Number 169

The Coffee Hag Is Open!

So. Pre-Covid, I hung out at the Coffee Hag (or just, "the Hag"), almost everyday. I'm this weird kind of introvert who gets energy from being alone while amidst a group of people. How does that work? It usually means I'm working on my laptop, listening to my music through ear phones, while I'm surrounded by other folks. What can I say? It works for me. It also doesn't hurt that they have an awesome cook, and a huge variety of drinks.

The owners, Jen and Anna were super responsible and closed their doors to help halt the spread of Covid way back in March 2020. Since then they re-opened as take out only. That gave me the chance to pick up one of their tasty beverages, and say "hi" to the best baristas on the planet, but it just wasn't quite the same. You see, other than my own home, the Hag was the place where I felt completely welcomed. I was safe and comfortable being myself. That this occurred as I progressed through the gender confirmation process was huge. Not only was it a safe place, it was a place of affirmation. I missed it incredibly.

In the meantime, a few other coffee shops in Mankato eventually re-opened for indoor service. They're nice enough, and I knew that I would be welcomed; but I wouldn't be celebrated or cheered on like the folks at the Hag did. Also, to be honest, the thought of going to one of these other shops felt a little bit like I was contemplating an infidelity, so I stayed away.

Well today, as you can probably guess from the title, the Hag re-opened their indoor area. So here I sit writing about it, celebrating this sign that Covid is finally loosening its grip on us; while recognizing the loving care that Jen and Anna exercised during the pandemic, by putting the safety of their employees and the general public ahead of their bottom line. It's part of the reason I love them, actually.

So, Mankato (and everyone else, for that matter!), come on back. The best coffee shop in town is waiting for you.

Number 168

One Post-Surgical Reality (part I)

 Preface

Hello, world. Before reading this post you must be aware of one thing. This post is specifically intended for my trans sisters that have not yet had, but are planning to have, a type of "bottom" surgery known as vaginoplasty. In many ways I was unprepared for the realities of the long-term recovery process before I had my surgery. I read a great deal, yes, but my feeling now is, six weeks after surgery, that much of what I read was generalized and vague. My intent is to provide my sisters with more accurate and truthful information As such, I plan on being blunt, specific, and graphic about areas of the human body that are sometimes euphemistically referred to as "private parts." If that type of candor leaves thinking 'TMI,' while you simultaneously stick your fingers in your ears and loudly declare, "I can't hear you! I can't hear you!" this post might not be for you. On the other hand, if you're curious and wanna learn something new, by all means, keep reading.

Chapter One: Disclaimer

This is what happened to me. That doesn't mean it will happen to you.

Chapter Two: My Clueless Doctor

Five days after I had my vaginoplasty surgery, my surgeon entered my hospital room to check on my recovery and perform a few post-surgical procedures. I was exhausted, and every nerve ending I possessed in my heavily bandaged groin was still sending my tired brain an endless stream of "SOS" messages. In other words, I was a bit of a mess. "So, Nora," he asked out of nowhere, "Would you do this again?"

Chapter Three: Hospital Time

Interestingly, I have no memories of the surgery that I had long hoped and planned for.

I have a few brief memories of being in post-surgical recovery. Mostly about trying to regain consciousness and make my brain work. Full reality didn't occur until I was in my hospital room. I was utterly exhausted, but I was not yet in pain. I was content to just lie there, fading in and out of sleep. Imperceptibly, the pain meds began to wear off, until I realized I was becoming uncomfortable. About then, my nurse came in and gave me a dose of oxycodone. "What a wonderful coincidence," I thought to myself, as I faded out again.

Here's the thing about the 'pain' I felt during my week in the hospital. It was rarely sharp and piercing. It was usually an all-consuming, dull ache that I felt throughout my body, not just my groin - although there was plenty of specific ache centered there. Every nerve ending in that region had been 'insulted' by the surgery and wanted me to know it. One mistake I made in the hospital was trying to wean myself off the pain meds too soon. As a result, I didn't take pains meds when they were offered, instead waiting until I was truly suffering, which meant more agony as I waited for the meds to take effect. During that first week I would recommend staying on a regular schedule of pain meds in order to be as comfortable as possible. Also, a 'bulster' had been inserted into my new vagina to ensure it retained its shape. I saw it after it was removed. Essentially it was an eight inch phallus wrapped up in surgical gauze. It was uncomfortable and left me feeling like a stuffed Thanksgiving turkey.

