My E3000 Diary: Clearing #5

At this point, I feel like I've really covered everything there is to say about my experiences with E3000. They're top-notch. It's really painful. The swelling lasts a few days. All of this is getting to be routine.

This time around, I had Jani with me again, which was nice. I also had to dilate 6x per day while in Dallas, since I'm still in the initial recovery period from my gender confirmation surgery. Dilating that often is hard to do when you're travelling. To make a long story short, I dilated whenever and wherever I could, like in the airport bathroom on the way back (I found one of those unisex ones that's private and locks. I sat on the floor, on a sterile pad).

The trip was nice. I visited with my friends in Dallas and had fun with Jani, who still won't leave the hotel with what she thinks is stubble, even though nobody else can see it. Jani's one full clearing in Dallas ahead of me, plus she says she had something like 100 hours of electrolysis before coming to E3000 (a good argument for doing it this way, with full clearings, in my opinion). So Jani's facial hair is pretty much invisible. Mine's visible, but you gotta look close. The guy who was hitting on me all the way on the flight to Dallas didn't seem to notice mine, even though he was putting his face about 10 inches from my stubble when he leaned over to talk to me. Based on the mildly homophobic comments he was making about the gentleman sitting next to us on the aisle, I feel certain he never saw my beard shadow. Anyway, at this point I feel pretty comfortable going out with 3 days' growth, but Jani's just paranoid. Nothing new there.

It took 6.5 hours for Sabrina to clear me this time. I was doped up pretty good the whole time, and mostly in a haze. I took a bunch of stuff (valium, vicodin, motrin). Except for the lidocaine shots, it was fine. Not fun, but given that my face took about 20 hours to clear that first time, we're making great progress. I'm scheduled again in June, and once this gets down to only a few hours, I'll definitely have to reevaluate the travel expenses and whether it's worth it to fly down to Dallas. Still, I can't argue with the results so far.

Another clearing done. We're definitely getting there.

Passabilty Part 2: Part-Time Stealth

I was thinking this morning how I just had invasive and life-changing surgery, and for what? Convenience? To make my life simpler? If anything, it's been highly inconvenient and it has done anything but make things simpler, especially coming off the week I've just had. Maybe Alison and I were not going to work out as a couple, but I'm pretty sure part of the reason she broke it off with me is that this is a really inconvenient time for both of us. So having surgery seems to be making my life pretty much complexified, so far.

But that's not right. I didn't opt for surgery just because it makes things easier or lets me live in society with the gender marker of my preference; that's part of it, but really, I did it for myself. It feels right. I hope so, anyway. But not having a penis anymore does make some things less tricky and dangerous, society-wise.

Today was kind of a big day for me. I met my new softball team for our first practice. I haven't been on a team in about 14 years I guess, and the last time I played was a company picnic 10 years ago. I wasn't worried that I couldn't play, though. I used to be pretty good, and I could always hit decently. And I'm fast.

What I was worried about was that I signed up for this team without telling them anything about myself except that I'm female and I've played 3rd base and several spots in the outfield. I didn't mention the trans thing. Frankly, I wouldn't really mind if there were some parts of my life where people don't know I'm trans. I guess I don't care if they find out at some point, but I don't want it to be how they see me straight away. I'd rather they get to know Suzanne the woman before they know that I used to fit in pretty well in the men's league. Maybe they'd be mad if they found out (I doubt it), but I don't know that I'm obligated to wear a sign around my neck. If they ask me about it, I won't lie. If I suspect they know and it's making things uncomfortable, I'll tell them. Otherwise, I just want to play softball and make some friends, but I'm not eager to tell them about how I was born male just yet. I'd rather they don't know.

So, even though this is softball, where the point is to get dirty and sweaty, I spent a good bit of time on my appearance this morning, wondering how much makeup I could get away with. I decided a little foundation wouldn't hurt (and it has SPF 15) and some clear mascara. Curled my lashes, a little brow powder, a hint of blush, hair back in a ponytail, and voila: yeah, I look like a girl. I am a girl. I should look like one.

Oh, and I wore the silicon boob enhancers -- the ones I almost never ever wear and now I'm going to wear them for sports? -- under my sports bra. That was a risky move. If one comes out or shifts around, now it looks like I'm being deceptive. But whatever. They make it look like I have boobs. The sports bra makes me look totally flat, which I pretty much am.

