Decidedly Obscure Human Complaints.

UPDATE: The Witch Hunt Failed - Murder Charges DROPPED!

My pharmacy is now charging around $85 for a generic (Watson) 10ml 200mg/ml testosterone cypionate. Up from $58. They said there’s a shortage or something… 

Anyway, I felt pretty nervous about bringing this prescription in due to the sudden arrest of my doctor, Nicola Riley, on December 28th. I’ve wanted to blog about this for a while, but haven’t been able to until now. During my last appointment with her just a week before her arrest, she forewarned me, “I’m involved in a trial and I’m not sure how it is going to go. So, just in case, I’m writing your prescription out for as long as I can.” Now that she’d been arrested, I wasn’t sure if the pharmacy would accept the prescription or not. Fortunately, they did.

She had been arrested under Maryland’s 2005 fetal homicide law, in connection to a 2010 abortion she’d performed there while working under a doctor named Steven Brigham. She was deemed a “monster” by the local media and various online sources. However, a few weeks later a more sympathetic article came out about her in the Salt Lake Tribune that included interviews with a couple of her transgender patients.

According to this article, she had accepted a job from Brigham. He would start abortions in New Jersey and Riley would finish them in Maryland where state law allowed later-term abortions (i.e. after 25 weeks). After working there for two weeks, one of her patients experienced a problem during the procedure. Riley immediately rushed her to the ER, where it turned out that the patient’s uterus had been punctured. This is a known risk of abortion and was Riley’s first complication in five years of performing abortions. She lost her license in Maryland, due to “endangering” this patient and for working with an unlicensed doctor for two weeks. The anti-abortion group Operation Rescue was, of course, involved in that investigation and deemed her license loss “a victory for the pro-life movement”.

Read More

I’m dating someone. Woot! It’s been, oh… approximately 3 years since I’ve done so? Which means this is kinda epic.

Or, rather, super epic.

Back in the day I had essentially resolved to stop dating for a number of reasons. First, over time intimacy had become a huge dysphoria trigger. It got to the point where I just absolutely couldn’t ignore the disconnect between my mind and body. Without dating I had a series of coping tactics I’d developed throughout my wily adolescence - such as never looking down when I was naked (or in the mirror) and ignoring the existence of my female-bodied areas as much as possible.

But when I finally stumbled into the land of intimacy at 17 years of age… even though I didn’t quite know why, I preferred that my partner didn’t touch me. It made me sad. And this preference lasted until my third relationship. When I was touched, I tried to pretend that my body was what my brain map expected - for lack of a better term, male-typical.

Read More

Had the most difficult time getting my prescription refill (testosterone cypionate) this time around! Generally I just wander in to the pharmacy and say, “I wanna refill.”. I give money, take bag of needles and bottle o’ T, and stumble back out into the world. But when I attempted to refill this time around ON injection day I was told, “Oh, you’re out of refills. Oh, and your doctor won’t authorise a refill until you make an appointment with her.”

Oh, alright. Fair enough. Except that I just got paid and due for a shot.

When I tried to schedule an appointment with her I was told, “You owe us money. It’s in collections. Here’s their number.” Wha? From when? Where? Whyyyyy is this the first time I’ve heard of it and it’s in collections!?

Turns out, even though my doctor’s office had my current address and name - they had never communicated that to billing. So here I was, bumbling along assuming that all of my info is current, but meanwhile billing had my old name and an old ass address that I’d lived at three years ago before even beginning hormone therapy. And, presumably, have been sending bills to ever since.

Yet, throughout this time I’ve obliviously owed mula, I’ve been making appointments every 6 months. For, uh, almost 3 years. And was told nothin’.

Until, one day, I try to refill and suddenly need to make an appointment and it happens to be when I’m due and suddenly can’t because I suddenly owe money to collections and suddenly can’t make an appointment.

Lame-o. Anyway, fortunately it turned out to be a small sum and I’m paying it and was able to make an appointment and refill my prescription. But for a minute there, I had no medication. If I didn’t have an awesome friend back up, I would’ve endured withdrawal and, potentially, medical complications from said withdrawal!

I was already starting to get mega-weird from just missing one day.

See, I inject every Thursday. And last Friday when I went to inject, something bizarre happened. Pre-needle-pokin’ I generally repeat the mantra, “It’s just like butta. It’s just like butta.” But somehow I got it in my head that my leg is a firm chunk o’ callous meat and my spaghetti noodle appendage of an arm wouldn’t be able to stab the needle in fast or hard enough to make it through all of the way. And, if I couldn’t puncture through, I’d have to slowly carve through layers of muscle, veins, and tissue to get the entire needle in.

