Nice Moment

Questionnaire

When I set up my MRI appointment, the scheduler needed me to answer a twenty-five point questionnaire. This is very understandable: an MRI machine is one of the most powerful magnetic devices an individual might interact with in their life; and if that individual happens to have in or about their person items that react strongly to a magnetic field, Consequences Might Ensue.

You can reasonably guess the sort of questions asked:

“Do you have a pacemaker?”

“Do you have any implanted electrodes, pumps, or catheters?”

“Do you have any artificial joints, plates, bone screws?”

Now this is all good and well - until we get to the use of contrast. Under some circumstances, patients can be injected with a special fluid that will highlight the inner workings of the area being imaged. This is generally harmless...

...Unless you a pregnant.

This is why the questions veer towards:

“Are you pregnant, or have reason to believe you might be pregnant?”

“When was your last menstrual period?”

I clocked pretty quickly why I was being asked these questions; and answered with “Definitely not” and “Never” in short order. “Never?”, responded the scheduler. “Yep; I can’t get pregnant and I’ve never had a period. Crazy, right?”

(I suppose I could have cited the time I had menstrual cramps; or perhaps the five days of rampant bleeding that followed the installation of a genital piercing during my younger days. I’m not sure this would have clarified matters any, however.)

Once everything was set up, my health system’s very fancy patient portal sprung into action; letting me know that I had... a pre-MRI questionnaire to fill out. I dutifully did so; trusting that providing a date of “N/A” was enough to get the point across.

Yesterday I had a phone call from a very nice scheduling person; reminding me that my appointment was coming up and covering a couple of last minute items. One of these was that she needed to know whether or not I might be pregnant; and if I happened to know the approximate date of my last menstrual period.

Again, I stated that the answer was “Never”, and she responded incredulously, and I gently explained that I was a trans woman and that as much as I would like to be the proud owner of my very own uterus, medical science hadn’t quite come that far yet.

I might come across as a touch bothered by the repeated inquiries in this area; but if so, it’s only because there seems to be a lack of communication inside the health system. (My medical record lists my trans status, but this data point isn’t taken into account when the questionnaire is presented; one can indicate that the question isn’t applicable, but this isn’t recorded.)

Truly, I would not be surprised if I get to my appointment and the very first thing they do is to inquire once again as to whether I might be pregnant...

There is however a silver lining in all this medical madness: every clerk, technician, nurse and doctor I’ve talked to in recent weeks apparently had no idea that I was anything other than a cis woman - and was surprised when it became necessary for me to inform them.

For someone that never thought she would pass, who still feels like she doesn’t pass: that’s kind of amazing.

Thigh straps

In my early twenties, I conceived of a story in which two individuals - one half-angel, the other half-demon - formed an unlikely alliance. I am not going to pretend that this concept was either original or going to set the literary world on fire; and it didn’t got much further than an initial outline and some character sketches.

I did have a particular affection for the design of the half-angel however; as his outfit incorporated a number of feminine elements. He wore a stylized headpiece (fundamentally a headband); a tunic with an incorporated tabard (practically a slit midi dress); and perhaps most glaringly, stockings held in place by leather straps.

In hindsight, it’s pretty obvious that I was trying to express my own gender confusion via a safe and private medium. (Exacerbated, I imagine, by having recently moved to an area that rigidly enforced gender norms.)

Happily, this is no longer the case and I am quite out the world as a woman!

Recently a friend reminded me that there is a whole world of leather-type garters out there. This triggered a series of thoughts in which I recalled the design of the half-angel; then realized how heavily his clothing had been inspired by my own suppressed desires; and finally set out to determine if thigh straps were actually a thing you could buy.

As always, Etsy delivers (bother metaphorically and literally); and now I am both living out my girlhood dream and also, finally able to stop my socks from falling down!

(It did occur to me, after they arrived, that the principle is no different from that of a regular belt - it is merely the length of the leather strap that differs. So at some point, I may go looking for a couple of cheap belts to cut to size and re-punch.)

Fire drill

We launched a new website this week. It's a modest undertaking; a small on-demand portal for our customer base to update their service information.

Here’s how it works: the user has to register for the site using the primary email address we have on file. Any other email address? No bueno. This was discussed ad infinitum in the lead-up to the launch.

No sooner is the site live than we start getting issue reports from the customer service team: “This client cannot log in. The site keeps telling them they can’t register because they don’t have the right email address.”

To which IT replies: “Well, are they using the primary email address on file”?

...And customer service says: “No. Why would that matter”?

Turns out that they have a requirement that the customer be able to use any email address on file; and that at no point did they feel like mentioning this.

So anyway, that’s why the first two days of these week ran sixteen hours apiece while IT frantically patched the new system.

Coming out

I have come out to a great many people these past eighteen months; and I have been fortunate in that there have effectively been no negative reactions. (I know too many people that have not had the same experience, and my heart bleeds for them.)

There were two instances where I was genuinely terrified of how the other party might react. The first was my spouse - not because I thought for a second that they would respond poorly, but rather because I felt that I was unilaterally introducing an enormous life change into a relationship that I value beyond estimation.

(Of course, I should not have worried - they accepted this new state of affairs immediately. That’s the kind of amazing person my spouse is.)

