard, but it really depends on how severe the tissue contraction due to healing will be.

A three-times-a-day dilation schedule is very intrusive into daily life, however. There's no way I can keep this going once normality begins to set in, even with sessions taking about 20 minutes. I'm glad two sessions a day is supposedly okay.

Finding places to sit is problematic. I'm staying with my parents for the time being until I find it easier to cope alone again, but our chairs around the house don't seem very comfortable with a rubber donut on them. The most comfy position seems to be half-sitting, half-recline, which I've taken to doing either on the couch or on the bed in my brother's room with the computer on my lap. It sounds like a minor thing, but it results in me spending portions of my day in very specific places around the house. I tried sitting without the donut but there's still enough swelling that the first part to make contact with the seat is the site of my surgery.

Bleh... I just realised even sitting at my piano isn't going to be trivial.

Bleeding from the revision surgery has just about ceased, which is pleasing. A lot of the little fast-dissolving sutures are coming off too, making things a bit more comfortable. The pain varies throughout the day - it seems worse in the morning, for reasons unknown to me. Subsides to a dull but persistent ache in the middle of the day, and in the evenings like right now, it generally doesn't hurt at all. There are some areas which look like they may become granulation tissue, but ever since Sophie's class this doesn't really worry me (Dr Suporn's philosophy is to let granulation spontaneously heal in time rather than cauterising, unless it is causing too much discomfort).

It's funny but I miss Thailand already. I feel a little bit in limbo, being on the mend but not quite there such that I don't think I could get through a full week of work (or even do many things around the house, really). I guess there was a psychological expectation that being home meant being "well", but I'm adjusting to the reality of recovery. The expected stages of recovery as explained to me don't exactly inspire, either: three months for the internal skin graft to fully heal, six months before resuming rigorous or strenuous physical activity (or heavy lifting, which apparently seems to mean I aren't allowed to carry anything weighing more than an inflated rubber donut encased in a cloth cover, rendering the question of whether a scuba tank and weight belt are okay definitively moot), nine months for all the wounds to be robustly healed and the sensation of having been taken to with a scalpel to go away, and a full year for total healing. Well, I guess I did initially plan my entire transition to occur over three years (the last year being for SRS and subsequent recovery), so on that note, things are going according to plan.

I miss our dog terribly too - the family house feels odd without him around and I keep doing things by habit expecting him to be there, like checking the windows to see if he wants in, or responding to noises which sound like him. When you grow up with a pet as part of the family, and are absent when it passes away, it isn't easy to acknowledge that he's really gone. Even harder when the first thing you expect upon getting home is for him to come greet you. *sighs*

Farewell Thailand

2008-03-18T02:08:00.003+11:00

Local time: Monday, 10.08pm

This evening, I had my final appointment at the clinic. Dr Suporn removed a couple more stitches, and trimmed another couple to be less likely to spike me. Unfortunately, nothing could be done about the fresh stitches from Friday's revision; I say unfortunately because they're the ones with their little prongs sticking up, encircling the clitoris, which is still hypersensative from the surgery.

Dr Suporn also asked if I'd like to be taken through the surgery photos. I've studied enough SRS surgical photos to have been desensitized to the sights, and I was curious about my own surgery, so I said yes. And maybe it was because they looked like all the other SRS photos I'd seen, or maybe because I'm already forgetting what it's like to carry the old apparatus, but I found myself pretty detached to what he showed me. It was a little as though they weren't pictures of me at all. At any rate I now have a CD of the pics, just for record keeping's sake cos there sure ain't any sentimental value there.

There was also an appointment with Mrs Suporn, who is very much the type of Great Woman you might find behind a Great Man. (She explained that her three children being daughters was just another sign that Dr Suporn "specialises in making girls".) What was the appointment for? Well, some topical anaesthetic cream (EMLA) and thirty minutes waiting time later, and she'd pierced my ears and given me little silver dragonfly sleepers! Apparently she was once a nurse, and now it's just something she does for you if you ask nicely. So my ears are finally pierced! Cool! Hurt a bit more than a blood test but less than an average vaccine injection. The pain in my ear lobes is a souvenir to remember her by, is how she described it, just as the pain down below is something to remember Dr Suporn by. When put like that, it's kinda hard to convince people that I'm not masochistic.

There were a lot of goodbyes after that. Mum handed the clinic girls some chocolates we'd bought them as thanks for all their help, and we took a few photos of everyone. They presented me with a going-away souvenir: a beautiful, enormous scented candle made to look like a floral arrangement. Also, I received copies of the medical certificate saying I'd had the surgery, along with the hospital reports. I gave Dr Suporn my heartfelt thanks and goodbyes, to which he responded by smiling and reminding me that the next month of recovery is going to be difficult. >_<

Mum and I stopped by a hawker stall for dinner on the way back to the hotel, and I performed what will be my last dilation for the next 36 hours or so before we packed everything save for the basics we'd need tomorrow.

We're leaving Chon Buri at 5am. Time to get some shut-eye!

On Being Post-Operative

2008-03-15T21:16:00.002+11:00

Local time: Saturday 5.16pm

The term "post-op" carries some pretty heavy connotations in trans circles. For many, it seems that SRS is the culmination of years of self-exploration, yearning, planning, and being generally tied up in the whole game of Satisfy-The-Therapist. Lots of people use phrases like "becoming whole", "life-changing", and "finally becoming a woman" to describe the experience of having gone through SRS.

I just don't think it's that simple.

It's true that reaching the point of SRS involves things that overwhelm your life; psychological examination, the Real Life Experience, those crucial letters of referral. When you get there and have the surgery, however, you're left with a big hole in your life where those things used to be. But I'm deeply aware that transition - by definition - is about moving on. Once you've gotten where you want to be, you're no longer in transition. Conversely, if you're stuck somewhere which you declare you don't want to be, you're also not in transition. My life changed for the better in February 2006 when I sought help from a clinical psychologist who, granted, knew very little about transsexualism beyond that some people switched sexes. I think I "became whole" in about December 2006 or January 2007, when I began living in earnest as the person I saw myself as. I've said time and time again that SRS isn't the biggest step for me, but just the tying up of some loose ends. I've wondered for some time how earnestly I meant what I said, and how I would feel after SRS, and I think I finally have some answers.

You know those physical examinations that always got to me so much? Post SRS, despite having been stirruped and examined and poked and prodded down there numerous times now, they haven't bothered me nearly as badly, save for the obvious and understandable embarrassment that having a roomful of people officiously staring at your naked crotch can cause. For me, there's been no halo of enlightenment, no sudden "this is it" realisation - in fact I've been waiting for such a realisation all month and don't think it's coming. But the old body image distress is gone, and hopefully with it, the last of my gender dysphoria.

There's a whole lot of new things to learn and get used to, new "tranny issues" as well as things that go with having female anatomy. There's a bunch of memories I can take away with me from this trip, and the warm thought that probably, the most invasive surgery I'm ever going to have is now behind me. But there's not going to be any more regular psychological probing, letters of referral, matters of incongruent identification documentation, or all of those other things that keep someone in transition emotionally and physically occupied. And while the journey through transition was fun, as far as I'm concerned, the end of all those things is all good.

"Post-op transsexual" is such a heavyweight term. But it's beginning to hit me that, well, that's what I now am: post-op. And that's all I'm going to linger on that note, because in the end, transition is about moving on.

And there's a whole lot of things I now want to get on with doing besides sitting down, twiddling my thumbs, and "being post-op". I'm not quite there yet: need to recover first, somehow fit all the new stuff into my life, and sort out some more documentation. However, I've gotten one of the bigger things out of the way now, and I'm glad and very much relieved.

My life hasn't and isn't going to change because of SRS - it's just been on hold and can now continue.

Post Post-Op Op

2008-03-15T17:20:00.002+11:00

Local time: Saturday, 1.20pm

Back in the hotel again, on the mend from yesterday's revision operation. I was showered and put into a hospital gown yesterday afternoon, then taken upstairs in the clinic where I once again met with the anaesthesiologist who'd done my SRS. This was reassuring, both because he was a familiar face and because I hadn't expected there to be an anaesthesiologist for this operation at all. IV drip in my right arm this time, and a cold sensation there that slowly took me to dreamland; not like the mask-over-the-face variety which knocks you off straight away.

I regained consciousness in a small ward in the clinic, watched over by one of the clinic nurses. Fell asleep again almost immediately. Woke back up, and mum was in there. The anaesthetic haze was fading quite quickly, and the time was apparently an hour or more after I'd gone into surgery. So, I got up, slowly made my way downstairs with the help of the nurses, and sat on one of the clinic's couches while they arranged for Jib to drive us back to the hotel. Someone from the clinic offered me cake and hot cocoa, because I hadn't eaten since 6am that morning and also to confirm that I can eat and drink normally. Rather nice; cake is always a consolation.

Then it was time to go. Pulled myself back up, and wobbled out the back of the clinic to hop in their vehicle. I can't exactly remember how I managed to get into the 4WD, but I guess it mustn't have been very difficult. Shuttled back to the hotel, led upstairs by mum. I remember feeling pretty lucid at the time, but my poor memory of details has a thing or two to say about that.

Collapsed onto the bed with a fresh sanitary sheet under me and still in the clinic gown, and began to sleep as per Dr Suporn's instructions. Or actually, I think I checked my email before sleeping. Not sure.

At some point mum ordered up room service for dinner, and I sat up in bed and ate pretty heartily. Then went to sleep again. Woke up noticing the pain. Slept. Woke up. Rinse, repeat, all night. What does a freshly repaired haematoma feel like? It feels kinda like a paper cut, but much much more intense and painful. And because it's swelled, there's no convenient way to keep the gown or anything else from making stinging contact with it. By morning though, I was actually feeling surprisingly well, despite the bleeding all over the gown and the sheet (fortunately, none on the bed). The surgical site looked a mess, though most of it was superficial dried blood that washed away easily. And the new wound had mostly closed, except for some very minor bleeding.

And the cosmetic repairs... well, Dr Suporn is highly skilled indeed. He'd closed the opening in the labia, and with the haematoma reduced to a suture line, everything looks much more balanced. Even moreso, the pain I was experiencing in the last few days from standing up was gone. I'm not sure whether it's because there's new swelling that has moved things into more comfortable positions, or because it's simply meant to be that way, but judging from the fact that other patients don't seem to have had the discomfort I did, I think it might be the latter.

Walking around very slowly today, but at least it's been less painful than previously. And aesthetically, the whole area looks really good, albeit swollen. Something about Dr Suporn: he's a perfectionist and an artist, and when you put yourself under his care, you become his artwork to refine in these revision operations until he's happy. This can be scary - one patient told me of her experience wherein he took the opportunity during her FFS revision to perform some surprise revision of her SRS too. But trust in him and the result generally seems to be great.

Meet and Greet

2008-03-14T11:00:00.001+11:00

Local time: Friday 7am

The Mercure Hotel put on a Meet and Greet party last night for Dr Suporn's patients, something it does once a month as Dr Suporn is apparently one of its top guests (due to the business he brings to the hotel). Some of the clinic girls came along, as did most of the patients, but the doctor himself didn't.

It's a fun thing to have. Food and drink and music and lots of chatter and amusing attempts by newly post-SRS patients at dancing. Something I've noticed is the number of trans girls who have additional work done, like FFS (Facial Feminisation Surgery) or breast augmentation, and it makes me wonder sometimes why of all those things, the only one I desired was SRS - the one thing that is, day to day, basically invisible to people anyway. I've written previously about my reasons for wanting SRS: both practical (think swimming) and psychological (I really didn't like what was there previously, to the point of having considered self-mutilation in the past; and while it was there, I felt like I was somehow toying with people's expectations whenever I passed, like a fraud). Haven't really mentioned FFS or BA...

FFS is kinda a given - the simple answer is that I don't think I need it, because the hormone therapy has given me adequate facial feminisation, and my features weren't all that distinctly male anyway. Breasts are a slightly different story, since mine have never really developed far even on hormones, and probably never will. Yet I don't really have an urge to seek BA. Maybe once again, I'm just comfortable in my own skin now (and haven't attempted to wear a cocktail dress yet).

Anyway, I'm past the no-food-or-drink point this morning and have a bit of extra surgery to look forward to this afternoon.

Tesco

2008-03-13T01:13:00.003+11:00

Local time: Wednesday, 9.13pm

Today we decided to book a taxi with the clinic's help to wander down to the local Tesco for some simple shopping. Taxis here are super cheap - 400 baht for the entire journey, including waiting in the parking lot for you while you're off doing your thing. Other options are the Tut-tuts and motorcycles, which we rejected purely because sitting on a rubber donut with a tender surgery wound on either of them would be less than prudent.

Now Tesco was more interesting than I expected. The Tescos I'm familiar with are members of a supermarket chain in the UK, much like Coles or Safeway in Australia. Groceries, foodstuffs, basic toiletries, that sort of thing. Chon Buri's Tesco is itself a little shopping centre which incorporates the supermarket along with lots of little stores, cafe-type places, beauty parlours, and rather East Asian indoor market areas selling fresh produce.

We had lunch there at a sort of Starbucksy cafe-restaurant place (Black Canyon?), which wasn't bad (mmm, green curry salmon rice in an omelette pouch). Wandered around and picked up a few nick-nacks (gifts for people back home as well as a few other cheap things we came across). I was aching a little as we walked but not unbearably so. Then mum stopped to negotiate having a pair of trousers altered for my brother, and well, the standing pain is much worse than the walking pain. For some reason, standing still seems to place a great deal more pressure on my groinal region than walking does, and it becomes really uncomfortable within moments. Pacing a short distance back and forth helps a little, as does shifting from foot to foot.

But we spent enough time waiting there that I ended up wandering out of the shop and waddling over to a bench to park my rubber donut until mum emerged.

We shopped for a few hours in total without my feeling too tired, which was good. No dizziness either, no thanks to those nutty painkillers. Got back outside, where we were enthusiastically greeted by the taxi driver (they're so awesomely polite and friendly, even while not speaking a word of English whatsoever), and made our way back to the hotel. Was a bit weary after that, but I've managed to get through today without actually napping, which I think is a first since being discharged from hospital (although I was sorta drifting in and out of sleep during the midday dilation session afterward).

I'm thinking from today that I'm gradually regaining my energy, so now it's mostly the surgical site itself that brings discomfort.

Painkillers

2008-03-11T22:11:00.002+11:00

Local time: Tuesday 6.11pm

One thing I was going to write about earlier but forgot: on Sunday I had a pretty bad spate of nausea, such that sitting or standing was making me dizzy and wanting to vomit, while lying down made me instantly want to shut my eyes and sleep but spun the world so much that I'd still feel like vomiting. Which I did eventually do.

And which clued us in to the problem: some heavy duty painkillers (we weren't told what they were, just that I should take them if the pain became bad) I'd taken the day before and that morning, in a futile attempt to sleep better since the surgery aches had been keeping me awake. We immediately stopped the dosage of that painkiller, and that evening I had a normal bowel movement to relieve the indigestion, then slept off the nausea.

The next morning, I felt basically normal again except that my stomach was still a little grumbley. All good now.

We returned the rest of our stock of those pills to the clinic. Scary things.

Sophie

2008-03-11T21:15:00.001+11:00

Local time: Tuesday, 5.15pm

Sophie is the main administrative contact at the Suporn Clinic - the one who responds to emails requesting information about surgery, handles booking of surgery dates, etc. Her written English has been excellent in our email communication, and today in her class I got to find out why: she's British. She also comes across as super-authoritative and self-crediting, like a sort of self-appointed second voice of Dr Suporn. This seems to hinder her credibility a little, and rubbed at least one of the other patients the wrong way, but nevertheless, the information she divulges seems like it will be very useful.

Much of it is, as Sophie herself states, derived from her own experience as a post-op SRS patient and from the many patients of the clinic that have been through under her administration and post-operative care. She's apparently to be the first point of contact for patients once we leave Thailand, and gives out a booklet covering her class material pretty comprehensively. The information contained therein is very much of a "this will happen, don't be worried, here's what to do" nature (presumably driven by a need to prevent overloading Sophie with emails from worried newly post-ops); a lot of it concerns the less pleasant aspects of recovery, like sloughing of dead skin, granulation tissue, "secretions", and so on. Also a lot of common sense stuff that I guess not everyone knows.

Interestingly, there's a large emphasis on dynamic dilation technique, and it appears what Dr Suporn explained was only a simple part of a whole. Sophie's dynamic dilation regimen involves applying firm direct pressure (to stretch "depth-wise") for 15 seconds, then a rotary pressure (to stretch "width-wise") for 15 seconds, then alternating, for a total of 15 minutes a session, ideally for three sessions a day (though she concedes that most people will end up doing two, due to the impracticality of dilating, say, in a stall in the ladies' room at lunchtime). "Firm" pressure, in these cases, is apparently "until it hurts too much"...

This dilation technique seems to be a development on the so-called "static dilation" traditionally employed post-op for SRS, as simple insertion and placement of a dilator cannot by itself negate the contraction (and thus reduction in width and depth) of the vagina. The evidence of its effectiveness is apparently (according to Sophie) borne out in the statistics (loss of depth over time) between patients who used the static technique and newer patients who used the dynamic technique.