It’s not true - but the visual paralysed me enough that I just.couldn’t.do.it. I felt confused about how, after almost 3 years of self-injection, I’d suddenly hit a block. Wtf!?

Fortunately a friend poked me and all went well. But the same thing happened again this morning and I had to ask my dad to help. What’s a-goin’-on? I blame Statistics. May as well.

Had my consultation today and it went very well!

It was up at the University of Utah at the Madsen Surgery Center with Doctor Cori Agarwal. I made the appointment with a super sweet over-the-phone coordinator named Haley, who informed me that it would be in the Womens Health Center and made sure to add the disclaimer, “But don’t let that scare you. We’re welcoming of all gender variations!”, which I thought was adorable.

So this morning my mom and I got up all excited for my big consultation day. And my mom, as always in her mega supportive way, accompanied me.

We found the Madsen Surgery Center up in the cobweb of a mess loopty loop road situation up at the U of U in time for my morning appointment which was, in fact, at the Womens Health Center and was, in fact, full of women. As we waited to sign in, a nurse behind the counter, addressing my mother, said, “We’ll be just a moment!” And then, once that moment had passed and sign-in time had arrived, again addressing my mother, “Alright, who are you here to see?”, to which I replied, “Doctor Agarwal.” The nurse didn’t act surprised and was all friendly cute and handed me some paperwork to fill out and turn in.

Read More

After seeing my blog post about Antony and the Johnsons with their beautiful Hope There’s Someone video, my friend Andrew exposed me to heaps upon piles atop a mountain of additional Antony and the Johnsons stuff - and he keyed me in to another song of theirs called ‘For Today I Am A Boy’, which is just as epic and dramatic, of course. I’m so into Antony Hegarty’s depressing crap.

So last night I, as per diligent old man student usual, went to bed at 10pm for my classes this morning starting at 8am. But, then I woke up around 3am from a discomfort I’d felt before and confused me the first time around, on December 21st. But now, Round 2, I knew exactly what it was - freaking menstrual cramps.

These new post-hormone therapy cramps are similar to what I’d experienced before; but different enough that I couldn’t quite peg it initially. Unlike before, these are not distinctly painful, just, really uncomfortable. I have to pee repeatedly. I’m erect. I can’t sleep. It’s obnoxious. At the least, this is becoming predictable. It hasn’t happened since December, but both times it happened within the few days before injection day. So last night when I woke up I first took 400mg of ibuprofen. When that didn’t make a noticeable difference 30 minutes later, I took an additional 400mg. That helped enough that I was able to fall asleep again but, around 4:30am, I woke up again from the discomfort. So I cracked, went to the bathroom, got out my needles, hormones, an alcohol wipe and a bandage and did my injection. And, within about 10 minutes, complete relief and I nodded back off to sleep.

But, another consistency I’ve noticed - after both cramping episodes and then after my injection, I’ve felt a pain that feels an awful like this appears:

WHACK, right in the ovaries - but a more minor variant. And in this exact general area, too: left side where I suspect my ovaries are located. It’s like a throbbing, bruise-like sensation. It’s not unbearable, just noticeable and has happened both times now on the injection day after the cramping occurs.

I can’t wait to figure something out in regards to health insurance while I’m a student and unable to work full-time somewhere for benefits. I’d love to at least have things like this looked at to have an idea of what’s going on. I’m in debt as it is from the non-insured doctor visits I’ve had so far, so I’m going to pursue my options more aggressively next week and figure out what is the least trans-exclusive and, hopefully, affordable.

Earlier today I made a very exciting phone call.

Wait for it…

wait for it…

… for a consultation with the top surgeon here in Utah.

Wooooo!

I learned about her through word-of-mouth at the Trans Action conference in November through other trans guys showing off their chests and rambling on about how wondrous she is. I’ve been giddy and prepping for it ever since.

During the consultation I want to a.) get a quote on how much my surgery will cost and b.) figure out payment options. I have around $2,000 so far (90% of this from donations - thank you everyone!!!) to use as a down payment, if possible. If not, I will at least have a (presumably) much smaller amount to continue saving up towards than the initial fly-to-Florida for a $5500 surgery + figuring out a place to stay & food for a week, plane ticket costs, covering the costs for a friend to come play care-taker, etc., plan. Having a surgeon located so close makes the whole thing much more attainable. If I’m lucky I’ll be able to have my top surgery done over Spring Break. Or maybe over the Summer. Sooner than later, that’s for sure.