The second was my friend and colleague of fifteen years; a fiercely intelligent and analytic man of few words. He is an émigré of the Soviet Union and as such holds very different views from myself in many matters; including, I feared, the subject of transgenderism.

Again, I should not have concerned myself; as he delivered an answer that in one sentence perfectly encapsulated the man’s outlook, brevity, and uniquely blended mode of English and Russian speech.

“Ah, well; that’s just your decision.”

To those unaccustomed to his way of speaking, it might sound harsher than intended; but on the contrary, this was one of the greatest endorsements I could have received and remains a highlight of the coming-out process: “Hey, you do you”.

Unexpected HRT side-effect #2: addendum

I have covered before the exciting world of nipple rotation. Well: now they are rotating back! I suppose it stands to reason; that the early stages of breast development result in a certain lopsidedness that self-corrects as the girls fill out.

The only reason this is noteworthy for me is that unlike most female pubescents, I have nipple piercings (acquired without moral hazard) and thus had a very visual gauge by which to observe this entire tilting process!

Art exchange

I made an incredible friend this year; and dear sweetheart that she is, she gifted me this equally incredible artwork:

(In a delightfully small detail, the initials of myself, my wife, and my daughter are hidden in the leaves!)

I absolutely had to return the favor; and feeling newly inspired, produced this work piece celebrating her three lovable cats and their very different personalities:

All things considered, it came out rather well! Lessons learned:

Typography requires planning (which is why the title is off-center).

Watercolors and rough canvas are poor bedfellows.

I need a more controllable outlining medium than black acrylic paint.

Double oh-no

I swear, self-administering an intramuscular injection is like flying a space shuttle. It seems so simple - all you are trying to do is move an object in space from Point A to Point B - and yet there are so many little variables you have to keep track of; any which of one could result in a catastrophic failure if not accounted for.

Tonight I did my Estradiol shot; and I swear in short order I:

Couldn't relax my thigh muscle (despite my best efforts);

Inserted the needle at an angle;

Hit a vein on the way in (unavoidable, but annoying).

I'm not sure what the problem was with (1) - maybe the way I was sitting? I suspect (2) is because you are supposed to make the skin taut, and I've been doing that by pulling it in a single direction... Maybe I need to stretch it taut instead?

The things I put myself through for the sake of aligning my mind and body...

My spouse is now a fully-fledged Necron Phaeron; and I could not be prouder of them!

(Seriously, though; it’s been a real pleasure, watching them pick up new techniques and sharpen their brush skills at warp speed. I can’t wait to see what they do next!)

Started my journey into Warhammer painting after getting a kit for Christmas. I thought i'd show off a few of the figures I've painted.

(please be nice, I'm so new to miniature painting)

I love these lil Necron dudes. I'm told using all metallic paint was the equivalent of learning to swim in the deep end. 🤷 I'm also hearing using a cold palette is unusual, too. 🫠 Maybe I'm doing it wrong?

Signs I was obviously trans and I’m a f***ing idiot for not realizing it sooner #1

This is something I beat myself up a lot about: I knew, at age twelve, that I was different. At twenty-two, I was actively trying to bust out of the gender box. For a variety of reasons however, I kept it sealed for another fifteen years; an act for which I am deeply remorseful.

Hopefully I can diffuse my regrets - if even only a little - by noting, tongue-in-cheek, all the obvious signposts that I blew past on my way to the city of Obviously Not-Cisville.

To that end:

Somewhere around 2008-ish, I spent a lot of time in a particularly dark corner of the Internet; a site that has been aptly described as the “Mos Eisley Cantina of the online world”. A place that, paradoxically, was filled with the most socially malfeasant individuals, yet accepted all.

There was a board that had originally been dedicated to the subject of cross-dressing; but for obvious reasons was now home to a thriving transgender community. Equally understandably, a major topic of conversation was achieving certain transition goals - e.g. modifying one’s physical appearance - without professional medical guidance.

(Bluntly - DIY’ing hormones. I’m no going to judge anyone that goes this route; although there are legitimate safety concerns to be aware of.)

Anyhow, this is all a long-winded way of explaining why, when sorting through some backup files recently, I stumbled across three guides I had presciently saved from those days. In order: “Cute Boy Aesthetics; “How To Achieve ‘Trap-Mode’ Aesthetics”; and “How To Girl”.

But me? Pshhh! Totally not trans! 🙄

Darker

If my writing has taken a slight turn towards the darker of late, it’s because of this:

I have a tremendous aptitude for self-denial; specifically when it comes to convincing myself that I am not worthy of focus and attention (and thus by extension my concerns, challenges, and issues).

This is of course most notably exemplified by how I managed to deny the obvious regarding my transgender status for so many years.

When I did finally come to that conclusion however, I was at least thankful that I had escaped a lot of the vicious side-effects that other trans individuals faced: crippling dysphoria; self-loathing; depression; a propensity for being predated on, and so on.

What I’m now recognizing is that I did experience many of these things; but could not express them in terms that made sense to myself (let alone other people). This is a good thing; but it also means exploring those thoughts and memories, and I do a great deal of that work here.

So: nothing to worry about here; just digging through an old Pandora’s Box!