Practice was fun. I ran around. I dove on a couple of plays in the infield, and got dirty. I was rusty as hell on the fielding, but I can still hit. I felt like I was really clobbering the ball. I hit a couple of shots that one-hopped the fence. That felt good. Funny, 'cause I never had any power before ... oh, yeah... I forgot we use a littler ball here than I'm used to. Women's league and all. Okay, I might be dangerous with some more practice then.

Practice included men and women, since the same people also play on two different co-ed teams. I had told them I was mostly interested in the women's team, but by the end of practice, they were asking if I'd mind subbing in in the co-ed games, I guess if they're short-handed. Yeah, okay, I can probably play some on Sundays, too. Then they were fighting over which co-ed team gets me. It's nice to be wanted.

If anyone suspected there was something wrong with me, they sure didn't let on. They seemed to be just happy to have another woman on the team who can play. If they did suspect I was transgender, would they have said anything? Probably not, but I think they'd have been weird about it. I'm pretty good at picking up stuff like that. I think they didn't know, and that's just fine with me.

Not everything in my life has to revolve around being trans. Passing gives you options to get away from some of this stuff once in a while, so it doesn't feel like the focus of everything you do all the time. Frankly, that's just what I needed right now.

Numbness: the thing that hurts the most

I was dreading this feeling. I knew it was coming, but I didn't know how fast. At some point, holding onto your grief becomes just too exhausting, and you have to let it go. There was a part of me that was dying, and clinging to it wasn't keeping it alive, but it was all I knew how to do. Now the wound inside me is healing and scar tissue is forming in its place. It's much less sensitive. I'm sad, but my whole world has not collapsed. I'm lonely, but there are things to look forward to. I still cry, but I don't have to dwell endlessly on unrealistic hopes about what might have been.

Me from two days ago would look at the person I am today and hate her. Pre-breakup Suzanne wasn't stupid or naive enough to think that she had found a perfect love that could never be replaced, but she was in love and she wasn't picky enough to think that it has to be perfect, either. She wasn't ready to let that go just yet, and somehow it seemed like a terrible injustice to put Alison up on the shelf in my mind of girls I've dated and broken up with and gotten past. Bittersweet memories. It should have come down to more than that, shouldn't it?

Today's me is moving on, not because she particularly wants to, but because she has to. I'm realistic. I know things will be better soon. I accept that Alison and I probably wouldn't have worked out in the long run. I'm glad for the memories. I'm not unemotional, but I am becoming more and more rational about it. Somehow, it seemed better to be able to embrace my misery and hold onto it, however much I knew I couldn't do that forever. Maybe reality is just the thing that destroys our feelings, and leaves us numb.

Time heals all wounds. It also leaves you a little bit bitter and jaded. Accepting that is accepting your own death, albeit slowly.

Time to move on. I have things to do. I have to dilate again, then I'll go for a run, and I'll go from there. It's a beautiful day out and the sun is shining and the birds are singing and I hate myself.

Pity Party

My eyes are so red and sore that my tears feel like acid against my eyelids. They're not flowing as freely anymore, but I think that's because I've pretty much exhausted myself from crying, or else maybe they're just dried up. It took me two hours this morning to take my pills and get motivated to dilate. Most of the morning, I spent curled into a ball on the floor sobbing.

Wake up. Cry. Dilate. Laundry (running clothes). Cry. Dilate. Go for a run, and break down crying about five times along the way. Dilate. Curl up on the floor of the shower crying for about half an hour. Write a letter to Alison, which I may never mail. Dilate. Do my taxes. Dilate. Eat some raw cauliflour (if you want to complain, stomach -- here, digest this. That's about 10 calories and you're going to have to work for them, too. No reason you should be happy when the rest of me is miserable) while sitting in the dark crying. Write a blog entry (this). That's my day. I've lost count of how many times I've broken down in tears today. Well over 30, I'd guess.

At least I only have to dilate one more time before bed. And I filed my taxes. And I got out for a run in the pissing, cold, miserable rain that's supposed to keep up for two more days without letup. About as productive as any day, really. Also about as depressing a day as I've ever had. Maybe not the worst day of my life, but probably the most miserable. The weather definitely cooperated with that.

I don't know why this breakup has me so emotionally crippled. I've never felt this bad after being dumped the last three or four times. Maybe it caught me at a time when I wasn't prepared to deal with it. Maybe I stupidly thought that I had found someone I could be happy with for a long, long time. Maybe my new hormone levels are messing with my brain and need to be adjusted. I had been feeling a little depressed already before this and was thinking about going on antidepressants. Better living through chemistry. It's starting to sound good.