I can’t help fantasize about life post-op. First thing I’ll do when I’m healed? Run to the school gym and swim laps. I haven’t gone swimming for years - initially because it was just, uncomfortable and impossible to find a swimming suit situation that would work; but then, especially post-hormone therapy, due to how confining binding is for something that requires so much movement and, without binding, how awkward and unsafe it would feel.

I fantasize about bicycling all over the place with my chest liberated, as my body sweats like crazy for blissful cool down. I can’t wait to go to the gym every day and just, lift weights with my unbinded chest and rinse off in the locker room without fear. I can’t wait to try dating again and, really… to work on repairing the toll a “disconnected puberty” has taken on my self-esteem. Getting closer, one step at a time!

And in regards to the donations that have been sent my way thus far, I really have no words. It’s astounding to me and incredibly appreciated that you have all done so much to help get me closer to making this surgery happen. Aside from the economic help, I’m touched by how sweet and thoughtful everyone has been. How incredibly supportive, understanding, and, above all, just… knowing that I’m not alone in this - that, despite societal hurdles, in reality I have friends and incredible people all around me, always, every step of the way. And, even more adorable, how genuinely empathetic and altruistic all of you are. That, despite having your own goals, aspirations, and problems, you still take the time to read my blog and to extend whatever you can to communicate that support; whether it’s through all of your sweet little comments, donating to my surgery, or by just reading about my experience and being one of those people in the world who, ya know, rock.

Thank you. Fo’ real real.

Record-breaking blog neglect has taken place! The bane of midterms spanned a period of about two weeks resulting in my falling off into a pit of midterm-recovering laziness and then, shortly after, Halloweeny-obsessed bliss.

But before I could get my recovery on I had my paptastic appointment of sedative-laden doom on Friday, October 22nd. The time had definitely come - the first and last one I had was in January of 2009. I procrastinated the inevitable as long as I could muster, but the worry of not knowing what’s up with my innards caught up with me and overrode the aversion. So I cracked, and decided that fine, I’m uninsured, but I need to get my hormone levels checked and I need a pap smear (especially to make sure there’s nothing precancerous going on). So just, go in, do it, and figure out the cost part of it and the potential results later.

Read More

I woke up this morning trying hard not to feel anxiety about today’s appointment. I ran through my affirmations, and, to be honest, felt fine about it. But, inevitably, I can’t help but remember the last time - the only time - I’ve successfully had a pap. I add “successfully” because twice prior there were attempts - both epic fails. With attempt #1, the doctor started and, after only a few minutes, stopped and told me, “You know, we don’t have to do this.”, and, not anticipating it would be -that- awful, I agreed.

Read More

Alright! Time to update! So on the 23rd, a Thursday, my pops and I peddled together downtown, stopping for coffee as we do every pretty much every morning. It’s this fun, addictive routine that, to my surprise, has actually morphed me in to a morning person. I’ll get all giddy the night before about prepping my bicycle outfit and waking up to peddle.peddle.peddle, then relax and hang out for a bit before my 8am class or 10am class. Messed up. I know.

Er, moving on, after our peddling and coffee, I went in to the Social Security office first thing, right at the wee morning hour of nine. Unlike the last time I meandered in, this time it was completely packed with people - so I whimpered internally and grabbed a number. Fortunate for me, the girl who had helped me the first time around was there at her window, so I chose a seat she’d hopefully spot me in. And when she finished up with the current chumps at her window, she waved me over.

Read More

I hit a vein yesterday during my bi-weekly injection for the first time since beginning hormones back in the days of ancient 2008. Everything was going to honky dory like butta plan until I removed the needle - and immediately a faucet of blood turned on and welled up from the injection site. Surprised, I immediately dabbed it with my little alcohol wipe, which was instantly soaked. The blood flowed down my thigh and dripped on to the floor until I was able to clean it up with a gauze pad. Once I had all of the blood soaked up, I noticed what appeared to be a partially swollen vein, and covered it with a bandage.

Ahhhh ha, so this is what it’s like to hit a vein, I thought.

I would have been more anxious about this whole shindig, but I remember bringing this concern up with my doctor before injecting for the first time, even. She reassured me that I don’t need to fret if it happens; that I wouldn’t die and nothing horrible should happen.

My leg didn’t hurt and I took the bandage off last night to discover that the vein was no longer swollen and was now a quarter-sized bruise.

Read More