After the class, I had a check-up with Dr Suporn, who arranged my revisive surgery session this Friday. No food or drink after 7am, into the clinic by 1pm, discharged sometime that afternoon. He explained local and general anaesthesia and suggested that I'd be given a general one (all good with me - my experience with local anaesthetics has always been with dentists, and never pleasant). There are two goals: firstly, to correct the sutures in the labia so that cosmetic healing occurs more easily (apparently the labia would have spontaneously healed in the long term anyway); and secondly, to reduce the haematoma so that there's no swelling when it eventually completely heals.

Depending on how all this goes, we might head home a couple of days earlier than planned. I think both mum and I are a little homesick, and the stresses of recovering from surgery look like they'll continue for a bit longer than I'd expected so doing a lot of exploration is going to be out.

That does raise the question of when I'll return to work, or indeed, attempt to return to some of my more physical activities, though. Hmm. Guess we'll take it as it comes. I have a feeling a normal day-to-day life is still a little while away.

Energetic...Not

2008-03-08T23:54:00.004+11:00

Local time: Saturday 7.54pm

Got a little ambitious today and decided to go with mum to do some exploring (well, shopping) at the local shopping centre they have here. It's a quaint little building very much like similar places in Malaysia - little central square on the ground floor with spiralling escalators and shops that go up several levels. Lots of brandless consumer electronics, cheap clothes, takeaway food, bootleg DVDs, and the like.

By the time we wandered through the stalls outside, around the ground floor shops, and half-way around the first floor up, I managed to find two nice replacements for the hair band that succumbed to bad vehicle suspension.

Then the pain started getting to me.

I think as the swelling is going down, and the nerves are waking up, there's just generally a lot more discomfort and tightness around the surgery area. I keep getting the "electric shock" sensations that are associated with nerve endings coming to life, and there's persistent aching, pulling pains along either side of my groin as I walk. It's the sort of pain that makes one very much aware of the stitches (and reduces one to waddling somewhat, penguin-style).

So we returned to the ground floor and sat at one of those robotic sushi train places for a rest and lunch (I had the rubber donut with me to sit on). I'd broken a sweat from pain and was more exhausted than I'd expected by this point, so it was nice to lounge and recover a little.

Wasn't much shopping after that: mum negotiated with a seller for a rice cooker she'd had her eye on (it's hard to find similar cookers in Australia, that work well and are reasonably priced), and I hobbled around after her, wincing most of the way and generally feeling pretty feeble.

When we got back to the hotel, I fell onto the bed, did my midday dilation, then slept for three hours or so. We just had dinner and I'm feeling more lively again, but I think my limits are still a little lower than I expected. Everything you read about SRS says to be aware that you'll tire easily during the earlier stages of recovery, but gee, it's just one of those things you think, "Nah, I'll be fiiine" to once the initial discomforts wear off.

I'm sure with some good rest tonight, tomorrow I'll be fiiine.

Grooming and Estrogen!

2008-03-07T23:52:00.002+11:00

Local time: Friday, 7.52pm

Running low on sanitary pads (cos they're how one prevents soiling one's underwear after SRS), so we crossed over to the clinic to pick some up. While there, mum and I took the opportunity with Sin's help to visit the nearby hairdresser and communicate our wants (cut and dye for mum, trim and highlights for me). They did a rather sumptuous job. At 2700 baht for the both of us, the fee is comparable to elsewhere (though actually much cheaper than an equivalent service in Melbourne, Australia). But the hairdressers were very thorough, and I love the result. (There was another trans patient there who had her hair straightened and styled - she looked gorgeous.)

There was a Thai lady in there having her nails done, who kept staring curiously at me; at first I assumed it was something about being read, and this surprised me as it would have been the first odd reaction I've received in Thailand (or anywhere else, actually...) for some time. But the hairdresser looked up and smiled and remarked that the woman was admiring my hair and saying I looked pretty. Like, huh. How very flattering!

The first Progynova pill went down this morning too. I waited till the morning so I can set an easy routine, like I did with the Microgynon pills. These look about the same, but are 1 mg estradiol varelate, which is a maintenance dose of HRT. When I next see Dr Hunter, I might ask about attempting to replicate a proper puberty with a slightly higher dose, but I have a feeling I know what his response will be (that adequate feminisation is going to occur even with a 1 or 2 mg dose).

So, it's been a particularly girly day.

Legitimisation by Cause

2008-03-06T22:43:00.001+11:00

Local time: Thursday, 6.43pm

An article on the intersection between transsexual and intersexual issues has been making the rounds which is well worth reading. And in many ways this resonates with my objections to the HBS/true transsexual views I'd previously written about; namely, that transsexuality doesn't need to have an extensive medical understanding and biological nature, and campaigning for it to be categorised under the already-complex intersexual label is ludicrous at best.

So let's get over it: Transsexuality happens. It has always happened. No, we don't quite know why. We have theories, and certain things about it are easier to explain if it does happen to be biological in nature. Some studies have been done. Nothing has been conclusive as of this writing.

Whether or not the causes are biological, our problems are societal. Maybe society thinks that transsexualism would be more legitimate if there were conclusive biological evidence, but that's society's problem, because it also thinks that there's something wrong with women who date women and men who like to dress up from time to time. But what does that legitimacy mean?

...because some people might take it to mean there's a way to "fix" us, before we "mutilate" ourselves, and others might think if the condition is detectable, it may be grounds for abortion, a la Klinefelter's Syndrome.

Graft Healing

2008-03-06T19:46:00.001+11:00

Local time: Thursday, 3.46pm

Just returned from a checkup with Dr Suporn. He was happy with the return of the dilation depth, and stressed that if it doesn't hurt a little, by definition dilation isn't adequate (which makes sense, since what you're doing is stretching the tissue). He also explained dynamic dilation: basically as you approach your depth, you begin a gentle rotary movement of the end of the dilator to make it easier to achieve the last inch or so.

There was a speculum involved, for examining the internal skin graft, which appears to be healing very well. He showed me via a mirror that the skin is smooth and basically lacking in angry stitches or anything I might have expected. The lack of bleeding and discharge has been further evidence of this, I guess.

Oh, and the big thing for me: he okayed resuming hormones. Yay!

How Good is Dr Suporn?

2008-03-06T17:12:00.001+11:00

Local time: Thursday, 1.12pm

I've been asked a few times how the surgery went and how I feel about it. And at least one person thought that SRS equated with simply having the penis cut off. :P I'm not going to post pictures - you can find those easily enough on the Web and on Dr Suporn's website. So, two and a half weeks post-op, here's some observations:

The inner and outer labia are clearly distinct. There's still swelling and my haematoma which is preventing the labia from sitting naturally closed, but as it bleeds down this is improving daily. The overall external appearance looks like it will be very natural.
All surfaces look natural in skin tone and texture, including the clitoris and the smooth "moist" appearance of the inside of the labia minora.
Clitoris, urethra, and vaginal opening are positioned naturally and analogously to a natal female. Urination isn't a clean stream yet but this is expected at this stage of healing. No problems with "trapped" urine or cleanliness.
Still lots of swelling around it, but there is a hood over the clitoris and frenulum under it. All very natural. Definitely sensate too, though currently uncomfortable due to the swelled labia irritating it.
There are two areas in the labia which will require minor corrective surgery due to stitches having come out prematurely. Purely cosmetic. Dr Suporn gives the impression that this will only take a moment and not add any significant healing time.
Pubic hair growth/density across the vulva does not appear to be abnormally stretched or pulled.
Lots of bruising around the surgical site and buttocks, which seems to be typical of any sort of surgery (I could swear the surgeons beat you up during anaesthesia). Suture lines seem to be coming clean with very minimal scarring.
At this stage there's only some minor discharge, which is apparent after dilation. Very little bleeding, and no real pain other than a dull ache or when standing and moving about a lot.
Currently dilating to 6.5 inches with a 31mm dilator. I guess the final depth will be around 6 inches, which is typical of natal females and considerably more than I'd have obtained with a penile inversion procedure.

So my overall opinion? Well, it's easy to see why Dr Suporn has the reputation as an SRS surgeon that he does. The cosmetic, sensate, and depth results look like they'll be excellent, and there's been no complications. The clinic has also provided useful nursing care, transport, medical supplies, and other information which seems to be part of the whole Dr Suporn "package". I'm very glad I made the choice I did, and absolutely certain I would have been less satisfied remaining in Melbourne for my surgery.

On the other hand, Aikchol Hospital, despite supposedly being one of the best facilities of its kind around here, is a far cry from what I'm accustomed to in Australian medical care. A couple of points from my own experience:

There's... mold growing in a big patch on the ceiling in front of the air conditioner vent. I'm pretty sure this would be a big no-no in an Australian hospital.
The air conditioner was inconsistent, which sometimes made it very confusing to diagnose my fever (aside from being generally uncomfortable).
The strategy for preventing infection seems to be to deliver a constant stream of antibiotics.
Some slightly questionable nursing practices where the standards of cleanliness and hygiene just aren't quite what I'm used to. I'm pretty sure that on at least one occasion I was swabbed with a cotton Q-tip which went back into the bottle before swabbing me again.
General little details where the nursing could be better, like the cannula in my left hand not being taped down securely and eventually clotting shut (it actually ended up being re-taped three times and came loose anyway). Because of the clotting, I took my final couple of injections in the buttocks instead of through the cannula.
Slightly worrying handling of the urine bag connected to the catheter. More than once, a nurse half-tripped over it. At one point an S-hook was provided to hang it off the bed, but it was too low anyway and remained sitting on the floor.
Renovation upstairs. This meant a lot of hammering and banging during my waking hours, which is really less than ideal when you're trying to recover from surgery. On the flipside, it might mean much nicer rooms for future patients. The nurses did offer earplugs, mind you.

So, the overall experience is a mixed bag, but Aikchol isn't nearly so bad that it would be a factor for consideration in my choosing Dr Suporn.

Bit Bored

2008-03-05T22:06:00.002+11:00

Local time: Wednesday, 6.06pm

Routine is getting to me, and my rate of recovery isn't catching up fast enough to un-bored me. I think I might start wandering around a bit more sans-Mum once I'm a bit more able (say, to the clinic and back).

On Aey's suggestion I've switched to a dilation regime of three times daily, half an hour at maximum depth each time, for the last two days. Been able to reach 6.5-6.75 inches again, though the last half inch seems to take between 5 and 15 minutes sometimes. There was a bit of pain this morning but not prior or since. This is all still with the medium (31mm diameter) dilator. I'm not sure what the deal is with the larger and smaller ones.

Today was supposed to have a class on post-op care run by Sophie from the clinic, but apparently something happened last night (I didn't quite catch what) that's left her unwell so the class has been postponed for now. The class supposedly teaches something they're calling "dynamic dilation", which is meant to be easier and less time consuming, so it would have been nice to attend.

The clinic seems quieter lately - I think there were two new patients in the last two days, who'd both be in hospital by now. Other than that, there's a British lady and an American that I see around, and that's it. Both friendly people, though I've been keeping to myself.

Another check-up with Dr Suporn tomorrow. I'm going to have to remember to ask if I can resume the hormones, if only because it's one less thing on the to-do list and would be a morale booster. I guess I feel healthy enough; the main concern would just be DVT from having had surgery, and while I am walking around each day I'm not sure what's "enough".

Dilation and Morale

2008-03-03T22:16:00.000+11:00

Local time: Monday 6.16pm

D left for Melbourne on Sunday morning after we had one last commemorative dinner at the same corner store we visited on the first night. It's been fantastic having him here not only helping out when I've been less able, but also generally for moral support and his terrific friendship. Thanks so much, D!

I know some people will be thinking this, so let me just make it very clear that beyond the fact that it involves genitalia, there's nothing at all sexual about dilation. A dilator is a hard, cold, unfriendly device where the only thing accommodating about it is that it happens to be tapered rather than a straight cylinder. It's lined with measurement strokes for depth, not unlike something out of a chemistry lab (and one assumes that the tick marks have even been calibrated). Its purpose is to stretch skin beyond comfortable extents. Putting a condom on one isn't for fun - it's so it doesn't abrade the skin graft inside the neovagina and tear something. Slathering it with obscene amounts of lube is so it doesn't hurt going in. And the very act of dilation isn't titillating - it's tedious, boring (you're just lying there, and have to read a book or do something else to pass the time), time consuming, and quite frankly at this point in my recovery, laborious due to the involvement of multiple stages of disinfectant and cleaning up that have to be done while movement is still uncomfortable.

I've been dilating twice a day for an hour at a time, and well, it's a pain in the arse (almost literally). But I've been trying to be diligent about it, because dilation really does make the difference between a successful SRS procedure and an unsuccessful one. While I was managing 7 inches at maximum depth earlier though, yesterday and today I've only been able to reach 6 inches before applying any more pressure to the end of the dilator became seemingly uncomfortable/inappropriate.

Today I saw Dr Suporn for a checkup, in which he made clear that going from 7 inches to 6 inches in the first week is not a good result. He suggested that at 6 inches, I should try to alter the angle of the dilator to achieve that last half inch, which is more of an expected depth at this stage. I guess I'll be attempting a few different things this evening when I dilate.

He also went over the two places in my labia where the stitches have prematurely opened and said he'd have no problem closing them by the time we were to leave. Minor cosmetic things, but nice to know they don't pose a problem to fix.

While that's good news, I think today I just feel like it's yet another thing which still needs to be addressed, along with resuming hormones (I'm wary of starting them right now while still not quite completely active and on a cocktail of other medication which is already leaving me drowsy during waking hours), general healing (it'd be nice not to wince whenever the hotel elevator reaches ground floor), and regaining my dilation depth.

It isn't helping that my energy levels during the day really aren't fantastic right now, and D isn't around to bolster my spirits. I have this expectation that getting back on estrogen is going to make me feel better but I don't know how realistic/healthy it is to be thinking like that.

Oh well, one thing at a time. Chin up, soldier on!

Dilation and Recovery

2008-02-29T20:13:00.000+11:00

Local time: Friday 4.13pm

My daily routine has come to involve dilation and a shower in the morning, then breakfast, then walking up and down the hallways of the hotel several times with a hand on mum's shoulder for emergency balance, then a nap, then lunch, some more walking, dilation again in the evening, dinner, and sleep. With slight variations thereof.

Noon has been visiting in the mornings and been pleased to see that I've been managing with all the little things one has to do after SRS so far - dilation, medication, bleeding/discharge management, wound cleansing, and a little bit of exercise. It's taking me a few moments to reach a depth of 6.5 inches, but by the end of the session it's usually at 7 inches. No pain, but mildly uncomfortable and still overall quite tiring due to having to clamber around fetching and and reaching for things, between bed and bathroom. I still find a dilator with a condom stretched over it, heavily lubricated, to be an intimidating thing to behold though.

Yesterday afternoon, we walked to the clinic for a checkup with Dr Suporn. The clinic is always interesting - there's a terrific mix of trans folks and friends there nearly all the time during weekdays. What is heartening to me is seeing the number of super supportive family members there for their children/siblings/whatever as they undergo surgery. These aren't people they've thought to have lost their senses; these are loved ones they can see have a problem that has a difficult path to addressing.

Dr Suporn removed some of the external stitches, which makes things a little more comfortable, and pointed out that the bottom part of my left labia majora had come "undone" (as in, uncreased, not in any gross open-wound sort of way). I'm pretty sure this was the sharp pain I'd feel while moving around in hospital. Apparently it's something simple for him to fix before we leave Thailand, though I guess he has to wait for the tissue swelling to go down some more. Overall the surgery is looking terrific though - Dr Suporn's skill is pretty apparent even at this stage.

There's still the haematoma at the top of the surgical site which is - while diminishing - quite swollen and causing me most of the discomfort. No more fevers though.

Something else I've noticed is the way I'm viewing my body: it doesn't feel as though I've "lost" or "gained" anything, or that anything has been "replaced"... it just feels like, well, things have been rearranged (which, maybe due to Dr Suporn's procedure differing from regular penile inversion, is mostly quite literally true). To some people (the Australian government being one big fat example), somehow the new arrangement is what makes me a woman. To me, it just doesn't feel significant in that way - I don't pass any more easily now with a vagina rather than a penis. But I do feel differently when I see myself naked in the shower, and when I think that the old hormonal influence is finally gone.

I think for me, that's going to be the significant gender-related aspect of SRS.

Back In The Hotel

2008-02-26T22:48:00.002+11:00

Retroactively posted, local time: 6.48pm

The packing and catheter were removed without too much fuss, although the packing was um... well, an interesting experience. Think clown handkerchiefs and you might get the right idea. No wonder it was so uncomfortable moving around with it in!

I was then shown how to dilate (the key really seems to be to relax - I was able to reach 7 inches with the medium dilator without discomfort). There's a lot to remember with regard to what disinfectant or cream to apply and when, but I guess it'll be straightforward with habit.

The trip back to the hotel involved wheelchairing me to a clinic car, then a ride seated on a rubber donut (tastefully with a rather attractive Thai style cover). D, mum, and I settled on room service for lunch, which I think is the first proper meal I've had in a week (hospital food, after all, is hospital food).