Perhaps the greatest source of discomfort during my week in the hospital related to getting my digestive system working again. Prior to surgery, I had been on a restricted diet which culminated in a liquid only diet for the last 24 hours. I had also completed a bowel cleanse. My tank was empty. Afterwards, the first sign of success is passing gas. Of course, you can't "bear down," as you usually do for a good fart or bowel movement, for fear of tearing the sutures at the nearby surgical sight. I experienced powerful cramps throughout this entire process, which had me wondering if I was experiencing PMS for the first time. I eventually farted and moved my bowels but it was an uncomfortable, multi day struggle.

Speaking of PMS, there was a fair amount of blood and other discharge to deal with. (There still is, six weeks after surgery.) Although it isn't painful, it has fulfilled any curiosity I had about menstruation.

Another big milestone that needed to be accomplished before I could be discharged was the need to urinate on my own. The catheter was removed on the morning of the 5th day, and the waiting game was on. I was full of both questions and anticipation. I had been sitting to urinate for the last three years in order to feel less dysphoric - now, I didn't have a choice. Did starting and stopping a urine flow work the same way as before? After all, it was the same brain, nerve endings and muscles at work, wasn't it? It was a bit of a mystery. 

Unfortunately, the one thing I wasn't full of was urine. The next six hours became a misery. You see, my bladder started sending vague messages of being full almost immediately. This was in large part because all the 'insulted' nerve endings in my groin area were still sending messages of annoyance to my tired brain. This led to frequent trips to the commode where I sat there and did nothing. Was I broken? Had my bladder forgotten how to function over the last week? I commenced to drinking water, and as the day progressed, the message from my bladder became more insistent. When I felt sure I was close to bursting, a sonogram was done on my bladder that indicated that it was, at best, about 1/3 full. "You've got to be fucking kidding me," I thought. Soon I was in tears, wondering what was wrong. I was at the point that if I were traveling on a highway, I would have pulled over immediately and peed by the side of the road without caring who saw me. This time when I sat down on the commode, before I could even think about it, I heard the telltale sound of urine hitting the water below. Thank god!

Surprisingly, another source of hardship for me was getting out of bed and walking.  PT or OT came by the day after surgery to assist me in standing up. A big part of the challenge is moving to a standing position without putting any pressure on the many sutures associated with surgery. Standing up without bending in the middle is a tricky proposition! In any event, when all was ready, up I stood. Yay! But my victory was short lived. After about thirty seconds, I began to feel light-headed, so back to bed I went. The next day went a little better but a lot worse, in that I stood up, felt fine, and started to take small shuffling steps, before I passed out and gracelessly went to the ground. Thankfully, I had two people with me who ensured that I went down easy. They had to bring in a motorized hoist to get me back into bed. What a fucking embarrassment. Eventually, on the fourth day, I was finally able to get up and take short walks around the hospital unit I was on. Though I got tired easily, it felt good to move around.

I don't believe I had a sustained sleep of over two or three hours during my entire hospitalization. That was partly me - I have insomnia and I didn't have my sleep meds with me, and partly because of the frequent visits from my nurses to administer this or that medication. Not to mention the noise the IV machine made when a bag of fluids emptied. Bodily discomfort, and the inability to move around and change position in any meaningful way also contributed to sleeplessness.

Another thing that happened during my stay was the casual way I began to feel about people seeing me naked. It became almost automatic. If someone walked into my room, I'd pull up my gown and let them examine my new vagina. This was in large part do to the professionalism demonstrated by the nurses and doctors, so good on them for that. Also, I learned that if I surrendered just a little bit of my dignity, the nurses were there to help me feel as clean and comfortable as possible. Hell, when I finally pooped - and it was a messy affair - there was NO way I could have cleaned myself afterwards on my own.

Speaking of my new vagina, it wasn't until the day of my discharge that I got my first "full monty" look at it. Until that point, my only point of view was looking down at my groin from a prone position in my bed. Standing in front of a full length mirror, my first reaction was not one of euphoria. In fact, it was rather flat. "Huh, that's different," I thought to myself. It wasn't cognitive dissonance exactly so much as it was a bit shocking to see that the object of so much angst and dysphoric feeling was no longer there. In the time since I have come to love seeing it in the mirror, and being able to say, "my vagina" is a fantastic feeling.

Having said all that, I definitely experienced 'phantom penis' sensations while in the hospital. (Still do, for that matter - just not as frequently.) At first, when someone would come in to inspect the surgery sight, I felt that my (former) genitalia was flopping around in the breeze for all to see. I had to consciously think to myself, "No, it's not there anymore." Other times, by myself, I would put my hand down there and delight in the fact that there was nothing there :)

On the seventh day, I finally went home.

