The Times, They Are A’Changing

This is one of the most exciting days I’ve had in a while. By the end of it I will have picked up a new prescription for oestrogen gel. And hopefully be giving my transition a boot in it’s collective baws. (Balls to Americans)

Maybe I’m too excited about what is just a change of delivery method. But I remain convinced this will offer me better results and ultimately that means progress to me.

Hormones don’t have the ability to make you more attractive, happier or a better dinner party guest. But they do deliver on making you feel at one with yourself. It’s been very slow progress but even the tiny changes that patches have brought me have always made my heart soar.

To see your mirrored mage begin to match the idea in your head is a hugely empowering thing. I don’t even have any means to convey to you just how that feels or what it means. It is simply an immeasurable joy. Language is entirely inadequate in this regard. But that’s where I am right now. And it feels tremendously satisfying.

On the final push towards surgery, albeit on my own very elastic timescale. More haste, less speed so to speak. I have rarely been happier than I am at this moment. I also have less than 3 months till my first official diagnosis for suitability for surgery. An appointment that holds absolutely no fear.

So my expectations may be high at this juncture but what’s so wrong with that? Everything I’ve been asking for appears finally to be within my grasp. Fingers crossed for that B cup though. Amen to that.

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Keep Buggering On

A small departure from my own transition. This week my tiny island voted to leave the European Union. To me it was utter insanity, to others their only choice. We are all entitled to our views and I respect those who voted with conviction. Even if we didn’t share it.

But the repercussions have already shocked many. Especially those who voted to leave. The news, internet and blogosphere have been awash with folk who didn’t realise it would actually happen. And those who immediately regretted their vote. It already threatens to fracture the UK further.

Too late. We chose to go. I didn’t personally and I am distressed. But we still have to deal with it together. A referendum is not binding on Parliament at all but I don’t see how the will of 52% of our population can be ignored. Even when it tramples on the will of an extremely heartbroken 48%.

It doesn’t matter. We face a new reality. And whatever happens, we are stuck with it. It will be challenging but who can say whether it was jingoistic folly or the smartest move the UK ever made? Not me. I’m just not that clever. We need to see what happens next. And we very much need to remember. We are still neighbours. And try to act accordingly. Together. For better and worse. That’s what union means. Whatever you voted, I will still love you tomorrow. And the Sun will still rise.

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History Repeating

Quite excited this week. Back at Speech Therapy for another run at making myself sound more Thelma than Elmer. But reasonably determined to crack the voice thing this time around.

Of everything in my transition, I expect this will be the hardest change for my friends and the family that I have. Clothing seems to have been easy enough for people to get over. But a new voice is an adjustment for us all. I’m not too scared though. My friends are total champions. Just as well, I may need some help. And here I am, actually admitting it. To myself as much as to the internet.

Not having the same voice is going to be very challenging. Not least because it’s part of my identity and familiar to the people I know. I don’t want anyone feeling freaked out or thinking it means losing me. It’s just time to try to match things up. So I do need to commit to practicing exercises in order to achieve what I ultimately want. However, there is just no point it does not feel ridiculous to be making the necessary noises. It’s pretty bad if I am on my own. Witnesses would add an extra air of embarrassment, although might find light mews and moos amusing.

I’ll likely be the last to know if and when I’m able to do a lady voice properly. Constructive criticism is definitely going to be welcome though. I might still swear in my original voice though. It might even be at the people I need to help me as I work it out. But I always appreciate help. I’d never have got this far without it. As I said, champions!

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A Certain Kind Of Man

For all of the folk with Father’s to celebrate with, make the most of it with them today. My own has been gone for almost as long as I knew him. A somewhat sobering realisation. One that still hardly feels just or fair.

But I’m not at all sad. Instead I remember him for all his crazy brilliance and a lifetime of happy memories. Whether it was using a car bonnet as a sledge. Or him handing homemade crossbows and wooden clothes pegs to my 7 year old self. Or holding my hand as we jumped into 15ft waves from a wall by the seaside. I knew I was safe because he was there. And I very much knew I was loved.

Had he lived, he might have struggled with having a daughter he never expected. I’ll never really know for sure. But the values he gave me tell me otherwise and it’s those values that get me through day to day. He had the biggest heart and could always see past most things. I wish I could do that half as well. But it’s a question I don’t really need answered. He left me with no doubts. He was my Dad no matter what.