Then Noon came to our hotel room to once again guide me through dilation (my regimen is going to be twice a day, an hour each time). I think I'm going to have to come up with something to pass the time, since dilation mostly involves sitting there.

Mostly mobile, though sitting still involves the rubber donut. There's still some swelling over my clitoral hood which is probably a minor infection and the cause of my fever. Overall, I feel quite good considering the week of hospitalisation. Will be nice to resume hormones though.

Feverish

2008-02-26T11:28:00.001+11:00

Retroactively posted, local time: 7.33am

I had a high fever yesterday around the afternoon which didn't go down after the paracetamol and which had me curled up in bed unsure of whether to sweat or shiver.

Mum kept refridgerating wet towels to place over my face. Eventually I sweated it out and my temperature settled down (to which the nurse gave an amusing cheer).

Could have been a combination of things; could have been the woeful hormonal state my body is now in.

Anyway, Dr Suporn is expected to appear in a moment to remove my catheter and packing. I've been given painkillers beforehand, which can't be a good sign.

Shower

2008-02-25T13:40:00.000+11:00

Retroactively posted, local time: 9.40am

Oh thank goodness for that shower. Knowing that the pressure inside wasn't from pulling on a stitch or something, I made it a lot more confidently to the shower with the nurses' help and did a thorough washing of my hair.

The suture bandages were removed after I got in there this time, and the same Hibiscrub wash applied. Toweled down, returned to bed.

I'm pretty tired now but being able to move around without dizziness is immensely reassuring.

Positive

2008-02-25T12:33:00.003+11:00

Retroactively posted, local time: 7.33am

Barely any sleep last night, from grief as much as the uncomfortable hospital beds, but this morning has been more positive. Sin and Dr Suporn came to see me and ask about yesterday's attempt at getting out of bed and walking (which failed miserably when I felt the bandages placing a very heavy pressure on... something). Dr Suporn explained that the pressure would have come from the packing (a dressing held inside the vagina while the graft heals), and that it would be okay.

So after my shower this morning I'm going to give it another go. The packing comes out tomorrow, for which I'm immeasurably glad (I'm beginning to have no appetite for hospital food).

Welcome to an era of vaginal dilation...

Farewell, But Never Goodbye

2008-02-24T21:43:00.002+11:00

Retroactively posted, local time: 5.43pm

Today I learned that my dog passed away after a cardiac arrest yesterday, while I was in a hospital recovering from surgery.

We'll all miss you, dear little one. Every tear I cry is for a day of the unbridled joy you brought us.

Some Progress

2008-02-24T14:46:00.001+11:00

Retroactively posted, local time: 10.46am

This morning I was allowed to take a proper shower. Getting out of bed proved harder than expected - it feels like there's still some pulling on the stitches on my left side. And dizziness. Two nurses held me by each arm as one of them would wave a cotton bud swabbed with something to prevent me from passing out.

It felt great to be able to wash my hair though, and for the first time I got a good look at the surgery site (they had me sitting on a rubber donut positioned on a chair). The packing is still in there but everything looks clean and less swollen than yesterday. Minimal bleeding too.

Once I'd carefully washed the area with Hibiscrub and toweled myself down as best I could, the nurses powdered me and helped me back to bed before applying a Betadine solution to the suture wounds. My bandages got replaced too.

All more exhertion than I expected, but it's nice to see progress after five days in bed!

T-Bandage Off

2008-02-23T12:46:00.002+11:00

Retroactively posted, local time: 8.46am

Dr Suporn came in with a nurse to remove the annoying t-bandage around my waist this morning. Lots of blood soaked cotton balls and dressings. He let me hold onto a mirror to see as he pointed out the swollen labia and clitoris (which hurt as he moved his tweezers over it so I guess there's definitely sensitivity).

The packing is still in place, and they applied some new, less obstructive dressing. Also still catherised.

Everything's pretty swollen and gory right now but there's no discomfort. I'm to sit in this way for another day before being able to move around and take a shower instead of the bed baths.

Sedatives

2008-02-22T17:11:00.002+11:00

Retroactively posted, local time: 1.11pm

They're keeping me on sedatives, in ordr to relax me and prevent further bleeding. At this stage I have very little sense of the passage of time: one moment D is here, the next both he and mum are gone, then they're back again and a nurse is bringing lunch...

All very confusing. I'm much more comfortable in bed now though; no more extra pillows to prop me up.

Third Day Post-Op

2008-02-21T13:47:00.001+11:00

Retroactively posted, local time: 9.47am

My sense of time is somewhat messed up - I could have sworn today was Wednesday. Beginning to settle into a routine: roused in the morning by nurses with medication or breakfast or blood pressure tests, then a visit by Dr Suporn, then a bed bath, all interspersed with periods of sleep.

I was bleeding a little last night. Called the nurses who came and examined me before calling Dr Suporn. When he arrived, he took a look and said that the bleeding occurs as a result of the remaining erectile tissue expanding and that it was nothing to worry about. He prescribed some sort of muscle relaxant, which stung like crazy when the nurse injected it via the cannula in my left hand.

I seem to be in better condition this morning. The anaesthesia is wearing off and I'm much more alert. I've been told I can eat normally today, though I'm going to stick to easily digestibles like soup for another day or so. Also trying to keep my fluid intake up.

There's no pain from the surgery site except when I move in various ways, like rolling onto my right (which sends a sharp pain up my left thigh - probably because it is pulling on stitches). The highly uncomfortable lower back pain is gone. Apparently, the t-bandage can come off on Saturday, which I'm going to be very relieved about.

All in all, I feel quite okay. Also don't seem to have a hint of regret, which I'd wondered about. There's definitely a sense of phantom "limb" syndrome though - my brain tells me that everything is still in place as before, which is perhaps reinforced by the t-bandage obstructing my view of the surgical site.

It's Done

2008-02-20T20:16:00.002+11:00

Retroactively posted, local time: 4.16pm

Yesterday was a blur of gurneys, surgical masks, and needles. I woke in the recovery ward with an oxygen mask over my face, wondering what the loud hissing to my right was. It was hard to stay conscious, with the anaesthesia still in effect. But after some moments, a nurse came to remove the mask, and I realized the hissing was from the flowing oxygen.

I felt them unwrapping the compression bandages from my legs, and then wheeling me out. Into an elevator. Back to level 8. I saw D and waved. Mum too. Then into my room, where they lifted me on something onto my bed. A sharp pain at my left thigh.

Drifted in and out. Someone brought flowers from the clinic - can't remember who or when. At one point, someone from the clinic arrived and introduced herself as Noon. She was designated to stay in my ward for the night. Mum and D left for the hotel.

Noon was fantastic, helping me shift position during the night whenever I stirred. She left for the hotel at one point to assist another patient, but quickly returned.

In the morning, Dr Harte arrived with three of the clinic girls. He asked me how I was, letting me know that the surgery went well and that I should drink more water and shift position frequently.

Nurses come and go, taking my blood pressure and temperature. I felt hot around my face; a nurse said I had a slight fever and brought some medication. My following temperature check was okay.

I've found that lying partially on my side propped up by pillows takes the strain from my lower back, which is sore due to the position I would have been in during surgery.

There's a heavy t-bandage around my waist and groin which is quite uncomfortable. Supposedly, this will be removed after the fourth or fifth day.

Still quite tired, so I'll end this entry here. But very relieved that it's done, and that the pain is bearable.

Quiet Morning

2008-02-19T11:22:00.002+11:00

Retroactively posted, local time: 7.22am

I'm sitting here in the quiet morning after a shower and washing down below with Hibiscrub. In another half hour or so, I think the nurses will be coming to take me to surgery.

Dr Suporn

2008-02-19T01:16:00.001+11:00

Retroactively posted, local time: Monday 9.16am

We were taken back to the clinic in the afternoon, where Sin and the others warmly greeted us. The place was positively bustling with patients, their friends, and clinic staff. As we waited for Dr Suporn, one of the staff sat with me and explained generally what to expect, handing over a thick book of notes and information as well as a box of vaginal dilators (interestingly decorated in Thai silkwork). In the process, she made a jibe at D to the effect that were he actually my boyfriend, he'd be jealous of the contents of the box (M, take note!). In that trans way, it was an oddly casual explanation of the dilators and their use, though up close I'll admit they do look daunting.

Then I was called into Dr Suporn's office. Mum accompanied me, but D remained outside since there was the unspoken assumption that a little privacy might be warranted for this. And sure enough, the doctor put me through a physical examination, and I found it every bit as distressing as with Mr Ceber. It all feels a little unfair, as though the tranny is somehow not entitled to dignity, though I believe it's more likely that the clinic's attitude to all this is merely pragmatic.

Dr Suporn then took us through his procedure - which by this point I was becoming familiar with - and pointed out the key points of the process. The doctor is a quiet man, speaking succinctly and softly.

And all too quickly, we were back out. Mum and I were presented with amazingly lovely flower garlands as a welcome to Thailand.

We made our way back to the hotel with D, I packed my things, and it was back to the hospital, where our dinner had been left waiting for us on the table. Soupy tong yam for me, pad thai for mum and D. Mum was staying in the hospital with me tonight, so D decided to try catching a ride with one of the motorcycles for hire back to the hotel.

I hope he found his way. >_<

After he'd left, the anaesthesiologist popped in to give a quick rundown on what would happen: I'll get a jab in my hand, he'll put me to sleep, and upon waking everything'll have been done. That easy, hey?

As I was writing this, a nurse just came in to shave my pubic area and administer a Hibiscrub wash and enema. Again, the expectation for me to simply drop trou on a word and submit to invasive procedures is something I'm really having trouble accepting.

Anyway. It's time for sleep. I expect there'll be little chance to write much tomorrow - my surgery is at 8.30am tomorrow.

Here goes.

Hospitalised

2008-02-18T18:15:00.005+11:00

Retroactively posted, local time: Monday 2.15pm

Well, that took me by surprise. Someone from the clinic did indeed meet us in the hotel lobby in the morning, and we clambered into a van piloted by the same driver who had brought us to Chon Buri on Saturday. However, the van pulled up at the clinic only long enough to drop off the woman from the clinic, who turned to us and said, "This is the clinic! He will take you to the hospital now." I'm going to the hospital already? News to me!

When we arrived at Aikchol hospital, we were greeted by a trio of clinic staffers: Cat, Nock, and Aey (and I'm probably killing the spelling of these names - please forgive me!). They ushered me into the hospital in a friendly flurry of greetings and Thai chatter, and before I could blink, I'd had a blood test, blood pressure taken, chest x-rayed, and some sort of ECG tested, then conveyed to my room. Now, given that I wasn't expecting to be in hospital until later this evening and consequentially had no luggage with me, all this was rather surprising.

Nonetheless, taking things as they come. Mum, D (who'd come with us and whom everyone assumed was a boyfriend of mine >_<), and I had lunch in the hospital room, and are now sitting here awaiting a consultation with the anaesthesiologist.

Later, I'm going back to the clinic to see Dr Suporn, then get a chance to return to the hotel to properly pack before being brought back here.

A nurse just came into the room to bring me a warm cup of Milo and a cupcake. There's such an eerie air of surrender in hospitals - like I've unwittingly given up all right to privacy - that, along with the earlier rush, is giving me a headspin. I was all ready for the invasiveness and submission, but hey, let me catch my breath a little!

Now where's that anaesthesiologist?

Sanctuary of Truth

2008-02-17T21:20:00.003+11:00

Local Time: Sunday 5.20pm

Two things were repeated to me often by people when I told them I'd be going to Thailand: 1) that the food is good, and 2) that the food is cheap. And darn right they were, too. We wandered down to a local hawker place for dinner last night and had a scrummy meal of chicken fried rice, fried glass noodles, and something else chilli-ish I can't remember, with Singha beer for D and mum. Three people well sated for 270 baht (about AU$10.50). Phwoar yeah. Thai food, being a lot of deliciously flavoured rice and fried noodles, is very much up my alley, and my recovered appetite from the flight certainly helped.

Slept well last night, though still not quite adjusted to the timezone. Mum and I woke at about 6am this morning and met D downstairs at about 7.30 to partake of the hotel's complimentary breakfast buffet. I've seen a number of TS people around the hotel. They stick out not because they're TS, but because they're westerners that happen to be TS. I wonder how many are current patients and how many others are visiting to provide support.

After breakfast, we organised through broken English and gesturing and pointing at brochures for a taxi to somewhere we'd seen in one of the pamphlets - the Sanctuary of Truth. This is a sort of monument still under construction in Pattaya, south of Chon Buri, to spirituality and the triumph of good over evil. The description in the pamphlet reads, "the sanctuary was conceived out of the vision that human civilization has been achieved and nurtured by religious and philosophical truths." Sounded like a pretty good starting point for building something to us!

Our transportation - an "outside taxi" that the hotel arranged for us ("outside" meaning external as opposed to part of the hotel) - arrived at about 11am. The driver was a wiry, weathered man who spoke no English but would enthusiastically ask locals for directions in order to get us where we wanted (which we indicated by pointing at the brochure and consulting with the hotel staff, of course). And his vehicle was a capable van with some questionably bumpy suspension. How bumpy? Well, this is what it did to my hair band after bouncing me into the ceiling:

Oww.

But it was worth it. The place was truly impressive, being a structure built entirely of wood on the shores of Pattaya and carved with utmost intricacy. The building is awe inspiring from the get-go, looking more like something from ages long past than something being built in the modern world.

Wooden struts and ladders still adorn it where workers clamber up and carve their artwork directly into the bare wood with hand tools.

The carvings are unfinished and expected to take another twenty-something years, but even what's there is remarkable.

I expected something a little more touristy and less outright incredible, but the Sanctuary does more or less live up to its vision.

Mum, D, and I then managed (by way of back-and-forth hand waving and miming with the people stationed at the entrance) to communicate to the driver that we wanted to find somewhere for lunch, and he brought us to a little building on a pier where we sat down to a really fresh seafood meal. Despite sputtering over a bit of chilli he'd evidently bit into, D refused ice in his water (as a prudent move to avoid food poisoning, since ice is often frozen from water that isn't thoroughly clean, and stored in places which are susceptible to contamination).

I've mentioned before that I wanted this trip to be as much a holiday as for the sake of the surgery, and it's been so enjoyable thus far that I'm almost sorry I'll be spending most of it in bed recovering.

P.S Something that I forgot to mention is that everywhere I go, the locals greet me with a cheery Sawasdee-kah, rather than the -khrab for men. Whether I'm passing, or whether people here are just used to seeing transwomen, I don't really know, but it's nice all the same.

Chon Buri

2008-02-16T19:32:00.000+11:00

Local time: Saturday 3.32pm

Phew, just woke from a sorely needed nap. We met D as we were checking in at Melbourne, and A appeared out of nowhere with some friends to say goodbye and wish me the best, handing me an adorable little angel bear. Now I have two soft toys to guard me.

The flight here was about as uncomfortable as you can expect a nine-hour flight to be. I drifted in and out of sleep as I usually do on planes, and though it didn't feel like I'd slept much, it didn't feel like nine hours either. The turbulence we hit as we approached Bangkok did leave me rather nauseous though. There's something about the slightly stale, overbrewed aroma of airplane tea that always makes me a little queasy.

Met D again as we tiredly disembarked, and trudge through to customs, then the baggage claim, then out into the arrival place (chamber? hall?). Not once was I addressed as Sir or Mister despite the M in my passport - makes you wonder at the usefulness of gendered ID documents (are people really that interested in what's in each other's pants?).

We spotted the exit gates, labelled from 1 to about 10 or 12, and wheeled our baggage over to gate 9 where we'd been told clinic staff would greet us. Lots of people holding up signs with names on them. None was us. So mum dug up one of the phone numbers we'd been given and made a call, to which she was told they were arriving at the airport and would be looking for us. Much standing around, and about 30 minutes later my stomach is doing some kind of acrobatics between hunger and plain (plane? geddit?) exhaustion. Then I spot a woman walking toward where we stood holding a blue sign upon which was written "Dr Suporn's Clinic" and "Amanda [Surname]". We approached her and were greeted very warmly, and told that her name was something pronounced like "Sien" (if not spelled that way). "You look so tired!" she exclaimed. Helpfully, they didn't mind giving D a lift to Chon Buri too.

She led us out to the driveways in front of the airport, where a man - the driver - enthusiastically welcomed us and dragged our luggage into a van, upon which was also labelled prominently, "Dr Suporn's Clinic" (not much discretion here then, although I'd guess it's not a big deal to be outed anyway).

And now here we are, after an hour's drive to Chon Buri! The landscape of Thailand is very similar to Malaysia - lots of undeveloped green tropical wetlands nestled between clumps of bare concrete buildings and high-rise apartments, large many-laned highways crisscrossing with unsealed roads, and the smog of industry which makes the sunrise a vivid orange-red and the moon a cheese-yellow.

Here's a view from our hotel room:

Much less English text than Malaysia though, and as we were finding out taking a short walk around the hotel street later, less English in general. While Sien spoke quite well, it took a bit of time to get across what we wanted to the hotel staff and to a 7-Eleven shopkeeper.