Or maybe I'm just tired of people telling me how wonderful I am when they don't want to be with me. Yeah, I guess I'm so fucking wonderful that nobody can stand me. That must be it. I'll just enjoy my own company for the next 50 years then. I'm looking forward to it.

I watched an episode of "House" the other day. The supermodel who was dying from a mysterious ailment was, in the end, diagnosed to be (spoiler alert) intersex. She had XY chromosomes, but complete androgen insensitivity syndrome, meaning that to all the world she appeared to be 100% female. Until House diagnosed her, of course, at which point he started referring to her as "he" and "him" and said that the cure was to "cut off his balls". Plus, he helpfully added that this also solved the little incest problem she had with her father, since "now it would just be gross". Because she's a dude.

Nice one, House. Way to bring me down.

But I love that show, and House was only saying what most of the world is thinking. I was mad at him for a couple of days, but he's echoing the sentiments of millions of people out there. Those are the same millions of people that make me depressed about my prospects for a relationship with anyone who's not "like me". And if I do date another transgender person, it doesn't work out because at least one of us doesn't know what she wants right now. And so I end up alone.

I remember whining like this before, about 6 months ago. That was right before I met Alison. And for a while, when she held me in her arms at night, I didn't feel lonely and everything felt like it could work.

And now it feels like it can't again, and I'm more miserable than before. It's time to cry some more then dilate then maybe sleep. I'm exhausted. I can't take much more of this.

Living the Dream

Two weeks ago I dreamt that Alison broke up with me. I woke up crying. Tonight, she broke up with me for real. I started crying as soon as she said "we need to talk" or whatever it is people say in those situations. I felt myself instantly withdraw into my head, and all I could hear was the ambient sounds of the restaurant. Alison's lips were moving, but I couldn't process most of what she was saying.

"It's not you." "You're beautiful and smart and fun and I don't deserve you." "I just can't be in a relationship right now."

I picked up bits and pieces, but I was paralyzed. Everything sounded far away and muffled. All I could feel were the tears streaming down my face. I knew this was coming, too. From the way Alison had cancelled plans with me yesterday, to the fact that tonight she wanted to meet somewhere in the middle between our places, to the way she didn't want to talk about plans for this coming weekend at all. Well, except for the part about how she was going to roller derby on Saturday, without asking me if I'd want to go. The signs were all there, and I'd seen them but I didn't want to admit it. But I still knew. I've known since that dream; I was just hoping I was wrong.

I feel stupid. I knew this was going to happen. I cried about it on the phone with Jani last night, a full day before Alison broke up with me. I spent all last night thinking how hard this recovery period is going to be on both of us and our relationship, and how lonely it would be without her. I thought about how nice the past five months has been with her. Not perfect, but nice. In the shower this morning, I thought that even if we don't make it through this period, it's still been a nice relationship. Not every relationship has to last forever to be a success. Ours was, as far as I'm concerned.

But she wasn't in love with me. And I guess that's that.

Passability

On Tuesday afternoon, as I was lounging around the house waiting for my next dilation session (and it's never a long wait), the doorbell rang. I was wearing a tee shirt, pyjama bottoms and slippers, with no makeup and my hair tied back haphazardly. I hadn't planned to do much but stay home and dilate, so this is my standard uniform these days. I figured I could ignore the doorbell easily enough, but it might be one of the neighbors stopping by for a chat. That would be an excuse to invite them in and have another cappuccino. So I answered it.

It was a college-age kid working door-to-door sales. He called me "ma'am" right off the bat, and didn't seem put off by my appearance or the least bit confused about my gender presentation. Hormones, electrolysis and voice training work. It was a nice feeling. It could have been really awkward and embarrassing, but in the end I was only embarrassed that here it's almost 2 in the afternoon and I haven't even gotten dressed. There was a time when I thought that would never happen without cosmetic surgery.

I still have reservations about going out without makeup and/or dressing like a slob. It feels silly picking out an outfit to go to the Home Depot to buy painting tape, or putting on makeup just to run out to Whole Foods for soy milk and bananas. Passing as a woman at all times is important to me, even if I don't always feel like putting in an effort. I don't mind looking androgynous as long as people can tell I'm female. I don't like the feeling that I've got to be constantly working at it to maintain a female identity, like I'm putting on an act. It's getting less and less like an act, and more like just me.