So I’m glad to have a day to remember him. Not that I need one. I think about him all the time anyway. And I know we’d have found our way. Like my Mother has. So if you still have your Father, I hope he’s as much to you as mine is to me. And I hope you have a fantastic day. Together.

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Not Frightened Of This World

I doubt anyone is unaware of the horrific murders committed in Orlando this week. I also doubt I have adequate language to explain how I feel about it.

Regardless of the killer’s actual motivation, which we can’t ever know, Orlando has revealed a sad truth. Because of the intolerance of others, you can be at risk at any moment. Through no fault of your own. Sadder still that this is 2016 and this can happen.

I just can’t take in that those people were assassinated whilst trying to enjoy a night out. Just being themselves. There is no reason that could ever be acceptable. For any of us. As a Trans person I am already used to living with a certain amount of tangible fear. I never know if or when I will turn that wrong corner or bump into that wrong person. Or if that momentary mistake could be the end of me. Bigotry and ignorance still have a sizeable presence and aren’t afraid to show their fearful little fists. But I can’t live my life in the same senseless fear either. Nobody should.

There really is no making sense of Orlando. It’s an aberration. A horrible moment, entirely lacking in any humanity. But the response to Orlando at least gives me hope. Worldwide, there have been vigils, prayer and a sense of togetherness. Most people know how wrong it was. I’d rather hold on to that.

And it’s made me even more grateful for all that I have. Family and friends who see past the lazy LGBT labels and take me as I am. My heart is sore for everyone who lost someone in that tragedy. Martyrs to a cause they shouldn’t even have to have fought for. Rest in peace.

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The Gift That Keeps On Giving

Had a brilliant week which was full of tangible progress. Managed to have my hormone delivery method changed and got an appointment for my first written opinion/diagnosis prior to seeing surgeon. You need two of such but it’s a huge step forward for me anyway.

I started writing this post days ago but got sidetracked. I think the gift that keeps on giving was meant to be hormones. Could just as easily be acceptance or transition itself. Point is that I forget myself what was going through my head on Tuesday. C’est la vie.

Anyway, I am full of hope at the moment. Mainly that a better delivery of hormones will lead to quicker change. Don’t know why I’m that excited really. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that transition is a torturously slow process. So I should know better than to let myself get carried away by rampant expectation.

But I don’t care. Seems like I’ve reached another milestone somehow and I’m in a fantastically good place right now. Really ┬ácan’t ask for much more. Well, maybe a B by Christmas. ┬áBut even if you cant have everything you want, you can have enough. My cup still runneth over, so to speak.

Hormones don’t solve anything on their own incidentally. But they do help getting where you want to be. Growing happier with the face I see on a daily basis because of them. God bless their crazy little cotton socks.

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Save The Date

You might not realise that transsexuals are actively courted by some guys. We are though. But it’s a strangely mixed bag of experiences. And yet there are themes that run constantly throughout.

I am contacted daily by straightish boys looking for an instant hookup. Not that I am all that terribly attractive but I am, however, a very definite niche market. It’s just a much larger niche than you might expect though. So daily contact it has tended to be.

I do have a method to separate the men from the boys though. I generally insist on meeting in public initially. This is where it really gets interesting. These men are surprisingly tricky creatures. Despite having been one, I’m learning this the hard way.

I have now heard every single excuse for cancellation you could ever imagine. There is a literal epidemic of sick dogs, cats, iguanas, mums, dads, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters and anything else you can imagine. But it’s ok. The reality of meeting up is probably scarier than any armchair fantasy aspect a guy might have conjured up. People will see you. They might even comment on you. I’m just used to that sort of attention. A sort of occupational hazard which you quickly get over. But that last minute realisation that your public date might have real life consequences for you? That must kick guys like a mule. So I get why they do it.

It took me almost 40 years to entirely accept myself. So I won’t expect it to be any easier for anybody else. But if you do happen to arrange a date with a transsexual? Just try to turn up. And in the event we learn your relative has been mortally wounded while we eat? The NHS is excellent. I’ll even pay for your taxi to visit the hospital. Just please don’t treat transsexuals like they or their time don’t matter. It makes them feel less than a person. Would you enjoy that? It’s also really shallow.

Despite any of that though, I have at least learned to be relatively self sufficient. God help the man that ends up with me, if that happens. He will never, ever, control the tv remote. Know that this is true!

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