We're mostly settled in now, and I'm a bit peckish and more alert having caught up on some sleep (though clearly jetlagged - meal times and my sense of day/night are hopelessly muddled). Sien left us with a little welcome note and schedule of things as well as a very warm hug; it seems on Monday at 11am, I get collected from the hotel lobby and taken to the clinic (which is only a few minutes walk around the corner), and presumably shown around. At 4.30pm, I have my pre-operative consultation with Dr Suporn, then admitted to hospital that evening for all the preliminary preparations. Until then, we have this afternoon (since the morning somehow disappeared when we all took a nap) and tomorrow to ourselves.

Spam

2008-02-15T19:31:00.002+11:00

Spam is unintentionally funny. A selection of spam from my email:

"Why be an average guy any longer?" (Be an average girl instead!)
"Become A New Man With VPXL" (Something for the FTMs, I guess.)
"Take control of your male body image" (Check.)
"Solve all your d1ck-related issues at once by clicking here" (SRS-R-Us?)

So, enough happened and is happening today to get me a bit frazzled and kinda sitting staring mindlessly at the spam in my inbox, but in a good way. A farewell lunch. A symbolic end to this crazy mental state I've been in, where emotions and feelings are things to fight against and peaceful sleep is all but a memory. Cards. People gave me the sweetest cards. A going-away gift from those at work. My friend A visiting the airport to bid me adieu.

And a Valentine's Day package from dear M, containing among other things, Pirate Pika:

Pirate Pika is part pokemon (because he's a pikachu - one of those electrified rodents), and part pirate (because M's dog chewed an eye off). His orders are to accompany me on my journey tonight and throughout my recovery in M's stead, until M can reclaim him from me.

Frazzled.

Well, deep breaths... and off we go, to the airport, and to Thailand!

True Transsexualism? Bwah?

2008-02-11T22:40:00.000+11:00

I'll admit for a blog about "gender variance and other things", I seem to write a lot more about the latter than the former. But then I come across something like this LiveJournal post on HBS elitism (HBS being Harry Benjamin Syndrome - something of a bad word in certain trans circles because it politicises transsexualism). I'm sorry, in my current mode of edgy testostaggression, I just can't pass this one up... I mean, "true transsexuals"? Seriously? Whither gender variance?

Okay, so transsexualism may be a medical condition, but given that the post in question is so concerned about social legitimisation, how about first dealing with the fact that transgenderism - in all its forms, transsexualism and otherwise - faces social challenges? How does it help anyone to pander to the idea that medical conditions are somehow more legitimate than other things which are nevertheless problems for society? Are we (being transsexual) really that mired in insecurity about what we are that we have to nervously distance ourselves from that there fake transsexuals and pray that one day there will actually be conclusive scientific evidence that transsexualism is in fact biological in nature? Well here's a news flash: there's no conclusive evidence either way so far, and you "true transsexuals" are precariously close to being lumped in with the "faddish" cross-dressers and "fetishistic" non-ops.

To say this kind of attitude is separatist is a gross understatement; it's a sheer denial of gender variance, and a nod toward the idea that society ought to be perfectly male/female, bows and curtseys, ties and dresses.

"I KNOW what I AM and have since the age of six," declares the author. Really? How wonderful! Cos I had no idea what the fruit I was when I was six, only that something was wrong. And as I've often said, I can't speak for anyone else's experiences - I only know how I feel. If there's something magical which makes someone a True Transsexual but excludes me, then please enlighten me, because I'm surely doing something wrong. Is it my hair? My eye shadow? My unwomanly desire to have a career? What?

Costs Of Transition

2008-02-10T09:30:00.000+11:00

People can be funny about these things, so I've avoided writing about this. But for the sake of openness and to give others who find themselves in a similar position an idea of what to expect, here's some of the costs of various things throughout my transition. Depending on where you are and who you see, these costs and their respective services will vary a lot.

Psychotherapy - Dr Harte charges AU$175 per 45-50 minutes session, most of which is claimable from Medicare, and saw me once a fortnight to begin with, and once every three months when I was into my Real Life Experience. There are also costs associated with seeing a GP for referrals to psychotherapists and other specialists.

Laser Haid Removal - The place I went to charges AU$120 for 10 minutes of laser treatment. I'm not hirsute, but it still took around 80 minutes in total to clear my facial hair. I haven't needed any other lasering or electrolysis, and there hasn't been any regrowth at the treated site in twelve months. (Depending on the SRS surgeon and their technique, you may need electrolysis to clear away genital hair; thankfully Dr Suporn's technique takes care of this during the surgery itself.)

Hormone Replacement Therapy - My prescription of Microgynon 50ED cost around AU$13.50 a box from a wholesale chemist. At two pills a day, a box would last exactly 6 weeks. I was not on any androgen blockers or additional hormone treatments (such as gels or patches).

Thyroid Chondroplasty - My thyroid cartilage reduction operation cost AU$442 for the anaesthetist and AU$1075 for Mr Vallance's surgical procedure itself, all after deductions from Medicare and private health insurance. There was also an AU$50 hospitalisation fee.

Speech Therapy - The La Trobe voice clinic is run for a minimal fee as it is used as a training environment for final year speech pathology students. In my case, whether with the students or with Sheryl, no fee was charged at all.

SRS - Dr Suporn's service is 495,000 baht (about AU$17,700). Plane tickets to Thailand were about AU$900. Accommodation at the Mercure hotel near the clinic is around AU$75 a night for two people in their "business class" rooms. Dr Suporn is certainly one of the more expensive options, and it's possible to see other reputed surgeons in Thailand or elsewhere who charge less. Having a world-class surgeon in your nation of residence obviously also means there is no need for travel and accommodation.

So while it takes a little planning and forethought, if you can manage to hold on to a job whilst dealing with trans issues, transition is financially quite achievable. And of course, not everyone is going to need all of these things, nor in the same amounts.

Woman Raised As A Boy

2008-02-09T09:21:00.000+11:00

If you've ever wondered why gender identity is commonly thought to be something ingrained as opposed to a product of nurturing, well, stories like the one published in yesterday's Sydney Morning Herald are a good reason. You just can't force someone to identify with a particular gender.

Flight Plans

2008-02-07T19:34:00.000+11:00

This abridged conversation happened yesterday with my friend D (who will be popping over to Thailand for two weeks to visit me):

Him: How ya feeling? Only two weeks to go today isn't it?
Me: 9 days, for you as well! When exactly do you fly? We're taking off at Saturday 00:45.
Him: At like... 12:30 on the 15th, so technically the 16th.
Me: Us too! But at 12:45 rather than 12:30. We'd be at the airport together! What airline?
Him: I was rounding off - I'll check the tickets... Thai Airways at 00:45.
Me (pausing): ...um, okay, what flight number?

Yup, dear ol' D managed to book exactly the same flight that mum and I'll be traveling on. :)

Two Weeks To Go

2008-02-03T21:02:00.000+11:00

With only two weeks left before surgery, I expected that things would mostly be smooth sailing. I guess I underestimated the return to a male endocrine system though. By Friday, I was beginning to have general irritability and strong body image anxiety about all the changes I've written about. By Saturday, I was grouchy and depressed and wanting to be left alone, despite M's reminding me that there were only two weeks of waiting left.

That evening, there was a family gathering. I despised the thought of attending, of having relatives question my mood and being asked how I was doing prior to Thailand and being jealous of the other women for everything they had. I despised the thought of opening up and playing happy, and felt... I guess emotionally constipated, for lack of a better expression. The thing is, this wasn't a new experience - I used to feel very much like this at such gatherings pre-transition, in the deepest moments of gender dysphoria.

I had a mini-breakdown; didn't end up attending. Mum came over - having guessed what was bothering me - and spoke to me, and I cried it out. Felt a little better after that. Then out of the blue, one of my cousins started instant messaging me. "Love your new pic!", she began, "Getting prettier every time."

I'd only changed the little photo in my instant messaging a week ago. I think that put things in perspective a bit - as crappy as I felt, I didn't appear notably different to everyone, and in the end there really were only two weeks left of dealing with the gender dysphoria before surgery would end the hormonal poisoning of my body. And two weeks is nothing compared to the twenty six odd years that have already gone by.

I loathe the state I'm in. There's a harsh edge to all my feelings and an overall lack of emotional sensitivity that feels awfully constricting, that wasn't there when I was on estrogen. Little things are irritating me, but far from being a directed anger, it's the sort of irritation which manifests as a cloudy, vaguely bitter annoyance, as though whatever it is I'm annoyed at is set up against me somehow. I'm not feeling emotionally vulnerable; I'm feeling locked up and guarded behind very high and very thick walls and choking on words even to get all this written down.

The emotional transition which began when I'd started taking estrogen was easy, welcome, and pleasant. I just never expected going the other way to be such a drop off a cliff, and I very much want out.

Diminishing

2008-01-31T20:27:00.000+11:00

Warning:TMI ahead.

Yup, there's no doubt: my endocrine system is leveling itself out in the absence of HRT. The first reason I know this is that my night sweats went away a few nights ago; no more crazy hot flushes. Despite the implications of that, I guess sleeping better is a good thing.

The second reason is a bit dismaying: body fat is redistributing. In short, I'm losing curves and my breasts are basically diminishing. Easy enough to tell, due to the reversal of the changes I'd observed in the past. I think I can detect that my facial planes are regressing too - my cheeks have lost a bit of the fullness they had while on the hormones.

And the third reason is almost as dismaying: a lot more of my hair is coming away in the shower. Nothing close to encroaching baldness, but much more than I've been used to over the past year.

Finally, there is a more subtle return of the old emotional flavours I associate with "maleness"... a little bit of familiar, grey, scratchy irritability, and a bit of uncontrolled and apparently unprovoked sexual response.

Thankfully, with fifteen days left before I fly, I'm almost halfway through the four weeks. I think I can tolerate these changes more or less easily if they don't get much worse. Now alternating between moments of being scared of what's coming and looking forward to ending this backslide.

An Outing

2008-01-22T19:01:00.000+11:00

It's not often that I really get a glimpse at the mechanics of passing or being read, since people don't generally run screaming or otherwise exhibit any easily observable behaviour unless they have a tranny-aversion and think they definitely, absolutely have you read (which never happens if you pass half-decently). But I found out yesterday that someone at work had outed me to a colleague who hadn't known. The colleague in question was someone I'd been working in the presence of for the last 12 months, and who'd been aware of my situation for maybe a couple of months now.

Being outed in this case doesn't really bother me - I made my transition in this position and mostly assume that anyone I work with here will hear or have heard by word of mouth from those who knew me previously. But there are two things about this situation which I find interesting - firstly, I evidently didn't trip enough cues for this person to gender me as male (even as he admitted to me later that he "had an inkling"). I think the simple explanation for this is something I've touched on before, albeit in a different light; that, when passing well, a transsexual woman is - to most people's perception - still a woman, regardless of whether their transsexual status is known or suspected. It simply feels silly and unintuitive to look at someone whom your perception tells you is female and forcibly call them "he", especially if you also refer to them by a clearly feminine name (take note, Insurance Company).

And the second thing is that this person didn't react any differently to me to make me feel uncomfortable or alienated over the whole situation. Pure courtesy, perhaps, but really rather nice to observe, and undeniably humanising rather than objectifying.

In other news, being effectively menopausal sucks.

Warm In Here

2008-01-21T21:14:00.000+11:00

Hot flushes. For some reason I expected the first symptoms of stopping estrogen to be psychological, but three days in, I'm being hit with all sorts of body temperature regulation oddities, beginning with waking several times in the middle of the night alternately drenched in sweat and freezing from being damp. In the shower this morning, my skin just had the oddest sensation... "frizzy" might be one way to describe it, and I couldn't decide whether I wanted the water to be hotter or colder.

Despite it being summer here, the temperature throughout the night and this morning was a cool 12 degrees Celsius, yet I walked to work in a short sleeved top, sweating. Even sitting under the usually-chilly air conditioning at work, I felt warm.

But most distressingly, I can tell that my body scents are changing again. I don't know how long it takes for worn clothes to revert to having the stronger scents of a man having worn them, but I sincerely hope it's longer than four weeks. *cringes*

I don't really know, but I'm hazarding a guess that right now and maybe for the next few days, there's a hole in my endocrine system where any sex hormones once were, which my body will gradually fill again with active testosterone over the coming weeks. Not welcome at all.

Till We Meet Again, Dear Estrogen

2008-01-18T23:54:00.000+11:00

This is it: my last day on HRT until after the Main Event. From here it'll be exactly four long weeks before flying to Thailand, and I'll admit, now I'm getting scared.

The instructions sent to me actually state that oral estrogens should be stopped one week prior to travel. However, I'm going to go with Dr Hunter's more conservative recommendation of four weeks, for consistency's sake since, after all, he does oversee my HRT regimen.

Confirmations

2008-01-08T19:45:00.000+11:00

One year ago today, I officially began my Real Life Experience.

By coincidence, this morning I received email confirmation of my final payment for SRS. The Suporn Clinic service is certainly comprehensive: we get picked up from Bangkok airport, shuttled to the hotel (where reservations will have been made for us), sign in, then shuttled back and forth between hotel and clinic as necessary for the checkups and the surgery itself. After several days of preliminary post-op recovery in the clinic, I get sent back to the hotel for the remainder of my stay, during which the clinic staff will visit for checkups and other things, and at the end of which we once again get shuttled back to the airport.

Not having to arrange these things myself is a great load of anxiety not to have to bear, something which the clinic seems to understand. This is extra nice because, with the finality of confirmation, it's all only just beginning to hit me, and because I doubt anyone goes into SRS expecting things to be easy anyway.

While I've always maintained that SRS isn't the biggest milestone (that would be transition, and that occurred a year ago today), I know that I still get anxious about passing because of what's between my legs. It's not that I'm that worried about someone noticing (I'd long ago realised that people don't go around staring at each other's crotches), but has something to do with somehow feeling "fake" or fraudulent, as though I'm manipulating people's expectations simply through my presentation. It's a hang-up, I know. Whether SRS is a "cure" for that isn't something I can say for sure until after the fact, but I've done the self-exploration, challenged myself and been challenged by therapists, lived the real life experience, and I'm not particularly interested in getting caught up in a whirlwind of depression about whether I "slipped through the net".

Right now, there are much better and more sensible things to be anxious about. :)

To The Letter

2007-12-19T20:24:00.000+11:00

It turns out that Dr Harte is on leave overseas during January, so we scheduled an emergency appointment this morning to sort out the matter of a recommendation letter for surgery.

It reads like this:

Dear Dr Suporn

Re: Ms Amanda [Surname]

The above Ms Amanda [Surname] has been a patient under my care since May 2006. I have seen her on a total of 13 occasions. Ms [Surname] is a natal male who identifies as female. She has been assessed by the Melbourne gender dysphoria team and has been diagnosed with gender identity disorder with the specifier that she is attracted to males. She has been living full-time in the female role since January 2007. Ms [Surname] has undergone hormonal gender reassignment and hormones were commenced in September 2006. She has undergone a thyroid chondroplasty but has not had any other feminization surgery carried out. In my opinion she has satisfied both the eligibility and readiness criteria of the international standards of care for genital gender reassignment surgery. She shows no signs of comorbid psychopathology and I consider her a suitable candidate for gender reassignment surgery. There are no absolute contraindications in her presentation. Ms [Surname] is an intelligent transsexual woman who has made a realistic assessment of the possibilities, limitations and possible complications of gender reassignment surgery and is fully capable of giving informed consent to this procedure. I am happy to be contacted on the above telephone number to verify that I am the author of this letter of recommendation.

Yours sincerely
Dr Fintan B. Harte
Consultant Psychiatrist
Gender Dysphoria Clinic
Melbourne

This is the letter; I just need a good-health one from my GP now, and to sort out the final payment, and we're all sorted!

Flash Of Dysphoria

2007-12-17T19:19:00.000+11:00

Friday was horrible. I woke in the morning feeling vaguely uneasy and in some kind of mood. Did my usual morning thing of breakfast and shower. Got dressed, got ready for work. Left my apartment, headed halfway down the street, then crumbled under a wave of paranoia and anxiety. I was convinced that people were giving me odd looks for some reason, and literally turned around and headed back home. I felt like I was utterly unpassable, that something undefined in my appearance or my manner or something just wasn't right.

It was as though I just couldn't be settled into being myself, as though for a moment I was back to being unrecognisable to the world, but so much worse than it's ever been because this time I was trying to be me. What does gender dysphoria feel like? It feels like everyone is staring when you're trying to avoid any attention, and like people talk past you to someone else when you are trying to get attention. I was taken aback by just how distressing it was, moreso because I haven't felt at all like that for months. And I've never had trouble passing before.

It took a moment for me to wonder if maybe it was just in my head. To be honest, I don't know at all. But I tidied myself up, got changed anyway, for good measure, and headed out again.

My mood was all over the place for the rest of the day. I spent my time in public with my gaze mostly fixed to the ground as I walked, both lost in thought and sort of trying to hide my face. As J said later from merely having passed me in the street, "You were in your own world." I felt listless and irritable, which wasn't helped at all by it being an especially stressful day at work. But rather than expressing any of that irritation outright, I guess I must have just swallowed it up in a cloud of sullen moodiness, because my friends at work most certainly picked up on it.

