Decidedly Obscure Human Complaints.

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.

Had my first and second day of classes Wednesday and Thursday! The lessons I’ve learned so far?

1. It’s hard to carry books less than 2 weeks after surgery. 
2. Sweating in a compression vest is itchier than in a binder.
3. Nipple grafts freak me out. Today I see my surgeon and find out if my tissue is livin’ or dyin’! Yay!
4. Statistics = intimidating.

I also endured a lot of hugs. But fortunately, most everyone who wants to hug me also reads my blog - and know to do so side ways, gently, and semi-awkwardly.

I foresee this being a good semester.

In other news, not riding a bicycle SLAYS ME. I feel like a chubby little lump on a recliner chair. Which I am, but seriously… I absolutely can not wait to peddle furiously in sweaty booblessness celebration!

After working from home on a recliner chair in jammies for a week, I returned to the office yesterday. Wee!

I’d predicted that the worst case scenario would involve my being an idiot and trying to lift shit when I shouldn’t - but, that didn’t happen. Instead, the worst case scenario turned out to be the bro shake. I hadn’t realized how often this happens in my world… or maybe just on a college campus (and elsewhere?), but there’s a LOT of grab-hand-hard-and-shake-arm-or-fist-bump-or-variations-of-this going on. To which I’d whimper and respond, “Ooo, careful. I just had surgery.”

This happened about five painful times. “Hey! Haven’t seen you around in a while! How have you been??” *hand flies out towards mine, grab, firm swing while my hand flops around like a flaccid fish*.

There was one feller who bounced in to the office while I was in there with a couple other student government peeps. He was in student government last year and I shared a class with him. When he went in for the bro shake I diverted with, “Just had surgery. No shaking for me.” He of course asked, “Surgery? What for?”

Me: “Chest…”

Him: “Chest? Did they operate on your heart or something?”

Me: “No, no! Top surgery.”

Him: “Top surgery?”

Me: “Yes. To get rid of my breasts! So relieved!”

With this, he was clearly caught off-guard. His mouth literally fell agape and his brow furrowed as he tried to process my response. Meanwhile, in my neck of the woods, I replied with, ya know, the honest reason that I couldn’t shake his hand. If I’d dislocated my shoulder skating along a sidewalk or something, I would’ve blurted that out instead. But, when it’s presumed that I’m a cisgender feller and I reply, “My boobs are gone!”, clearly there’s a whaaaaa puzzle pieces clicking cognitive disconnect going on. 

Fortunately, instead of feeling compelled to elaborate and before he had a chance to respond, we were interrupted by someone else in the office asking me questions about something on the H:\ drive something another. And then he had to run off.

a.w.k.w.a.r.d.

Compression vest washed. Hair did. Squeaky clean. I smell like a bundle of hacked up rose peddles. Well, I doubt I smell that good - but after 6 days of funk? Sure seems like it. Now time to heal and study in preparation for a super important placement test Monday before classes start on Thursday. 2 week summer ~ FIN ~.

I’m now in Berkeley! It’s so.frickin.nice.here. There is green vegetation stuff galore, humidity, a cool breeze, I can breathe, bicycles all over the place… and, best part, when we went to Trader Joes earlier there were shoppers wearing backpacks. In Utah? 99 times out of 100 I am the only person in the market with a pack - meaning, I either walked or peddled there. Here? I’m drowning in a sea of hippy hipster walkers and peddlers! Wooo!

Not to mention — aside from veg-friendly and veg places GALORE — there’s also an all-vegan cinnamon roll place and soul food place super close!

Food shouldn’t be so exciting - but, eating new vegan food is pretty much my #1 favorite thing to do when I travel. The flavors are always so new and exciting; and the neighborhoods harboring veg places are always havens for a slew of other awesome local cozy things.

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Packing to travel has always been easy for me. A few rolled up t-shirts, a pair of pants or two, underroos, socks, deodorant, toothpaste, yada yada… done and done. Small enough to carry-on and off I go, yonder to wherever. But this time, for an academic conference? No horror t-shirts and basketball shorts all mushed up into a backpack. Instead, I actually went out and got a luggage situation and packed it with button ups, ties, slacks, shorts, one t-shirt, and a fo’ real real suit. I followed this guy’s barely audible instructions on Youtube for How to Pack a Suit.

