Decidedly Obscure Human Complaints.

The fact that finals are looming has turned me into a space cadet. Literally.

So, yesterday morning I go to coffee with my pops per usual. Since I had a class that started at 10am and knew we had a discussion planned, I made sure to get caught up on the class reading. Like the creeper that I am, I got to class 15 minutes early, set up shop, got cozy, and started to work on a paper for another class.

It struck me as odd that by 9:55am I was the only student in the room. By 10am, same story. I gave it until 10:20 and still, no teacher. No other students. Had I missed a memo? Had class been canceled? I was positive we had this reading and discussion planned. I checked my voicemail, the online class calendar, e-mail, everything. Nothin’. Zilch. Nada. Maybe I’d spaced off during class when she clearly announced that class was canceled? I thought I’d been paying attention… but, confused, I packed up and wandered off. Since this was my only class of the day, I headed home. Made lunch.

Then, around 11:55pm, chowing down and miles away from campus, it struck me. “Hey, class starts at 10am on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Today’s class starts at noon!”

WTF?

So yeah, missed that. Seriously, though. My noggin is getting all kinds of bewildered and cross-wired. But hey, maybe the overload’ll stave off alzheimers..? Or result in PTSD. One or the other.

In other news, my friend Aaron has finally set up a Facebook page for his awesome Sexy F2M Calendar fundraising idea for his top surgery. Please help promote it!

www.facebook.com/F2MCalendar

… pondering deeply about such things like what position I’d prefer to be in if I ended up in The Human Centipede, when I will go buy more wet food for Evilbunny (my cat) and a bleach pen for the white Hanes© shirts I wear every day, getting mula for school books, and whatnot - eventually the realisation of how seriously lucky I am in the tranny department comes creeping in.

Prior to starting hormone therapy a few years ago, I had literally resolved to stop dating. Zilch, done, ~fin~. It was just, too painful and triggering. Every attempt was an incredibly potent reminder of how I was trapped in a body that felt disconnected and uncomfortable. It wasn’t worth crying every single time and spiralling into weeks of hopelessness. Without intimacy, I could bind and never look at myself in the nude. Easy peasy. Solution foreva!

But, the idea of hormones sounded almost as awful. Losing my androgyny and looking like a boring ol’ greasy cisgender dude? Eff no. Heading down a path that insurance companies and numerous doctors explicitly exclude? Uh, no. Increasing my testosterone levels that are associated with shaving years off one’s life, increasing cancer risk, liver damage, increased cholesterol, acne, etc.? No, no, and no.

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SO REFRESHING. After top surgery, recovery, and then a conveniently timed month-long coughing sickness, today I went to the gym with the most bad ass gym buddy ever - my mom. Back in the good ol’ days, my mom and I went to the gym together on a daily basis. Until I started the hormone shindig and the locker room progressively got a lot more uncomfortable than it already was. Eventually it got to the point where I no longer knew how to navigate gendered gym terrain and resolved to work out from home.

Which I did, for a minute. But with cats purring and video games within my reach, that didn’t last long.

Until today when my mom and I finally ventured to the gym again together. My first boob-less gym work out!

It was awesome.

I hopped on the elliptical and sweat simulated jogged for 30 minutes. No chest fat jigglage! Back in the day just feeling it there caused a lot of physiological distress that had me hating running-like motion. But now? Love it. I could’ve continued to run, but I couldn’t resist skipping off to experience other gym thangs - including the men’s locker room.

Since I was a wee bot until I stopped going to the gym a few years ago, locker rooms were all kinds of awkward. My mom went with me before primarily to help with this, so she could walk in with me and help make the experience less socially awkward. But, this was also the first time I walked in to a locker room without startled reactions. No one called security, no one stood up and darted out when I entered… nothin’. Just, walked in, did my thing, walked out.

Whoa.

On a related note, recovery has been going super well! Between classes (particularly stats - the most intimidating phobia triggering topic *coughmathcough* that I’ve avoided for about 13 years) and being sick, I’ve been negligent about updating my progress. Essentially, this past month has been my nipples morphing from little blackish mutants into pinkish little nipply nubs. Now that they’re scab-free and becoming more nipply with each new day, I slather them in a Vitamin E / Shea Butter concoction. They’re so cool. Pictures soon!

Student land and selfish post-surgery running aboot celebration have connived to prevent me from blogging as I should! I will also upload pictures of my epic healing nipples at some point in the near future here. They are currently pink and scabbed, with my right one healing faster than the left. Why? I dunno. But, they’re both pink, alive, and resting upon muscle instead of boob.

Today was the first day I’ve bicycled to school since my surgery on August 11th. I technically could have bicycled after I was given the go exercise! green flag by my surgeon, Cori Agarwal, last Friday (the 9th) - but I’ve been sick. Apparently recovering from surgery, math phobia stress, and going back to a college campus germ cesspool are a perfect combo for such things. So for about two weeks now I’ve been congested, coughing, tired, and slowly getting better. Wah.

Even though I could barely breathe peddling along this morning and coughed galore, it was absolutely amazing. It was the most liberating feeling to just throw on a shirt, hop on my bicycle, and peddle. I could feel the wind blowing down the collar of my shirt and on to my chest. I had absolutely no acid reflux (caused by binding), no heat exhaustion… just pure, comfortable, anxiety-free peddling.

Similar to the lack of modesty post I made earlier, I can’t resist lounging around topless as.much.as.possible or occasionally showing off to friends. Earlier today, for example, I even enthusiastically allowed my blind and deaf friend to “see” my chest by running her finger along the incision line and along my crusty scabby healing nipple. I’m sure she loved that part.

Just a couple of days ago, I received a $900 bill from the U of U hospital for the anaesthesia required during my surgery. My first payment of $89 would be due on the first of September.

Admittedly, I was surprised to receive a huge bill after just paying almost $5,500 out of pocket. But I wasn’t upset. I think, pre-surgery, I might have been. Post-surgery? I’m way too floaty high up in super ecstatic land to be negatively affected. My affirmations kicked in with, “Eh, I guess I’ll figure out how to start making payments. It’s probably a blooper of some sort anyway.”

So I brought it up to Haley, Dr. Agarwal’s medical secretary. When I checked my e-mail a minute ago, she’d responded telling me to ignore it and that the anaesthesia bills for self pay patients are supposed to be sent to Dr. Agarwal’s office.

WHEW!