And terrifically, rallied. At various points during the day, individuals would ask if something was wrong or whether I was okay, to which I'd try to give an appreciative smile and explain that I was just stressed. One guy in particular charmingly tried to cheer me up in all sorts of ways. And when I went with friend A for a much-needed coffee, the person at the cafe (who knows about me from having known me before my transition) gave us a friendly "Thanks, girls!" That helped a lot.

After nearly a year full time and forgetting what life was like "before", and only two months from SRS, I'll admit it's a little worrying to have gone through Friday's events. Right now, I'm inclined to blame the change in hormone dosage for Friday. But I think I'm settling into the dosage again, having felt much better since.

Visas And Hormones

2007-12-09T00:09:00.000+11:00

On Friday, mum and I paid a visit to the Thai High Consulate to get our visas done. Australian travellers don't need a visa if they're staying under 30 days, but since we'll be there for about 35 days, it's more convenient to just apply for the two-month single-entry tourist visa now rather than worrying about trying to get an extension later.

The parking meter out the front appeared to be made by someone who may have been color-blind:

Making the application itself was painless - just a matter of filling out a form, and handing it in with two passport photos and the passport itself along with a $45 fee per applicant. The clerk told us that they'd have it ready for picking up on Monday, which was surprising considering we were told to apply three months before travelling. Yay for efficiency. :)

And in the afternoon, I saw Dr Hunter for what would be my last pre-operative appointment. He gave me a list of instructions which basically goes like this:

Cut back immediately from two to one Microgynon 50 pill per day (half the dosage, 50 µg instead of 100).
Stop hormones altogether at four weeks pre-op (about mid-January).
Two to three weeks post-op (when I'm active and mobile), start on Progynova (1 mg estradiol varelate pill).

I'm apprehensive about the lowered dosage, and have been carefully monitoring myself for any changes in the last two days. Nothing drastic yet, however. Dr Hunter does this as a safety precaution, because 50 µg of ethinyl estradiol is considered the minimum effective dosage to maintain the suppression of testosterone after several months of HRT and to continue feminisation (less than 50 µg has been observed in studies to be ineffective, and more than 50 µg hasn't shown much more effectiveness while significantly increasing the risk of liver problems in the long term). In his words, "feminization requires this much estrogen," (holding his thumb and forefinger slightly apart), "but you've been getting this much" (holding his hands about a foot apart).

Dr Hunter said he usually prescribes Premarin as the post-op maintenance HRT, but had no problems recommending Progynova instead on the grounds of my ethical objection to how the horses are treated.

The switch to Progynova is because Microgynon is a combined estrogen/progesterone treatment, where the progesterone is primarily for protecting the uterine lining (which I don't have). In my case, the progesterone has been to suppress the pituitary gland so that less estrogen is required to block the level of testosterone. Post-operatively, there'd be no gonads to produce testosterone, so the progesterone won't be required (all going by the minimalist theory of HRT). On the other hand, Progynova is a straight estradiol varelate, which is about similar in effectiveness to ethinyl estradiol where feminisation is concerned (the difference in order of magnitude of the dosages is due to estradiol varelate being destroyed much more readily in the digestive tract). The dosage and treatment scheme using Progynova is what is commonly prescribed to post-menopausal women who have had a hysterectomy, which is basically equivalent to what my situation will be.

The post-op dosage of 1 mg seems a little low to me - I know other specialists do prescribe 2 mg as a maintenance dose, and 4 mg or even 6 mg for the short term post-op to continue mimicking the female puberty. However, Dr Hunter did say that 1 mg can be conservative, and that if I experience any menopausal symptoms (eg. hot flushes), we'd move up to 2 mg.

*twiddles thumbs* Slightly apprehensive. Probably mostly all in the head though. Mind you, Step 2 is so not going to be fun.

Stance On Sitting

2007-12-03T22:03:00.000+11:00

Why is the toilet-seat-being-left-up thing annoying? It's easy: when you're used to having to sit, you sometimes forget that with menfolk about, you need to look before sitting or risk an awkward (and probably hilarious on far hindsight) tumble into a dunny. I suppose there's also that issue of sitting being a voluntary choice for men and, well, not a choice for women, but I won't get into that.

Why do I insist on sitting even though, when it comes down to it, I don't strictly need to? Because at some point later, I am going to strictly need to. And there is that urban legend in trans circles about the trans-girl who never sat, until one day newly post-op, she forgot she needed to.

It's all about dignity, see.

Cruisin'

2007-12-02T23:16:00.000+11:00

Um, okay. So I haven't written much of late. And I'm writing this pretty much because it'd be nice to look on the links over to the right there and see that - uh huh - there's posts (well, a post...) for each of the months gone by. ^.^

No, that's not exactly true. I do want to say a few things about how everything is unfolding, because there's a pace gathering to my life which is probably going to hurtle towards that certain event in February in the blink of an eye. Like many others, I suppose I do a fair bit of reading about the stories of people in similar situations, and gosh darnit I can't shake that combined happiness and guilt that I've "gotten away with it" all too easily. My transition came at just the right moment, under precisely the right circumstances, to allow me to feel like myself without drowning me in anxiety. I had some emotional baggage, I suppose, but nothing I haven't grown beyond, like a divorce and kids or anything of that magnitude. I had male features (facial hair) which were handily taken care of in a timely fashion. I had a bustly familial household without privacy (but ultimately, with deepest love and caring) that I moved out of. I have friends old and new who really just take my situation for granted almost as much as I do. I pass; heck, I'm accepted, not confronted or accosted or treated as a freak as many others are.

There are a number of people who have entered my life for whom I cannot guess in the slightest if my situation is known. And while I'm curious, I don't care if it is or isn't known (nor would my friends care to inform them if not, I suspect).

And all this trans stuff? Well, the therapy sessions are far enough apart for me not to pay much attention to their dates on the calendar anymore, and even when they occur they're so matter-of-fact that they seem more like a formality. Hormones are just a thing I do in the mornings and evenings, no biggie. I still peruse the forums and discussion groups, and keep an eye on the politics and issues, but the things that are really on my mind at the moment? Surgery, obviously, but beyond that, career movements, my various hobbies, dear family, and a relationship.

Do I wish I wasn't trans? Of course. Do I love my life? Abso-bloomin'-lutely.

Oh Please

2007-11-15T18:52:00.000+11:00

I just received mail from my private health insurance company addressed to "Mr Amanda [Surname]". Dear health insurance folks, my bank can get it right without requiring a gender recognition certificate, so why can't you?

Yes She Has, Darn It

2007-10-23T19:52:00.001+10:00

A manager at work kindly provided me with the following letter. This is as a result of Dr Harte asking for such a statement as documentation of the RLE, since therapists have historically had to take patients at face value when they say "Yes, I've been living full-time as me."

To Whom It May Concern

Re: Amanda [Surname]

I am writing to confirm that Amanda has been working with me at [Client Organisation] since January 2007, and has consistently been 'in role' as Amanda for the totality of that period. Please do not hesitate to contact me if further elaboration is required.

Regards

[Manager's Name]

I Was Cross-Dressed By A Malaysian School Teacher

2007-10-22T19:43:00.000+10:00

I haven't mentioned this to many people at all. It's one of the more oddball and blurry experiences in my life, and while it was distressing and humiliating at the time, on hindsight it seems much more sickening. I guess I feel like writing about it now because, in the end, there's some irony to it that feels cathartic to let out.

For those who don't know, in Malaysia (some twenty years ago; I have no idea what it's like now) it was commonplace for teachers to dole out odd exercises in discipline. Sometimes these were aimed at one student in particular, and at other times they were shotgunned at the whole class. They involved things like handing out far, far more homework than could be possibly done in a night; beatings with a wooden ruler in front of the class; and making students stand in a long kang (the open drains we have in Malaysia) until the "culprit" was turned in. Some acts might be considered as bordering on minor torture. All had in common an aim to humiliate, and to do so via the Malaysian cultural fear of being singled out and reminded of who is boss.

I can't remember my crime, nor that of the other girl who was punished with me, but my teacher chose for whatever reason (and I'd like to think that if that teacher did so in present-day Australia, they would be subjected to some serious psychoanalysis) to cross-dress us; that is, make me put on a dress that was the school's uniform for girls, and her put on the shirt and shorts that boys wore.

I cried, mostly because I knew I was being punished. But thinking back... gee it seems surreal.

I have no idea what sort of long-term psychological effect it had on me, though based on my early memories I'm pretty sure my transgenderedness began even before that. But maybe that would be a good way to haunt that teacher - show up in "bad tranny" getup and wail loooook what you've dooone to mee! (...lah)

Lordy I hope things have changed back there.

Policies

2007-10-03T19:29:00.000+10:00

Yesterday, I saw Dr Harte for my regular catch-up, and let him know about my plans for Thailand. He asked some basic questions, seeming unsurprised that I'd gone and booked the surgery, and reiterated that he'd have no problems with writing the letter in January stating that I'd lived full time for 12 months.

He also mentioned that the subject of my transition was brought up in the last gender clinic meeting, presumably in relation to my requests to Dr Kennedy three months ago. Apparently it was reinforced that the clinic's policy was to permit surgery (locally, through clinic specialists; this evidently doesn't apply if you find other means to be admitted for surgery) only after 18 months of the Real Life Experience. However, my situation was also apparently discussed, with some vague acknowledgment (Dr Harte didn't elaborate) that there should be some flexibility and that 12 months was the "absolute" acceptable minimum, in accordance with the HBIGDA Standards of Care.

In other words, they're giving me a nod of acknowledgment (whatever that counts for, since I'm flying overseas for surgery and obtaining a slightly circuitous letter from Dr Harte - saying "she's lived 12 months full time" rather than "the Monash clinic approves" - anyway), and the official situation hasn't changed at all (at least, not in any meaningful way I can discern). Oh well.

Somewhat ironically, when I later went to a GP at the Prahran Market Clinic to have my HRT prescription renewed, I was told that the GP (not my regular one - he was away) wasn't aware of the requirements for surgery in Thailand but that if I were to have it done locally I'd have to go through the whole Monash Gender Identity Clinic programme of assessments, therapy, meetings with the clinic director, meetings with clinic endocrinologists, the whole shebang. Blimey, you don't say!

I made an attempt to interrupt... but he was an enthusiastic speaker. Smile and nod. :)

Maybe I'll hear more on the policy thing from Dr Kennedy next week.

Stories

2007-09-23T20:49:00.000+10:00

The 60 Minutes investigative journalism television programme just aired a story entitled My Secret Self, about three separate cases of young transitioners (two MtF children, one teenage FtM). Watching it, I found myself drawing comparisons (as one would) between my own childhood and that of the kids in the story... and it was heart-wrenchingly familiar. The dreaming, the wishing and fervent praying, the overwhelming feeling that things are just so wrong - I guess perhaps these are things that you'd "have to be trans to understand". And the effect it had on me was to once again make me wonder how things would be if I'd made the realisations and "come out" sooner; but I guess, with the perspective and presence of mind of being older, I don't feel bitter or regretful. I may have missed out on the childhood I'd want, but how many people are lucky enough to get to pick the greater paths their lives take, let alone the paths of their childhoods?

Without doubt, it's still the parents of the transgender children who face the most difficult choices.

By contrast, some guy has chosen to "live like a woman" for a week in the belief that nail varnish, chick flicks, and worrying about cellulite are what define women and separate them from men. Um, you go, guy- er, girl, whatever. o.O

What I Sound Like

2007-09-05T20:57:00.000+10:00

It's been awhile since I've posted one of these, so here is what my voice now sounds like.

Gender Identity Limbo

2007-08-27T21:32:00.000+10:00

I'm in a strange place right now with regards to my gender identity. Eleven months of hormone replacement therapy and eight months of responding only to a female name and pronouns have affected who I see when I think of "myself". At the heart of it, I still know - as I always have known - that I'm me, but that old incongruity between my self image and the person I feel as though I should be seems to be... well, gone. And the strangest thing about this is that gender doesn't feel like an important part of how I see myself anymore.

What do I mean? Well I guess I don't feel like it matters much at all whether I pass or someone picks up on the fact that I'm trans, as long as they don't have hangups about it and (perhaps this is the key) don't react to me in ways that make me feel out of place (ie. male). Maybe my being able to pass well colors this lack of concern, but I think moreso, it's strongly influenced by M - he knows what I am, what I have "down there", but he's attracted to me for who I am and still sees me as entirely female. I think perhaps because of that, I don't feel a strong need for validation. It's a stark contrast to how I felt earlier on, in any case.

Put in a broader sense, the exclusivity of breasts to females and penises to males has never felt so artificial before; despite rejecting a lot of the activism, I feel a bit like living proof that gender variance can be a non-issue if people want it to be, and could almost (but not quite) see myself living in this in-between state indefinitely. And I'm not just talking about hormones, breast implants, or even naturally intersexed individuals - my mother is another quite normal example as she gets mistaken for male from time to time due to her short hair, propensity for trousers rather than skirts, and like many women, having had her breasts removed due to a cancer risk. Look around a bit, and you will see how flimsy that concept of external gender can be, and it's only because our internal sense of gender identity is so ingrained that we tend to reflect it back on the rest of the world.

My personal penchant for gender variance has definite limits, though. I'm still looking forward to surgery on the near horizon, but my reasons have taken a very practical slant - I want to be able to do things like wearing certain clothes and resuming my scuba diving (an activity I sorely miss). Other accounts of SRS I've read all seem to describe an emotional closure that comes with the procedure, and that may prove true for me too but for now, as someone else wrote of herself pre-op, "I'm a woman, and women simply don't have those!" (...and this is why I'd be a bad mascot for gender variance.)

Thailand itself is feeling a bit like a long-awaited holiday, which is probably a disproportionately casual way to view it considering the amount of time I'd be spending immobile or near-immobile. :) My friends D and R have both made plans to visit, which is incredibly endearing, and I'll be traveling with mum who insists on being there. Thanks, mum. :P

Now if we can only get to the stage where the word "transsexual" isn't blocked by workplace content filters on the assumption of pornography, we'd be all set to go mainstream and appear on TV sitcoms as the "alternative" character. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Raving Activism Is A Turn-Off

2007-08-13T20:43:00.000+10:00

One of the easiest ways to single-dimensionalise yourself is to embrace generalisations and stand up strong for some cause while forgetting that people are complex creatures. And yes, while there are issues that make life more difficult for those who identify as GLBT, it bothers me whenever someone steps up proclaiming to represent me while angrily declaring how oppressed "we" are, how mainstream society doesn't understand, how our government has an anti-GLBT agenda, or how "we" should stick together and break down the social walls of gender.

Well sure, tell it how it is, but how about not looking like a lunatic while doing so?

I don't feel a part of the "trans community". The trans people I've had contact with have been nice enough people, but they don't strike me as being any more relatable than other people in my life. Yes, there are obvious topics of discussion I have the option of bringing up with other transfolk, but once again, isn't that pretty single-dimensional and one-track-minded? I didn't choose to be trans - buoyed by family and friends, I chose to succeed academically, to work hard and gain respect in my career, to move to the city and live independently, but I didn't choose to be trans and that's not how I'd prefer to feel "special".

In fact, let me correct my wording: I don't "identify" as trans. I identify as me, and certainly not some irrational mule foaming at the mouth with utterly subjective assertions of truth, hell-bent on preaching to the converted.

This isn't about being stealthed, and nor is it about trans-pride; this is about not being afraid to be honest and unpretentious and declaring, "Yes, I do computer stuff, my eyes are brown, I play the piano, I have a Y chromosome in my DNA, I don't drink, and oh- I love to scuba dive."

I can't find pride in being transgendered, any more than I can find it in having black hair. It's just another part of the whole Amanda package, not to be sold separately. I'm not ashamed nor embarrassed by it either (I've been doing this RLE thing long enough to be over all that). And I prefer that those who find out "about me" see that this member of those crazy people is, in fact, a perfectly functional, coherent, educated and professional woman rather than a raving mess of hostility, attitude and opinion.

Yes, the passport situation sucks (I should know - I just applied for a passport that will only be used for one flight overseas, then discarded; and people who won't or can't undergo SRS are stuck with having to deal with this situation until the laws are changed again), and yes, our Prime Minister continues to knock back rights and freedoms (civil union, anyone?) for reasons less than humanitarian. But denouncing untruths and misunderstandings comes about by making the truths self-evident, not by yelling louder than your opponent at an unreceptive audience.

I want being trans to be socially acceptable, and to me, that means making people see that, yes, it does happen, and not all that rarely, and while we as a society need to deal with it, it's not a big deal and everyone should just move on and get back to worrying about terrorists or computer viruses or interest rates or High Fructose Corn Syrup or what-have-you.

I want people, upon being surprised by someone turning out to be transsexual, to say discreetly to their cohort "So-and-so might be having a sex change..." and then pause as they realise they have nothing interesting to add that is overtly related to the subject in question being trans. Transgendered-ness should be pretty boring, really. It shouldn't mean that people feel the need to tiptoe around certain conversational topics, or watch how they portray it in a movie, or feel apprehensive about letting their children talk to you, or fire you, or even disown you from the family.

