Number 31

Breasts & PTSD

If I'm honest, I ultimately want big boobs. Not huge, mind you, just big. A large (pun probably intended), reason is that I'm a big shouldered dame and anything less than a C cup looks wrong proportionally. The other reason is that the bra manufacturers make bras in a lot of colors and styles in 42C, but not in 42B. Seriously: white, beige, and black are it.

Whatever size I ultimately end at is in the future. The first thing that has to happen is hormone replacement therapy. We won't know the full extent of my breast development vis a vis hormones for at least a year, and it is strongly recommended that trans women wait until hormones have done all they are going to do before considering breast augmentation. Typically, trans women do not develop large breasts this way (an A or small B cup are typical). But you never know, so we wait.

For the curious, after 2 1/2 months on hormones, there are definitely changes happening. My body odor has changed, my urine smells differently, I'm feeling more intense emotional fluctuations, among other things. And yes, there are changes taking place on my chest. My nipples have gotten bigger, and a small amount of breast tissue has started to accumulate. They're also sore all the time. I described it to a female friend and she said, "that sounds like me in 6th grade".

Anyway, the real point of this post is another friend who announced yesterday that she has breast cancer . That news makes the three previous paragraphs utterly frivolous. I suppose I could make a case for gender dysphoria and body congruence, but, no. My desire for a pair of C cups is trivial when compared to my desire for my friend's successful outcome.

That should be obvious, though, right? So again, what's the real point of the post? That's where the PTSD comes in. Based on what I have been told, her prognosis is pretty good. I mean it's cancer and all, but on the cancer continuum, it's not to bad. You know what people say: "well, it sucks to have cancer, but if you have to have it, this is the best kind to have..."

But the whole thing scares my shitless. I've been weeping for her all day. In fact, I believe I had a bit of a panic attack. I know all to well the vagaries of cancer treatment. The "It was a very rare side effect that we didn't anticipate". The uselessness of cliches like "You're a fighter - you'll win this battle". The watching your wife take her last breaths, knowing there is nothing, NOTHING you can do but hold her hand and wait for death to take her.

On second thought, I guess I'm weeping for both of us.

Number 30

3rd Life & Counting (here we go again)

It's been a long while, and a lot has happened. I thought about writing a recap of the 18 months, but I have opted not to. I'm just going to pick it up and go. Besides, a lot of those details will be evident as I keep writing.

I am a transgender woman, and my name is Nora.

I had my fourth laser hair removal session today. The purpose of these sessions is to permanently remove the hair on my face. It also really fucking hurts (Imagine a hive of bees stinging your face one after the other, and you'll have the general idea of how it feels). Interestingly enough, I pay money for this.

Here is my point. Some people, in speaking out against transgender folks, will speak about it as being some sort of 'whimsical' choice. They, of course, don't know what the hell they are talking about. Anyone who would go BACK for a second laser appointment (let alone a fourth, with a fifth scheduled), is not acting upon whimsy. The yearning need to achieve congruence between the way you look and the way you feel (regarding gender identity) is a powerful thing. Powerful enough to go under the laser time and time again.

Being transgender is not for wimps.

BTW: I heard this recently, and thought I'd pass it on. Someone asked the question: "How do you know if you're transgender?". The response? "If you don't spend a lot of time wondering if you're transgender you're probably not."