Chapter Four: The Question Answered

Here's the truth. My week in the hospital was a messy, achy, painfully yucky affair. There were many hardships that needed to be overcome. At the time that my doctor asked me if I would go through it again I hadn't showered in a week, my hair was a stringy mess. I hurt all over, and I was exhausted. It felt a little bit like a 'trap' question, so after a pause, I quickly said "Yes, I would." But I imagine I didn't sound very convincing. Since then, however, I wish I had said, "Not at the moment," because that would have been a better reflection of how I felt in that moment. The real answer to that question, upon further contemplation is something like: "Yes. A thousand times, yes. Very little about my gender confirmation process has been easy or fun. In fact, much of it has been emotionally and physically exhausting. I have cried many tears, and I thought my heart would break a few times along the way. This is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, but my answer, doctor, will always be 'yes,' because once I learned that the true secret to living a happy life is to be my authentic self, there was nothing that was going to stop me from achieving the congruency that I now feel. Yes."

Number 167

Sublime Moments of Rock n' Roll (first installation)

Sublime (adj.): Of such excellence, grandeur, or beauty as to inspire great admiration or awe.

As I've said before many times, I take this shit way to seriously...

This entry is about a variety of moments in rock n' roll songs over the years that I've come to refer to as... well, read the title. To be clear, when I say "moments," that's just what I mean. Though this is a list of songs, I'll only be talking about a few seconds of each them - the moment when something super cool or unexpected happens. "Wait a second... what did I just hear?! Play that again!" Unfortunately I lack the skills to isolate and then embed audio clips of these moments, so you'll have to do a little work be able to listen them, but I promise, the search will be worth it. My other caveat is that this is, by no means, an exhaustive list. For example, my first entry will be "sublime piano song introductions." I have songs in mind, and while they are indeed sublime, I'm just as positive there are many other songs that could fit the bill. Feel free to nominate your own moments. Now, before starting, please take in a sublime moment in the photographic history of rock 'n roll: Jimi Hendrix paying 'homage' to his guitar that he has just set ablaze. From the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967. 

Sublime Keyboard Intros A) The first three seconds of Blueberry Hill by 'Fats' Domino. I'm sure what he does is technically very easy, but in his hands it takes on a life of its own. A three second primer on what great rhythm and blues songs should sound like. B) The first twelve seconds of One Fine Day by the Chiffons. Take everything I just said about Blueberry Hill but sub in the word "pop" for "rhythm and blues." C) The ascending chord progression, with a two note Hammond B3 response in the first four seconds of Lean On Me by Bill Withers is simple perfection. D) The first fifteen seconds of What'd I Say (Part I) by Ray Charles. E) The first six seconds of Jump by Van Halen has you instantly wanting to know what's coming next. F) The first 0.5 seconds of I Want You Back by the Jackson 5.

Sublime Guitar Intros A) The first three notes of Smoke on the Water. Beyond cliche, I know, but it remains irresistible. B) Okay, in this one instance, the entire song could be considered sublime, but for our purposes today I'll only refer to the first 15 seconds of Johnny B. Goode by Chuck Berry. C) The first 15 seconds of Sweet Child of Mine by Guns 'n Roses. Slash apparently didn't think too much of this when he came up with it proving that the artist is not always the best judge of their artwork. D) In the first eight seconds of Layla, by Derek & the Dominoes, Eric Clapton puts you instantly in the middle of this classic song of unrequited love. E) The first eight seconds of Day Tripper by the Beatles. How many of you knew that George and Paul are both playing (in unison)?

Sublime Bass Guitar Intros A) The first eight seconds of I Wish by Stevie Wonder is funk heaven. B) The bass line that makes up the first eight seconds of Lou Reed's Walk on the Wild Side is instantly recognizable. C) The incomparable James Jamerson and the first five seconds of My Girl by the Temptations. D) On the very first song of the first Van Halen album, Running With the Devil, Michael Anthony starts everything off by playing the same note eight times. Simple, but incredibly effective. E) Another instantly recognizable bass intro introduces the first 15 seconds of Ben E. King's incomparable Stand By Me.

Sublime Spoken Intros A) "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here together to get through this thing called life..." (Let's Go Crazy by Prince). B) "All Aboard!" cries Ozzy, followed by his maniacal laugh is why the first 4 seconds of Crazy Train makes this list. C) "You are about to experience the strength of street knowledge..." The first three seconds of Straight Outa Compton by N.W.A. lets us know that we ignore so called, "gansta rap," at our own peril.  D) The word 'ridiculous' is often paired with the word 'sublime' - as in the saying "from the ridiculous to the sublime." Well, the first 21 seconds of Baby Got Back by Sir Mix-a-Lot informs us the sometimes the two are the same thing. E) "Woe to you, oh earth..." gets Iron Maiden's The Number of the Beast off to an agreeably creepy start. Additionally, this 25 second intro is a sure way to prank your parents into thinking you've sold your teenaged soul to Satan.