And though ranting in the direction of people in power does sometimes bring about policy change, it drives the deeper cultural fears of gender and sexuality underground, to linger in slang like "poofter", "fairy", and "fag", and phrases like "shut up with this nonsense and act like a man or get out of my house". Cultural change only comes about by winning hearts and minds; it can't be enforced by punitive law.

Oh, and through some completely bizarre circumstances, I find that I now have a boyfriend (cisgendered male, heterosexual, and given the themes of this post it feels pretty silly that I have to specify to that degree) to whom my trans-ness is about as interesting as the fact that I breathe oxygen and float on water.

I'd have it no other way, and count myself beyond fortunate to have someone so accepting. Oh, if only more people could be like you, M.

Taking Stock

2007-08-07T20:38:00.000+10:00

Warning: This post contains weird tranny hormone stuff. If "squickiness" occurs, cease reading and consult your regular source of comforting conservatism.

I've now been on hormone therapy for a little over ten months, and just thought I'd write a bit about my experiences since I've been concentrating a lot more on the procedural aspects of transition lately.

My body fat has shifted all over the place. Right now I'm approximately as wide on the bottom as on the top, when I used to be more like an upside-down triangle. This is nice; I fill out jeans and trousers much better and look less amazonian. The downside is that I'm putting on weight much too easily - I was effortlessly 59 kg before hormones, and now I'm 66 kg and having to work to maintain that weight.

Relatedly, my face has filled out too, looking much less gaunt and a whole lot smoother in general. This is helped by the dramatic softening my skin seems to have undergone.

The scar on my neck from laryngoplasty is still visible but quite faint now.

My hairline is coming back down. The top corners aren't much apparent now and all along the hairline there are new, soft hairs. Overall it's probably about a centimetre lower than it was pre-HRT, and the frame of my face looks more oval.

Body hair is growing back much more slowly. I went without epilating for a week and only had light regrowth which would probably go unseen if I bared my arms (which I'm not doing, because it's winter and shiveringly cold). Facial hair seems to be permanently gone - I think I've crossed paths with a number of caucasian women who have had much more of a moustache.

My eyes seem to be drier, which makes wearing contact lenses for extended periods quite uncomfortable. Conversely, the opposite is true during a soppy movie, in which case they are much wetter. Emotionally, I remember seeing the male hormonal influence described as a constant feeling that "a fight might suddenly break out", and I remember agreeing with that sentiment at the time, but I can't remember how that feels anymore.

Breast development seems to have stalled at a small A, although I'm aware that at this stage, the chest wall recedes at approximately the same rate as the breasts grow. They do still itch and become tender, which I take as signs of continuing development.

My libido is intact but requires stirring, as opposed to beforehand, when it would flare up randomly and inconveniently. This arrangement is very satisfactory and liberating. On the other hand, the atrophy caused to various tissue "down below" by HRT means that when it does flare up, it can be quite uncomfortable.

According to the original plan, I'm supposed to reduce my dosage to 1 pill a day some time soon, but Dr Hunter never specified exactly when or whether he recommended I do that at all (imprecise is our knowledge of HRT), so I guess I keep going until I see him again in November.

A Date With A Doctor

2007-08-05T19:31:00.000+10:00

Suddenly, oh so suddenly, I'm booked for reassignment surgery at the Suporn Clinic in Thailand on the 19th of February, 2008. The confirmation of my booking (provisional upon payment of a deposit) came by email last night, after a small series of emails to the clinic administration asking for information and requesting dates. In fact, here at the beginning of August, mid-February was already the earliest available, and the waiting list seems to be growing by the week (my first preference was the 12th of February).

I don't anticipate any problems in getting the required psychotherapist recommendation letter by this time, and should easily meet the clinic's various criteria.

The next tasks for me are to make an application for a new passport (my application interview is tomorrow morning), to arrange payment with the bank, and to work out the details of travel, all in that order.

Suddenly, things don't seem that far away at all. By the time February 19th arrives, I'll have been 15 months on HRT (having stopped the hormones a month before surgery like a good little pre-op), and a little over a year full time in-role (and that sounds really odd to me right now, because I can't imagine being "out of role"). But either it hasn't quite hit me yet, or I've come to accept all this, because I can remember being a lot more scared six months before going full time. That was anxious, nerve-wracking, the changing of everything; this surgery, major though it will be, is just another step on a journey long since commenced.

Or maybe the enormity of it all will just strike me further down the track.

Parting Voices

2007-07-24T20:19:00.000+10:00

Sheryl, my speech pathologist, went through the remaining concerns I had about my voice today. I spoke about my tendency to be very (very!) soft-spoken, my needing to "warm up" before settling into my speaking voice, my occasional fear of being overheard getting it "wrong" while speaking louder, and my thoughts about the congruence between my voice and appearance. She listened to each point and as usual, suggested some steps I might take to correct things where she felt it was necessary, telling me that my fears were irrational otherwise.

One thing seemed clear to both of us, though: I knew the things I had to do, and everything else lay in practice and experience. On a good day and with concentration, I'll pass just fine with my voice both face-to-face and on the phone. Various aspects of vocal control are becoming more and more automatic, and my goal has shifted from trying to avoid my old voice, to trying to master my new one. I told an amused Sheryl that I think I've forgotten my old voice, and while I'm sure I could find it again given a few moments, I don't particularly want to.

And so, Sheryl decided to pass me back to the La Trobe voice clinic for review of my progress to date, to see if there were other things they might pick up. But for now, my time with her is over, and amidst an emotional "thank you" and hug, and her telling me to call if I ever needed something, we parted ways.

It's difficult to express just how much a speech pathologist does for a person in transition. Especially for someone not very boisterous like me, so much of the everyday confidence, assertiveness, and self-expression is tied up in how our voice is perceived that it easily overshadows matters of appearance. I'm very grateful to Sheryl and the La Trobe Communication Clinic, and can only wonder at my luck for residing in a community where access to such a service is basically free of charge and readily available to trans people.

Take A Breath

2007-07-20T21:17:00.000+10:00

"Hi Amanda, this is Fintan Harte calling. We have an appointment at a quarter to nine this morning. Will you be coming?"
"Yes, I'm actually standing right outside."

And so began the first of my mini-appointments with Dr Harte; the little 15-minute sessions every 3 months to check that everything is okay and to keep in contact, in accordance with the Standards of Care.

To rewind a little, Dr Kennedy had stated her opinion that I am progressing well and that, six months into my transition, things have been very smooth. She has also said, however, that she is unwilling to provide a letter of approval for SRS until after I've been in my Real Life Experience for 18 months, as per the Monash clinic's policy.

But I've learned a couple of things since my last meeting with Dr Kennedy; namely, that Dr Suporn in Thailand requires six months of Real Life Experience, one letter from a GP stating that a patient is of good health for surgery, and one letter of approval from a gender psychologist. Since Dr Harte was happy to give me my letter after 12 months (which is the international standard), I wondered how this would fit in with Dr Kennedy and the Monash Gender Identity Clinic's policies in general, and so I broached this question to him.

Dr Harte reiterated that the purpose of the Real Life Experience is to ensure the individual's gender identity is stable, and that they are emotionally, psychologically, physically, and socially able to cope with living as their identified gender. In some cases, people enter full time transition too early, and struggle even after twelve months. In other cases, people have already been living full time for years before formal transition. The international standards are in place to attempt to capture this variance like a sort of safety net under whatever a therapist might decide.

And his stance is that, as far as he is concerned, he would be quite perfectly able and willing to write a letter stating his opinion that I meet the international guidelines (even if not necessarily the Monash clinic's guidelines) after the 12 months was up, and it would be up to the Suporn Clinic to make the unlikely call as to whether a second opinion was necessary.

The point of all this is that his letter, and a letter of good health from my GP, would be all I'd need, and that I should have no trouble obtaining either come next year. Which means, ultimately, that I'm free to plan leave from work, travel documents, travel arrangements, insurance, accommodation, booking for surgery, and all the other little time consuming things I'll need to have ready in the next six months.

Think I need to take a breath before I start, though.

Out Of Context

2007-07-18T20:27:00.000+10:00

Yes, you just gotta!

Update: Apparently, the link has gone out of date and the joke no longer makes sense. :( Ah well.

Negotiations

2007-07-11T20:40:00.000+10:00

Therapist month (being every third month at the moment) having rolled around again, my appointment with Dr Kennedy was this morning (Dr Harte is next week). Seeing Dr Kennedy is a two hour affair, despite her office being 10 minutes from my apartment, simply because she inevitably runs late keeping up with appointments. So I took the opportunity to have the morning off work and also book an appointment with the beautician who did my lasering, for a bit of touching up on my upper lip.

And during the phone call to make the appointment, for the very first time, I unambiguously passed with my voice - the beautician repeatedly addressed me as "madam", only asking towards the end of the call for my name, to which I answered "Amanda". Sheryl is going to love hearing about that. :)

The appointment with Dr Kennedy was a lot more eventful than past ones have been. She noted that I'd been to see Mr Ceber, and asked what my thoughts were on surgery, to which I just replied that I still felt Thailand was the best option for me. At this, she seemed to launch into a string of faintly defensive, unanswerable questions as to why I wanted to go to see Dr Suporn as opposed to Mr Ceber, such as "Why do you feel Simon Ceber wouldn't provide you with those results you want?"

I met those questions with appropriate non-committalness, and brought out the facts as I knew them where I could. It was rather confrontational, and felt like a bit of careful sparring in many ways. At one point, the issue of penile inversion procedures versus Dr Suporn's scrotal graft procedure came up (remember, this is a discussion between a completely medically unqualified transsexual patient and a psychologist who isn't a surgeon). She commented that the reason the penile inversion has a high success rate with regards to sexual pleasure (as though that is the primary concern) is because the glans nerve endings are used to construct the cervix, which I know to be patently false - the glans penis is anatomically analogous to the glans clitoris, and this is exactly what both the penile inversion and Dr Suporn's procedure attempt to reconstruct.

After a bit of this, Dr Kennedy apparently felt she'd challenged me enough and that I wasn't going to reconsider, and we began to talk about the other issue I wanted to see her about: approval for SRS after the full term of my Real Life Experience. Because Dr Harte had stated that he'd be satisfied to grant his approval after I'd been full time for 12 months (the international standard), I asked whether she could do the same despite the Monash clinic's policy specifying a minimum of 18 months. She acknowledged that my suitability for SRS wasn't in question at all by this point, but then began a bit of a rambling description of some of the pressures she'd evidently been under from "the hospital" (which funds the Monash clinic) and how once they'd set the policy, they either had to observe it, or change it. I asked how often the policy was reviewed, since she mentioned that it was originally 24 months to match the international standard, which then became 18 months, which the clinic followed, but has since become 12 months when the clinic is still on 18. Her answer was that it isn't regularly reviewed, but that she would bring it up.

I'm not sure what that means for me, at this stage. SRS requires two letters of approval from two independently assessing and qualified gender specialists. I guess I'm still confident that one way or another, I'll be let through after 12 months, whether as a case of special consideration given the clarity of my situation, or (even better) the clinic's policy is reviewed and brought in line with international standards. Certainly, relaxing the 18 month requirement shouldn't have any bearing on those who are simply not ready, no matter how long they've been full time; one would think a psychotherapist would use certain judgements in granting their approval rather than basing it strictly on some (ultimately arbitrary) hard criteria.

However, these issues are complex. No one wants a return to the gatekeeper effect of early transsexual treatment, where the therapy process becomes a system to be gamed by the patient with the goal of obtaining approval for SRS. And certainly no one should feel pressured away from their own choices; gender dysphoria doesn't entail an inability to judge for oneself.

Whatever the case may be, I'd hope for a resolution sooner rather than later if I'm to plan for Thailand - Dr Suporn has quite a waiting list.

Then it was off to once again meet the laser. Given my success on the phone, I expected to step inside the laser clinic and be unrecognised, but both of the women who run the place gave surprised but cheery greetings immediately upon seeing me (which, on hindsight, probably was to be expected after all the time they'd spent scrutinising my face).

"You must miss the pain of the laser - there's nothing left there!" said one, examining my upper lip through magnifying goggles. Nevertheless, I got a few zaps; not quite enough to bring back the pain of earlier sessions, but still enough to remind me why I was glad it was over.

Choices

2007-06-07T19:33:00.000+10:00

Tuesday was probably my most confronting transition experience thus far - a consultation with Mr Simon Ceber, who is regarded as the leading SRS practitioner in Australia. With what I imagine is common among surgeons (let alone those who perform genital reassignment), the conversation took on a very matter-of-fact, blunt tone as he described the worst of the risks associated with SRS (fistulae, sudden death from DVT, etc).

Something (probably the same thing that gives me the creeps about blood tests) about the risk of blood clots under anaesthesia and the blood loss and subsequently required blood transfusion during the procedure just renders me squeamishly uncomfortable. In fact, beyond the fears about passing and estrangement and discovery, this is the first time since beginning transition that I can remember thinking, "Things would be so much easier if only I'd been born into the right gender to begin with."

How do we know that trannies don't do what they do for the heck of it? Because no one in their right mind would subject themselves to SRS unnecessarily. Anyone suffering from grass-is-greener syndrome would have to be extremely careless to go through with SRS.

Mr Ceber did physically examine me, to gauge the potential for a successful procedure (which he thought was quite high), and though he came across as genuinely caring and professional, the experience was deeply troubling in a manner I've yet to clearly rationalise.

We also spoke about my ideas of undergoing SRS in Thailand, to which he brought up the very real practical implications of not having immediate access to medical treatment after the fact should it be required, and of the increased risks of DVT due to flying. To my mind, these, along with the generally greater psychological pressures of traveling long distances for surgery, are the biggest downsides to the Thailand route.

But it struck me as odd when Mr Ceber quite dismissively and somewhat condescendingly brushed aside the idea of seeing Dr Watanyusakul Suporn in Thailand ("I don't know much about his technique, but I know he has an impressive web site"), especially given the Thai doctor's reputation in the trans community as being one of a handful of the most up-to-date and most successful (in terms of patient satisfaction) surgeons in the field. My expectation was that someone in Mr Ceber's position would take the time to familiarise himself with the range of available SRS techniques in order to provide the best care possible to trans people, which clashed quite jarringly with his comments.

I have no doubts whatsoever about Mr Ceber's ability and experience, and the concerns he raised are ones that do worry me. What's more I recognise that there's a part of me so scared by everything that it wants me to take the easiest, most comfortable route.

But after mulling over the possibilities some, I'm still learning towards the Thailand option. You only get one chance at SRS, after which you live with the results for life, and it seems I would be remiss not to give myself the greatest potential for a satisfactory result for the sake of logistical issues. The after-care concerns would be largely addressed if I plan to stay for several weeks, during which hopefully any problems could be addressed. And while it is more costly, it isn't so prohibitively unaffordable as to be a non-option.

I think I want to go to Thailand. Heck, it's just over the border from where I was born, so it'd be sorta like returning home. Kinda.

Jury Duty

2007-05-11T19:29:00.000+10:00

So I called the Juries Commissioner's Office to ask about my being summoned for jury duty by my old (male) name. The conversation went something like this:

Guy: Juries office.
Me: Hi, I've just received a jury summons but it's been addressed to my old name, which I had changed in December.
Guy: Oh, that's fine. Were you changing your name because you got married, were you? Or some other reason?
Me (silently cheering for evidently passing on the phone): Um, some other reason, yah.
Guy: Oh, alright, what's your Jury Roll Number?
Me: *reads out the jury roll number*
Guy (sounding a little uncertain): O-kay... we have it down here as [Male Name]. And you said you changed your name...?
Me: Mm hmm, my name's Amanda now.
Guy: Alright, I'll update it here... and you should be fine.

It seems I just turn up on the day with this letter addressed to someone who no longer exists (for some loose and very non-philosophical definition of identity and existence), and they now ought to know from the Jury Roll Number that I'm the person they hit when the darts were thrown at the giant juror-choosing dartboard.

More to the point... I passed on the phone! (Though one now wonders if there is such a thing as a clue to having passed which isn't gender heteronormative...)

Objection

2007-05-10T20:00:00.000+10:00

A jury duty summons just appeared in my mailbox, calling for me to serve as a juror at the end of this month. The catch is that it's addressed to my old name (despite my having changed it in December), and I can't find any notes on it about what to do in the event that the addressee's details are incorrect.

Oh well. Guess I'll have to call them up, point out the discrepancy, and see what happens.

Progress

2007-04-30T18:42:00.000+10:00

This is my first posting in an eventful couple of months, but even so, it's one I'm struggling to write. I guess the overwhelming reason is that my life in transition has become... well, unremarkable. I'm not having any "incidents" with passing, talking about trans issues is becoming uninteresting unless they're society-related, Dr Harte has reduced our sessions to 15 minutes every three months, Sheryl is ready to dismiss me after a few more sessions, SRS is still a fair while away, and overall, other things in life have become more important than transition.

Somewhere along the line, I guess I made the transition without really noticing.

Of course, there are still moments of gender dysphoria - people sometimes still get the pronouns wrong and I'm still making clothing choices based on certain anatomical truths. Can't say I have much to complain about though.