And, another difference — for the first time I’m travelling with my vial of Testosterone Cypionate and syringes. I have a little plastic container that Aaron lent me to pack the syringes in. I’ve tried reading around and, apparently, I can bring my syringes and testosterone in carry-on with me? I also asked about it in a local trans-masculine social group on Facebook and received comforting feedback that other guys had travelled with no problem. Aaron additionally advised me that if I’m selected for a full pat down, to request a private room since, most likely, male security will pat me down and would be surprised to discover a little too much padding going on in the chest area. Gaaahhh surgery… so….  close… (speaking of surgery, my preparation packet from the surgeon’s office should be arriving any moment now!)

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I just finished presenting my summer research project at the McNair Scholars Symposium today! I got to wear a fo’ real real suit for the first time ever! It’s astounding how many times one gets called “handsome” in a suit versus basketball shorts. Bah.

Then on to Berkeley next week to present again (and then surgery!!). Almost… done… relief… so, close… :)

My apologies in advance for this boring ass post - but school right now. Seriously. As a McNair Scholar, most of my time these past two months has been spent with a research group following adolescents around in a park with a clipboard coding for “instances of aggression”. Now that we’re finished with that creeper good time, this week shit got real. Hence less blogging fun happy time.

Starting next Monday, my group and I will be spending 8 hours a day for three days in a row presenting our research over and over… and over… where it (and our presentation styles) will be relentlessly torn apart by super awesome McNair-lovin’ faculty under the guise of “constructive feedback”. Which it is. But still.

I absolutely fear public speaking. Due to this, I have spent the majority of my years avoiding things like, uh, presenting — at all costs. But in academia land?

There’s no escape.

Aside from whining, this really is a pretty spiffy opportunity that will help me in the long-run. I’m crossing my fingers that this merciless presentation torture camp will beat the fright out of me. And, once it’s over, I will be a ragged, shrivelled li’l husk that can speak in front of groups with no fear!

On day four, for this first time ever I’ll stand in front of a fo’ real real crowd and present research at a local symposium. Then off we all go to present at a conference in Berkeley. While everyone else has to bunk up with other scholars, I get to bask in my own little tranny pad because, awesome enough, Berkeley is trans-AWESOME and has trans housing policies! According to UC Berkeley’s 2007 Transgender Brief (pdf):

Sensitivity training on transgender and gender identity issues has been provided to the staff in Housing Assignments/RSSB. We meet the needs of transgender students in housing on a case-by-case basis and house the student according to his or her gender identity.

This is a HUGE relief for me. I love that I’ll have a space to go to where I can have the privacy to remove my binder and just, relax. Then I come home on the 8th, where I’ll blog galore - and, at long last, my surgery on the 11th and binders be gone!!!! I’d burn them — but, instead, I’ll hand-me-down to Aaron. Who won’t fit in some, and will hand-me-down to some other adorable tranny in need of busted up broken in bindies. And then I’ll move beyond Day 5 of that gawd awful 30 Days to a Better Man shindig.

Onwards to my delayed Day 6 of this grueling and obnoxious 30 day task that my frenemy, Aaron, duped me into joining him on. Speaking of Aaron - yesterday him and I went out to Provo (just to give you an idea - Provo is the hub of Brigham Young University, which is a private college operated by the LDS Church and home to their largest missionary training center. Oooo…) to explore a potential top surgeon. Some time ago he had called around to various plastic surgeons in Utah asking who would be willing to do top surgery - and this guy said yes.

So he asked me to join him and off we went. After a lot of driving, a lot of blonde, and exiting the room once the surgeon wanted to take boob photos, the experience was a really positive one. The staff were all really careful to use masculine pronouns with him, expressed support, asked how he preferred to spell his name for their records, etc. We were both impressed - up until the price. Almost $8,000 dolla! Despite the risk of being this doctor’s first-time FTM patient, that’s about the same rate that Dr Michael Brownstein charges who super knows his shit after doing FTM top surgeries for a gazillion + 1 years (and lives in expensive-as-fuck San Francisco). So yeah, despite their friendliness, I think Aaron might be passing on that one.

Hopefully the company that Aaron works for will switch his health insurance from trans-exclusive United Healthcare to trans-inclusive Aetna who would be much more likely to cover his surgery.

Moving on - here is the introduction to today’s task:

Today we’re going to focus on one of those “small” things: our resume. I don’t know everyone’s story out there, but I’m sure many of you are looking for work. And having an updated, sharp looking resume is an essential part of networking like a man.

Workity schmorkity. I’m living the spoiled and plush student working on campus and living with my parents life these days who needs not fret over such things (unlike the time I was laid off and, despite trying to stay optimistic about it for about a month, spiralled into a hopeless-everything-felt-insurmountable super scary sad place for a bit there). Bad economy =’s no bueno.

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