Sublime Percussion Intros A) The first 7 seconds of We're an American Band by Grand Funk Railroad. Cowbell! B) You knew Neil Peart would make this list. The first 5 seconds of YYZ by Rush. This one's a special for my long time friends, Jeff and Mike. C) It only takes Joey Kramer 4 seconds to get Walk This Way by Aerosmith off to a roaring start. D) John "Bonzo" Bonham's drum kit was set up at the bottom of a stone staircase for the Led Zeppelin song When the Levee Breaks. His six second intro sets the tone for this epic song.

More sublime rock 'n roll moments to follow. Stay tuned.

Number 166

 writer's block

it's not that i can't think of anything to write about... there are plenty of subjects on my mind that i want to touch upon... maybe that's the problem - there's so many different topics that i'm having trouble making up my mind which one to focus upon... of course there's more to it than that... many of these subjects have me very concerned about my future, the future of my trans siblings, my country and my world. i am afraid of some things and my fear makes me reluctant to write about those things... denial is not just a river in egypt... but it's still more than that... i've been sitting on an almost finished post about music for awhile... that one is fun, so why don't i finish and publish it... what's keeping me from it...? i don't know for sure but i suspect part of it is recovery fatigue... not only am i easily 'worn out,' i'm 'worn out' of being 'worn out'... when will that fucking wound heal...? and i can't forget my old friend depression... how deflating when it came to visit me again... "i have a vagina, now! go away," i say. "yes," it replies, "but you still have bad brain chemistry, too..." yesterday i had the stirrings of my firs panic attack since surgery, "uh-oh," i thought, "what's this about...?" and still, that powerful voice in my head screaming, "goddammit, just write something..." "yes, but what?" i reply... "you could always write about having writer's block..." "that's not a bad idea..." "yes, you could write it as one long paragraph in which you detail all the different reasons why you feel blocked..." that's good - and i won't capitalize any letters to emphasize the transient nature of different thoughts and the way they fade in and fade out of my mind..." thank god i finally took care of that furnace bill... is ginger still in the backyard...?

Number 165

 The Hospital  Chronicles (Part III)

"Angle Man"

When going from point A to point B, I want to take the most direct route. I hate taking the extra time going somewhere by taking the more roundabout way. Same thing with projects, home or otherwise. How can I (or we), get to the end result in the fewest steps? It's not about 'cutting corners' and doing an inferior job, but instead completing the task in the most streamlined fashion possible. I also hate just sitting around doing nothing, especially when there's work to be done. Now to be sure, I am often a championship procrastinator, but if I'm avoiding a task, there's usually some other psychological motivator at work that is keeping me from the task at hand - which is a topic for another day. My obsessive searching for the quickest, most direct path forward led to Rebecca giving me the nickname of "Angle Man."

As I write, I am engaged in a great healing, testing whether any person so engaged can long endure. By this I mean to ask (with curiosity and not melodrama), "Will I survive my own recovery from major surgery?" Let me explain. I've had a few setbacks in the three weeks since my operation. This is despite the fact that I have done a good job following the directions given to me by the health care professionals looking after me. It's frustrating for sure, but that's fine. Sh*t happens, and all that kind of stuff. The best thing for me to do is to continue following the directions I'm given.

But therein lies the rub. The "Angle Man" part of me is firmly engaged in this process. Just tell me what to do, and I'll do it! (Because that's the most direct path to a full recovery, ya dig?) However, after a follow up appointment yesterday, I was told the best thing for me to do is "nothing." I was specifically told to limit physical activity, so as to give my body the best chance to heal properly. "Angle Man" do nothing? The thought is almost heretical. The truth is, I'm a horrible patient, because I'm always pushing myself too hard to 'assist' the people working on me. It brings to mind the expression: "Sometimes the best help is no help." Unfortunately, I'm only good at typing the expression and not following its principle.

I need to lay low for a bit. Read a book, maybe watch some Netflix. I know it sounds idyllic, but when I look around me, and see everyone else working hard (especially my partner), it makes me a little bit nuts. When I look around me and realize we've had to hire someone to mow our lawn, or walk our dogs because I can't do those things right now, it makes me a little bit crazy. When I have to contact a church member and beg for a few more meals because I shouldn't be up and about in the kitchen making dinner, it makes me weep in frustration. Suddenly books and Netflix seems more like a punishment than a reward.

If you need me over the next few months, I'll be the one huddled over in the corner doing nothing but counting the seconds until I can finally reclaim my body - whenever that might be.

This is the final posting in "the Hospital Chronicles" series of posts.