If there's one thing to remark upon, it's that I guess I'm seeing the value in the Real Life Experience. Before, I was sure only that I didn't want to go back to a closeted life of pretence, but now I can say without a doubt that this is the direction in which I want to proceed. This is the direction in which I have proceeded, and life has never felt so natural.

I don't even feel any particular desire to reminisce; things are generally forward looking, and I'm more than okay with that.

I'll continue to write, as there are some things coming in the future which will be worth writing about, but I suspect updates will be less frequent than in the past.

Bandages Off!

2007-02-28T21:14:00.001+11:00

Mr Vallance took the bandages off my neck during today's follow-up appointment. The wide, clear piece just came away like cling wrap, but the little white bandage over the stitches hurt. The results are looking nice, though. He pressed around the surgical site a little (adding to the discomfort), and remarked that while there was still some healing to be had, in time the swollen area will reduce into something nice and rounded.

I'm very please with the result, and extra pleased that I can finally wash my neck properly again. :P

Note To Self

2007-02-26T21:55:00.000+11:00

Dear Amanda,

Calling your speech pathologist up to let her know you've lost your voice and need to reschedule has certain logistics that warrant more thinking through.

Love,
Amanda

Trachael Surgery Part 2

2007-02-22T08:02:00.000+11:00

Can they make the whole surgical process any more daunting? First they effectively strip you, then attach things to you, then wheel you into a large and mostly empty room under enormous surgical lamps, invariably floored with a black and white tile pattern that looks like, if blood-spattered, could have come directly from a horror movie. A little plug is stuck into a vein in your hand to provide easy access to your circulatory system, and the anaesthetist comes over, sticks a syringe into the plug, telling you "don't fight it", and all of a sudden you can't keep your eyes open.

Actually in my case the anaesthetist didn't say a word at all. I just woke up in the recovery area somewhere, with what I think was an oxygen mask over my face, and a nurse saying that they were about to wheel me back to my room. Then I was suddenly in the room, drifting in and out of consciousness. I remember my parents there, smiling, and I think I smiled back. After gradually feeling like I was becoming more lucid, I realised I was having a lot of trouble swallowing, and that the pain in my throat was quite intense. A nurse had already given me a Panadol some (countless amount of) time ago, but at this point asked if I wanted something else for the pain - tablet or injection. I started to ask for a tablet when my parents suggested taking the injection as it would work more quickly, so I agreed.

The nurse came back a moment later and gave me the jab, adding something to my drip at the same time. And in a few moments I was drowsy again, and falling asleep. I only found out later that it was morphine I'd been given - no wonder it worked so well. My parents left the hospital at this point, I think.

This would have been late afternoon on Tuesday, and I think I slept for a few hours at a time through the night, waking now and again with a nurse wanting to take my blood pressure or check my IV drip or try to get me to drink some water. I went to the bathroom a couple of times, but didn't manage to eat much or sip more than tiny amounts from a glass of water until breakfast was served at 7am on Wednesday. Surprisingly, the pain didn't return during the night at all, and I felt quite comfortable except for being unable to swallow and for the mucus rattling in my throat.

Breakfast consisted of Weet-bix (which I didn't touch), peach slices, and for me, a green jelly. I could manage the peach slices by nibbling at them and chewing a lot more than I'd ordinarily chew, and since it looked like I was finally eating, a nurse came and removed the drip.

I was given the chance to have a shower (complete with a plastic coated chair so that I could sit if I got woozy from the anaesthetic). My parents arrived shortly after, and we signed some paperwork, then left for home.

It was quite straightforward, overall, and the nursing staff were simply terrific. At one point, one of them asked my parents and I why the procedure had been performed, not realising that I was trans, which made me grin.

For the rest of the day, I rested, alternating between sitting around trying to keep my fluid levels up in the uncomfortably hot weather and simply sleeping off the effects of the anaesthetic. I'm beginning to cough up the phlegm that has been rattling in my throat, which I think is a good sign.

Right now, on Thursday morning, my voice hasn't yet returned though (I can only manage a whisper most of the time). Mr Vallance, the surgeon, had come to my ward after the surgery to check that I still had my voice and that my vocal folds weren't damaged or anything, so I think it's just the general stiffening and swelling of things that is causing me to be unable to speak at the moment. I have a followup appointment with him in a week's time, at any rate.

All's well for now. Thank you all for the supportive thoughts and comments. :)

Trachael Surgery

2007-02-19T23:30:00.000+11:00

So in about six hours, I'll have to wake up and make the drive down to the Peninsula Private Hospital to be admitted for my laryngoplasty operation. I'm not really sure what to expect, beyond being put under a general anaesthesia and then probably waking groggily and maybe painfully some time later. I'm not even sure how long I'll be in recovery for, though I've been given the impression it's just a one-night stay and no longer. That, and whether I will be able to eat normally after the surgery, are among the questions I guess will have to be answered tomorrow.

Thankfully, my parents are making things as stress free as they can, driving me there and accompanying me in tomorrow. And my friend R has very kindly insisted on visiting too, although depending on the stay there may not be any time/need. :)

So... I'm a little nervous. I'll be glad to get it over and done with, and it's not like it's SRS or anything.

Here goes!

A Rose By Any Other- OMG It's V.Day!

2007-02-14T19:24:00.000+11:00

Valentine's Day was always a day for me to look longingly on what everyone else had and wish I could somehow fit into it all... which sounds awfully depressing but I don't mean it in that sense. It was a wishful day for me, more than anything else, although I was resigned to the idea that it was just part of something I'd simply never have.

Things are so much more fun now, though. :)

On the way to work, I was greeted by a man and a little Valentine's Day musical quartet selling roses (or marketing something or other). He flashed a smile, moving to intercept me and asking if I wanted any roses, to which I gave an embarrassed laugh and shook my head while walking by.

Then at work, our team manager sauntered by with an armful of long-stemmed roses, stopping at my desk with a pleasant "'scusi moi, mademoiselle?" and producing one with a flourish before continuing on. The rose came with a Happy Valentine's Day note upon which was written, "To the Ladies of the team, From the Gentlemen of the team."

Well, it's my first valentine (apart from the ones everyone gets in primary school) - so I'm allowed to giggle happily. :P

Not to be outdone, some of the girls in the team then went out to obtain chocolate, flowers, and (of course!) beer which were distributed to the guys. All very heteronormal (I do have to wonder what the one gay male in our group thought), but in an innocently amusing way.

I found out later that some members of the team had made an effort to ensure that I'd be included as a rose-recipient, which, despite being a sort of indirect reminder that I'm 1) trans, and 2) a contractor rather than a full time employee, is really rather sweet.

I'm touched. :P

However, the old man who approached me out of the blue while I was waiting for a tram home takes the cake for strangest event of the day. For a start, his opening line was, "You're the nicest girl I've seen today." At this point my mind was doing a complicated dance involving:

Searching for signs that he'd read me.
Checking my peripheral vision for anyone who might be in reach of my handbag.
Thanking him politely and non-committally.

He then asked if I was Chinese, and when I said yes, gave an approving smile and said, "You're very pretty." We stood there exchanging faintly patronising pleasantries for a bit, him telling me of how much he approved of Chinese citizens in our community and how he was going to Beijing to see the next Olympic Games ("It'll be the greatest Games ever"). After my first tram passed by with me feeling too rude to interrupt him so soon, I awkwardly excused myself to board the second one, he bid me farewell, and that was that.

I guess sometimes, a (slightly creepy) friendly old man is just a friendly old man.

And upon arriving at my apartment building, two guys spotted me holding the rose as I entered the elevator. One of them gave a cheerful exclamation, "Someone got a valentine!", and quipped that he was expecting a big bunch of roses waiting for him at home. I chuckled with them, giving a casual, "Good luck!" over my shoulder as I arrived on my floor.

All in all, my sense of self image and acceptance has been given a tremendous boost. Some days I wonder how on earth I can possibly pass. Today, I'm wondering, why do I worry about passing at all?

It's a wonderful place to be in.

Voicings

2007-02-12T20:09:00.000+11:00

Last week, my speech therapy with Sheryl began again after a two month hiatus. As before, she pointed out things I could work on and suggested new exercises to do, but I was surprised when she remarked that my voice in conversation sounded okay to her, and female. And only the week before, both Dr Harte and Dr Kennedy had independently said the same thing when I commented that my conversational voice was still a source of anxiety.

Sheryl gauged by ear my fundamental pitch to be around 150 Hz. This surprised me since I know I'm still not in the habit of raising my pitch very much, although I am beginning to forget what my old voice sounded like. To confirm it, we measured my conversational voice and interestingly, obtained a result of 125 Hz.

Two things spring to mind: Firstly, 125 Hz is a lot higher than my old speaking voice of 80-90 Hz, and this is when I'm not actively paying attention to how I sound. And secondly, Sheryl perceived my pitch to be a lot higher than it actually was, which (as she pointed out to me) means that I'm doing something with my resonance and intonation that is definitely good.

I suspect the latter is why I seem to sound okay to Dr Harte and Dr Kennedy too, and why strangers don't seem to react oddly when I speak. Friends who have known me for some time, on the other hand, seem to still pick up on the sound of my original voice when I speak.

It's a strange matter of perception, which probably applies to my visual appearance now too.

And in either case, I can't for the life of me tell how people hear me. Try as I might, my voice still sounds like... well, me to me unless it's a recording I'm listening to. :P

Crossings

2007-01-29T20:23:00.000+11:00

I'm pretty sure that more cars have stopped to let me cross round-abouts and street intersections in the last three weeks than in the entire several months I've lived at my present location.

Coincidence? Or sexism caught in strobe lights?

*ponders*

Life In Transition

2007-01-28T23:55:00.000+11:00

It's now been three weeks since I began my Real Life Experience, and four months since I started hormone replacement therapy. And perhaps it says something that I haven't felt like there's been much to write about in that time, because for the most part, I couldn't imagine my transition being smoother!

My physical appearance is continuing to gradually feminize, which is pleasing. There are little things that I'm still concerned about, like my tracheal cartilage and some body hair, but in practice I seem to be passing far more easily than I could have hoped.

I'm becoming quite used to my body's hormonal characteristics now, and taking the medication is becoming something I rarely think about at all, whereas when I had just commenced HRT, it was a sort of daily ritual that carried its own sense of excitement and curiosity. Dr Hunter has commented that after eight months or so, he normally drops the dosage back to one pill per day. I'm a little apprehensive about that, and whether it'll mean a return of some of the "maleness" in my feelings.

I still have issues of confidence with my voice, and I'm looking forward to re-commencing speech therapy with Sheryl in early February. However, I did record a new voicemail greeting with what I could muster (click the link to listen). Nevertheless, I think I manage okay when speaking to shopkeepers and others in public (although I guess if they read me due to my voice, they could simply be not reacting).

Most of all, I think going full-time is giving me an understanding of what transition is really about: moving on. For all the planning and anticipation I've done, there was always an expectation that I'd be consciously attempting to adopt a new and unfamiliar role, almost like peeking out at the world from under a disguise while I grew accustomed to it. And although I did feel a little like I was doing that for the first few days, what actually seems to be happening is that simple matters of living are overshadowing the "trans things". It's becoming increasingly apparent that every time I'm worrying about passing, or doctor's referrals, or speech therapy, I'm letting myself be caught up by what it means to be "trans", instead of what it means to be a woman.

My first glimpse of this happened last weekend, which saw a rather large family gathering in which many relatives observed me for the first time presenting as female. I always used to dread such gatherings, feeling left out of conversations I couldn't relate to and unable to do or say the things I wanted, pulling myself into a quiet ball in the corner and wishing for time to pass. This time, I really enjoyed myself. I wasn't consciously being showy, I was simply me, and throughout the night, a number of people approached me (or as I found out later, my mother) to remark how much happier I seemed.

Yesterday, my friend A guided me from shop to shop and garment to garment on a shopping trip in a somewhat trendy part of town. I wasn't particularly chatty, being a little self-conscious about my voice, but it was still comfortable and natural to be moving about, saying what I thought and acting how I liked. I don't have an upbringing that involves shopping for girly things and trying them out, or any particular fetish to do so, but even with my obvious inexperience it was fun (thanks, A!), not something I had to strain to find enjoyment in. The fact that I am trans didn't enter into the equation of what we were doing - even despite us discussing "trans stuff" now and again. We were just two girls out shopping. And on top of it I managed to pick up a gorgeous jacket which is perfect for the crazy winter-in-summer weather we're experiencing. :P

And today, I was perusing stores with my cousin L who's visiting from overseas (yes, the one who prodded me into starting this blog in the first place), and who subjected me to a hair dyeing session. Unfortunately, the color didn't turn out as strongly as either of us hoped, though it does look pleasant (lesson for the future, for my black hair). I was out more casually than I'd been out before (which generally means less overtly femininely), but didn't feel particularly self-conscious - it was just a matter of fact that I was trans, the same way that it's a matter of fact that I have black hair and that I play the piano.

Transition, curiously, is something you work very closely with in order for it to go away.

That's not to say that I try to push trans matters out of my mind - like most trans people I have an active interest in such matters and do carry opinions about them. But that interest is starting to feel much less personal, more professional.

And I, for one, think that's a definite step in the right direction.

Inescapable Vestiges

2007-01-14T15:05:00.001+11:00

My current supply of pills just reached the halfway point, so in three weeks I'll need to see a chemist for another prescription.

The only slight problem is that my script from Dr Hunter is in my previous, male name.

Ah well, guess I'm going to have to out myself a little, particularly during these early days. It's just a little annoying when I haven't really been challenged to any great degree about the prescription on the three previous times so far despite it being about twice the dosage a post-menopausal woman might take, but now that I'm actually full-time, with a female name and appearance, I'm going to be forced to out myself. Darn.

Heteronormativity: Helping You Pass

2007-01-10T19:06:00.000+11:00

Three days full-time now, and I'm starting to realise the obvious: the transsexual isn't a part of the average person's cognitive universe. Most people don't have trannies on the brain. The extent to which this is true probably varies a lot depending on the particular society, but it seems to be the case where I live.

And the lovely thing about heteronormativity is that, when confronted by a particular individual whose gender may be in question, the average person will tend to automatically coerce that individual into one gender or the other. If they are truly unable to determine the individual's gender, then they'll tend to simply settle with "don't know". There's no in-between.

Just think about the last time you saw someone ambiguous, and either didn't pay it any attention, or innocently thought to yourself something like, "He's very effeminate" or "She seems a bit buff". Maybe, just maybe, they were trans. Or as it happens, maybe not. Even Dr Harte admits that he has faux pas'd before when he assumed someone was transgendered who wasn't. And I see so many people every day who kinda-maybe-sorta-possibly could be trans, but ya just never know. In a sense, it's safer to assume they're not trans (or intersexed, for that matter) and either biologically male or female.

The thing I find most odd about this is that I can get either ma'amed or sir'd purely by how I dress, which of course makes things rather nice for me. :P

And if the person recognises you but has never seen you in role before, as has happened twice to me now, there's a good possibility they'll still politely act like everything is normal while mentally combusting about why you seem to be cross-dressing.

Moral of the story? People aren't out to spot trannies (well, not normally, anyway). Should have been obvious, I know, but hey. On figuring this out, and now seeing for myself, most of my early anxiety about passing just dissolved away. :)

Day One

2007-01-08T19:40:00.000+11:00

Today went so smoothly! Those at work who were expecting me were just terrific - I don't think I noticed a single slip-up with the pronouns or use of my old name. ^.^ People I passed on the street didn't give me a second glance. The security officer at reception didn't blink an eye or raise a brow when I told him I was there to see my client, and strangers in the office didn't seem to notice anything unusual about me at all. One even came up to where I was sitting and asked where he could find someone or other (I didn't know, and told him so). No signs of having been read at all.

On the way home, just before entering the elevator, I ran into an ex-colleague who happened to be in the same building and who hadn't known anything about my transition. He did a double-take, and I imagine he must have been struck with surprise when I dashed into the lift, started chatting to him, and turned out to be... well, me. :P His reaction was to act like everything was normal and carry on the conversation, which is awfully polite. The third stranger in the elevator didn't seem to have a care as we talked about the holidays and work, which puts to rest some (but not all) of my fears about my voice giving me away.

I waited until we'd left the elevator to quietly and gently break the news about why I suddenly looked the way I did, and he took it as calmly as could be expected while we continued to walk and talk a bit in friendly banter. Poor guy. :) I'm going to send him a copy of the letter I wrote.

I'm a happy Amanda tonight. :P I'm finally full-time, and seem to be far more passable than I could have hoped. As I mentioned to friend K yesterday, it's a little strange feeling so excited about simply living my life, to which he gave the reply, "That's great though! Being excited by just being."

That's exactly how I feel.

Details, Details

2006-12-27T20:34:00.000+11:00

Somewhere in the last week or so, I think I crossed a threshold wherein the fear of presenting as female in public just... dropped away. People are using my new name and I'm responding to it. Officially I'm not "full-time" until I start work on January 8th, but I feel like I am in-role now, all the time, and suddenly the prospect of beginning my Real Life Experience isn't so scary at all.

I think part of this has to do with some realisations I've begun to have about transition and being read (more on that later), but also partly because I'm gaining confidence as to being able to actually pass.

I'm still on holidays, and taking the opportunity to have all my identifying documentation updated. This morning was VicRoads, to amend my drivers' license. I couldn't tell if the guy behind the counter noticed anything out of the ordinary before I handed over the change-of-name certificate and Dr Harte's letter explaining my situation - fair enough, par for the course. However, the man operating the booth where the photographs are taken and the licenses printed certainly had no idea that my details were being changed, and ushered me into position in front of the camera calling me "young lady", seemingly without a thought. Then, on handing me my new drivers' license with the photo, gave me a joking "Your boyfriends are gonna love that."

Mm hmm, I do think I might actually pass just fine!

The Last Week End-eth!

2006-12-22T12:38:00.000+11:00

Farewell, male dress codes. Farewell neck-ties and boring shirts, trousers, and shoes.

Farewell, male restrooms, with your disturbingly stale odiferance, your sordidly open urinals, your inconsiderately scattered soap and paper handtowels, and your uncomfortable, eye-contact defeating atmosphere.

Farewell, pretence. Farewell to sitting politely in all-male groups, pretending to get the sexist jokes and nodding and smiling in faux empathy. Farewell, conformist pressure, fear of heteronormal expectation, and self suppression.

Farewell, forced masculinity. I'm going to enjoy my holidays and the beginning of the rest of my life, and you won't be missed!

Name Recognition

2006-12-20T20:53:00.001+11:00

A certificate of name change finally appeared in my mailbox this afternoon. The government now recognises my name as Amanda! Now, I simply need to run around erasing all instances of my former name. :P

Interestingly, it seems that these days, you're allowed to change the gender marker on your Victorian drivers' license (not sure about other states) without reassignment surgery if you can supply a "medical report indicating that a course of treatment is being undertaken in preparation for gender re-assignment". I'm not sure what would constitute such a report, but I'm going to have a go using the letter Dr Harte wrote for me. If it turns out that the gender marker may truly be changed without requiring SRS, then VicRoads is certainly surprisingly progressive!

Sigh Of Relief

2006-12-19T18:34:00.000+11:00

Although it felt like a lot of people whispering about me behind my back, L's sessions are done and over, and by all accounts L was just brilliant. After the sessions, when I gathered with the staff in the tea room and they conveyed their support and well-wishes, it was easy to see that this wasn't a mechanical back-patting and handshaking exercise - they truly understood what she'd said. I think the trick to conveying gender dysphoria to someone is to cut straight through the popular stereotypes and misinformation in a way cisgendered people can relate to, and L's skill at doing so seems masterful.

And the reception was so warm and heart-meltingly earnest. It's like everyone knows now, and no one is objecting, so I can go on with nothing to hide. Like initially coming out, the feeling of relief is difficult to describe.

After the sessions, one of the senior members of the company - more or less openly known to be gay - spoke to me and shared some of his own experiences. As it turns out, he is something of a GLBT activist, being a presenter in a weekly local radio show in which he once even interviewed L. He also asked what I wanted done with my photo and profile on the company intranet, which is a no-brainer to me - old pic and name have to go! I'll need to organise a new photo though, but that gives me a reason to make a transition photo-journal entry (camera shyness is an old habit which dies hard).

Knowing what some people go through with workplace transition, I must be like the luckiest transperson in the world. Talk about being GLBT-friendly!

Maybe it's the strain of anxiety over the last two days, but despite not having physically done anything today, I feel completely worn out. But very happy.

Letter To Colleagues

2006-12-18T18:35:00.000+11:00

This is the letter staff at work will have received today:

Dear colleague,

I'm writing to let you know something quite personal which may come as a surprise, that might otherwise be a shock if I chose to keep it to myself until later. You may know that I've often been shy, and very closed about my personal life. But in short, I am undergoing therapy and medical treatment for a condition known variously as gender dysphoria, gender identity disorder, transsexualism, and other names.

Everyone grows up with a natural sense of identity, knowing by instinct whether they are male or female. Being gender dysphoric means that my psychological gender identity happens to be at odds with my physical gender – meaning that despite my physical anatomy being male, I instinctively identify myself as female. It's a rare condition which is often ridiculed in popular media and society, which makes self-denial seem a lot easier than self-exploration. But years of denying this to myself have led only to my struggling with increasing isolation, guilt, shame, depression, and most of all, the confusion and displacement of not knowing who I am.

I've chosen to give up the denial and, with the help and guidance of many specialists in this area, undergo a transition from the person you knew as male, to living my life as female.

As you can imagine, the decision has not been an easy one to make, but the alternative – the continued erosion of my personal life and the effect it was beginning to have on those closest to me – made it the only realistic choice. I don't see this as an unfortunate thing; I'm coming to terms with who I really am now, and for the first time in many years, I feel as though I have been given a chance at living a full life.

Emotionally and psychologically, I'm in a far safer and better place now than I was only a year ago, and I'm deeply grateful to all the people who have allowed this to be possible. I'm not seeking to change who I am; but I am coming out of hiding and finally choosing to be myself. My personality will remain the same, although in discovering these things about myself I am also discovering greater depth to who I am – a person who is truly happier, more expressive, and more open than the shell I've forced myself into over the years.

This is something I've dealt with for as long as I can remember, but I've been incredibly lucky to have found the loving support of friends and family alike, and feel ready to take the next step of living full time as female. This transition is a long journey that I've spent the last year preparing for, and as much as I look forward to its beginning, it's also the most intimidating thing I've ever had to do. I will be learning a great many new things and it will take me time to adapt. In this, your patience and support will be most dearly valued.

My name is being changed to one I've privately held for years – Amanda. I'll be away on leave for two weeks over the Christmas and New Year break commencing on the 22nd of December, and intend to return to work on January 8th as Amanda. I would be most grateful if you use my new name to refer to me, and also use the female pronouns "she" and "her".

The support of [Company] as a whole, and [R&R Manager] in particular, has been invaluable. This is an unfamiliar challenge for the company too, but they have offered their full support and have reasserted the Equal Opportunity and Anti-Discrimination policies as included with this letter.

The meeting invitation which has been extended to you will give you the opportunity to meet a psychologist I've recently been working with. [L] has considerable experience in assisting those with gender dysphoria and will provide some more background on the subject as well as be able to answer any questions you might like to raise. I will not be attending the meeting.

I'm writing this letter in the spirit of honesty and openness. Though this is an issue I've spent a long time dealing with, it has not been something I could easily share before being ready. I'm now much happier than I've ever been, and want to continue working with all of you in my new gender role, in the capacity you are familiar with, just as I've done for the past two and a half years. As much as is appropriate, I do welcome questions especially in the interests of avoiding misconception, and ask only for acceptance of my decision and that the respect you've shown me in the past still remains.

Thank you for reading this.

Yours most sincerely,
Amanda ([Male Name]) [Surname]

So, About That Guy You Know...

2006-12-17T21:29:00.001+11:00

Tomorrow, close to fifty people at work are going to receive an envelope containing the letter L asked me to write, a letter of support for my transition from my company, and a single page provided by L entitled "What is a Transsexual". Then on Tuesday morning, hopefully most of them will be attending one of two sessions run by L, in which she'll go over the situation, provide facts, and generally convey the expectations of everyone involved, without me being present. The idea there is that people will feel more comfortable asking questions if they're not having to worry about accidentally offending me.

I'm caught somewhere between nervous anticipation and odd detachment. It's as though it's hit me that this is happening, but only part of me took note.

This coming week will, subsequently, be my last week of work this year, and also my last ever as a male. I'm taking leave after this week to sort out all the things I'll need to do before commencing my Real Life Experience, then returning on the 8th of January to begin work, finally in the role of a female.

I'm utterly boggled.

Update: I just finished ironing my work clothes for the week, and it occurred to me that this will be the last time I'm actually ironing them to wear. It's beginning to sink in now.

Hormonal

2006-12-14T19:47:00.000+11:00

The hot flushes I was experiencing have gradually faded over the last week or so, such that I'm sleeping normally again for the past couple of nights. I saw Dr Hunter on Friday, who didn't know any specific reason why I was experiencing them in the first place, but agreed that it sounded menopausal and suggested that we'd simply keep an eye on it. But by the way they came and then went, I suspect it's because, in the last few weeks, the testosterone in my body has finally been suppressed and the estrogen and progesterone won out.

We also went over the results of the blood test I took towards the end of November - as of the time of the test, my testosterone levels had already taken a nosedive from the middle of the normal male range to the minimal levels of the female range. I wish I'd had the presence of mind to ask Dr Hunter what the levels and units of measurement actually meant, though.

Dr Hunter also brought up supplementing my current dosage with an anti-androgen, though we both felt that any gain from it would be negligible, and it just makes sense to me to subject myself to the minimum medication necessary.

In the end, his verdict was that things seem to be "a bit better than good."

A Night Out

2006-12-07T18:35:00.001+11:00

Last night, myself and friends B and A had planned to go out for dinner as we do every so often. At the last minute, we decided to ask a reluctant D if he wanted to tag along too. Up until now I hadn't really been out in public in-role, but for whatever reason, I found myself adding, "And if there are enough of us, I might even go as a girl."

So a change of attire and some makeup later, D and B turned up at my apartment, greeting me with surprised but hearteningly supportive grins, and seemingly without a hint of apprehension about being seen in public with a tranny. (On hindsight I suspect there was a measure of "I wonder if Amanda'll sink or swim?" going on too, wasn't there, guys? :P) The venue was within walking distance, and we stopped to meet up with A at her workplace along the way.

I'd chosen a black embroidered and buttoned top with short sleeves. At this stage, I'm generally wary of anything which reveals my arms as it tends to emphasize the width of my shoulders, but the steep neckline and the flared hem on this particular one seem to take away from the weight of my upper silhouette. Also pulled on some black pants which don't really go with the top but are the closest thing I own to doing so (my wardrobe is still an early work in progress).

It was starting to get dark, and I don't think anyone we passed on the streets spotted anything out of the ordinary. Once indoors, however, I scored a few odd looks from the waiter, though he never mentioned anything. He did hand the menus to A and myself before the boys though (does that still mean something these days, or was it coincidence?). There were a couple of other people in the restaurant, and a boisterous group down toward the back who never really glanced our way. So (as I'm starting to suspect will mostly be the case), it's difficult to put a finger on how much I was passing at all. I wasn't seriously expecting to pass when any face-to-face interaction with someone was called for, which probably eased me a lot and prevented me fretting. And for reasons which are slowly beginning to dawn on me, the thought of being read is worrying me a lot less than it used to; I'll write more on that as it crystalises in my mind.

The other three were being terrifically encouraging, using my female name without me having asked (though D informed me that it would probably feel odd to use my male name when I'm presenting as a girl). No slip-ups with names that I can recall at all, though the pronouns had switcheroos and double-takes now and again. :P I did really appreciate the effort though.

All in all, it was a fun night out, and the moral support was top notch. :)

Highlights of the night: watching B practically inhale strips of bread as well as the ice cubes from my empty glass while tackling a stupendously hot curry; not having my bra strap flicked by A; and of course, the split second decision to take the plunge because hey, I have to start somewhere!

Voice Worries

2006-12-06T18:47:00.000+11:00

Yesterday was supposed to be my second appointment with Sheryl, the speech therapist. As I sat in the waiting area, a woman came out and called rather loudly, "Amanda, please." The only other patient in the area was a young girl who didn't bat an eyelid as I stood and followed the woman toward the therapy rooms, which could be interpreted in a number of ways. I suppose given how I looked, it might have been an instance where someone might tentatively figure me to be male, but then correct their assessment upon seeing me respond to a girl's name.

The woman's use of my female name wasn't really a surprise - Sheryl had already asked which name I preferred, and the clinic had me in their files as "Ms Amanda [Surname], Female".

In fact, my actual surprise was more to do with the fact that the woman wasn't Sheryl. Sheryl, as it turned out, was down with an illness and had been away for some days, so this other specialist would conduct my session in her stead. I was assured that I'd hear from Sheryl soon regarding the next session, but right now it's not clear when that might be, so it looks like going into full-time, this is all the speech therapy I'm going to get. :/

A little troubling, since my voice is still my chief concern, but then again I didn't expect to have a perfectly passable voice upon commencing the RLE anyway.

The appointment itself, though disruptive in that it veered off on tangents from where Sheryl seemed to be going, still resulted in some progress as I attempted monologuing for the first time rather than reading phrases and passages. My experience with speech therapy as a whole so far has been a little underwhelming though, what with the first abrupt handover from the Latrobe team to Sheryl, and then this further interruption, but I guess for an almost fee-less service, there's not much that can be said.

Time to rely on self-practice again.

Ma'amed

2006-12-03T11:51:00.000+11:00

Today wasn't meant to be unusual in any way - just another Sunday in which I loaded up the washing machine, got done up in mostly-guy mode (which, these days, seems to be fairly androgynous), then headed out to do my grocery shopping for the week. Black long-sleeved top, light jacket, black jeans, guy's runners.

Along the way to the local Coles, I wondered as I often do just how the people who pass me on the street notice me, if they notice at all, and what might run through their minds. Dressed androgynously, I don't really expect anyone to gender me as female, though of course there's no way of knowing what people think unless they react in some fashion (which, out of politeness, they often might not).

So I carried my basket of groceries to the counters, and experienced one of those moments when you try to mentally assess the number of items you have and wonder if you should be in the express lanes. I think I counted one more than their limit, and so obediently stuck myself in the slow lane behind a lady with an enormous trolley of pre-Christmas goods, while a bloke lined up in turn behind me.

I think he and I were both eyeing the laden trolley in front when a checkout girl approached us, beckoned toward another checkout counter, and said, "Do you want to change lanes, ma'am? Sir?"

This took me by surprise, especially since I wasn't actually looking to pass at all! I'm sure she must have noticed her "mistake" a moment later, and even if she didn't, my guy-voice would have given me away. But it's really not long now until I'm full-time, and this is just so deeply encouraging. :P

Transsexuality, Feminism, And Stereotype

2006-11-29T20:33:00.000+11:00

Something very stubborn inside me refuses to believe that the binarism of gender is anything other than an artificially constructed mental fence. Intuitively, gender feels much more fluid to me than simply male and female, but I have some trouble reconciling that with my need for transition. I guess a part of me admits that there is more to the difference between men and women than anatomy alone.

...which is where I think the transitional woman runs head first into feminism and sexism. There are feminine things I'll do purely because I like to, but I'm also keenly aware that there are stereotypes which, when conformed with, simply make it easier to pass in a society with highly gendered values.

When you're in transition from male to female and giving up the things men take for granted in society, it's pretty hard to ignore the message of feminism. But at the same time, a transwoman is probably under more pressure than a genetic woman to conform to social (and often very male-oriented) expectations of womanhood simply to pass. The result is a narrow balancing act between being yourself, and pandering to sexist stereotypes, with the recourse appearing to be to embrace and extend gender variance and awareness (in effect, practising a flavour of feminism).

The only problem is that thinking along those lines sends my brain into a vicious circle involving gender variance and dissolving gender binarism and heteronormativity, and back to that question of questions: what is the difference between men and women?

Of course, degrees are important here as I think stereotypical behaviour isn't necessarily harmful unless the stereotypes themselves are negative. The image of the artificially femme, clad-in-pink-frills tranny just makes me cringe, but as a "newcomer" to this side of the gender divide, I'm uneasy about making any representative statements (both implicit and explicit) about women and what it means to be one. Nevertheless, I'm determined to lean on the side of gender variance if it means avoiding a horrific crash course with poor stereotypes.

If not, then someone please do the world a big favour and shoot me.

Flashes Of Tropical

2006-11-28T18:39:00.000+11:00

Thought I'd write an update on the effects of the hormones as it's been just a few days past two calendar months since I started HRT.

My body temperature regulation seems to be going a bit haywire, and it's progressively worsened until the previous couple of nights when I've experienced rather severe hot flashes. In fact, had I been less tired, this entry would have been written at 2.30 AM last night when I woke up chilled and soaking in sweat. I'll go to bed feeling a bit chilly, then overheat under my doona and sweat profusely, then get cold from the dampness.

I think this might be related to the progesterone levels, but I'm not entirely sure how. It does seem to suggest that I'm cresting some hormonal threshold though. My next appointment with Dr Hunter is on Friday next week, and until then, I think I can manage with the discomfort.

In other news, I'm definitely putting on weight. Mixed feelings abound, as it's probably an indication that my metabolism is slowing down and fat distribution is changing, but I'm now up to 62 kg from my 58 kg at the start of HRT. This is the same weight I used to be throughout my late teens, and still deep in the bottom end of the healthy range for my height, but the trend means that I'm probably going to have to watch my weight from now on (which is something I never used to do - I was one of those people who had to make a conscious effort to put on any weight).

Darn. Ah well, I guess some sacrifices are to be expected.

Breast soreness is also at times beginning to drive me up the wall, but the commensurate development is certainly pleasing!

But for all the changes I'm attempting to observe, the overall effect is less definable. I only know that more and more, I'm seeing someone I can relate to in the mirror. A friend at work also said to me the other day, "For the first time, I caught a glimpse of you as a girl", which, given that I'm still presenting as male when in my work clothes, was terrific to hear. :)