"Passable" can be a sensitive buzzword in the trans community. A transperson who's not passable is every bit as transgendered as I am. Someone whose gender presentation causes people around her to react with gawking stares is not any more or less "successfully" (another sensitive term, by the way) transitioned than someone who is accepted readily and completely by society. But not being passable means being in for a harder time generally and being at greater risk for discrimination and/or violence. Passability goes a long way towards acceptance. To me, it was probably a dealbreaker on this whole transition. Not that I'm (quite) that vain, but if my overall presentation couldn't be female, then I'd have probably stuck with living as male or ambiguously-gendered. Transitioning's about expressing who you really want to be, but it creates a pressure to be convincing in the role you define for yourself.

Having had my new vagina installed (it's looking and working great, by the way) ups the stakes for me on the whole passing issue. Before, if I didn't feel like parts of me looked female, not only could I blame the penis for that, but it was also my ticket back into the male world if this got too difficult. Now, what am I if not female? If passing was important to me before, now it feels absolutely essential. The surgery doesn't help me to pass except for in very rare and specific circumstances, such as a locker room or the beach, and these are the very places where I'm still not going to feel totally comfortable with my body. I find myself scrutinizing it more, and whereas before I was pretty okay with the things that don't appear female, now I'm more critical.

It's hard work being yourself. Or, I guess I should say it can be hard work depending on who you decide to be. Really, we all invent ourselves, as some compromise between who we are and who we want to be, between who we are on the inside and who we are on the outside. Both concepts are flexible to an extent. Successfully transitioning is accepting what's on the inside and being satisfied with what's on the outside. Being passable only helps other people to accept you, but if that didn't matter, we wouldn't care at all who we are on the outside.

I'm sure it's a lot easier being a stand-up comedian if the audience laughs at your jokes. Transitioning's a lot like getting up on stage, except now you're hoping the audience doesn't laugh.

On Dilation

Look, I've tried writing this post about three times now, and I keep starting over. To me, it's becoming about as boring and monotonous as dilating itself, and I don't really know what to say. Here's the short version:

I'm dilating six times a day, at about 40 minutes per session. It takes a lot of time. It means I can't get out of the house as much as I'd like, or for much other than short trips. Getting out for even a few hours means spending the rest of the day in what feels like a nonstop cycle of dilating or getting ready to dilate again. On the other hand, it's working. I'm showing better progress than I'd expected, both for depth and girth. I've moved up two dilator sizes, including ordering a larger size online than Dr. McGinn gave me after surgery (based on her recommendation), and even that one's getting fairly easy to insert. It's a real pain, but it's not painful. The discomfort has been very manageable since the first couple of weeks. It's depressing in a lot of ways, but I'm getting through it and next week I can start running again.

Now some specifics:

Frequency: Dr. McGinn prescribes 6x per day for the first 8 weeks (I'm halfway through that) followed by 4x per day for 16 weeks. That's a lot of dilation. Some surgeons recommend less. I don't know of any that recommend more. I don't know that more would be even feasible for many people. As with pre-surgical electrolysis, there may be differences in opinion on this. Some surgeons may think too much dilation carries a risk for complication. I don't know. I'm not sure I really care. Like most people, I'm going with my surgeon's recommendation.

Based on my experiences, I think she's probably right on this point, or at least it's working out well for me. If you're going to stretch yourself out post surgery, this is the time to do it. Going in, I wasn't sure if gaining significant depth was possible or just based on apocryphal stories. I've heard of transwomen losing depth, and it not being uncommon or the result of too little dilation. As your skin heals inside you, it contracts as scar tissue forms. It gets less flexible. I was expecting to be able to maintain depth, but not really increase it. Instead, I've gained a full inch. Better than I'd expected, and I'll be happy to maintain that from here on. If I lose a little depth from here as it heals further, it's also no big deal.

Setup: I dilate in my tub (dry, no water), which is one of those big jacuzzi things with plenty of shelf space around it. I have a board running across the top acting as a desk. I sit on a rubber donut and towels. Cleanup is easy. My laptop and phone are handy. I can watch TV, surf the internet or whatever while I dilate. I can easily adjust the angle I'm sitting at by sliding up or down the back of the tub. I don't have to worry about making a mess. This works well for me, and is the same setup I've been using since the hotel in Bensalem, PA.

Schedule: I try to space the sessions out as evenly as I can. About once every 3 hours when I'm awake. The first and last sessions are always the hardest, motivation-wise. First thing in the morning, it's the last thing I want to be doing. Late at night, I'm often falling asleep already, and I'm tempted to skip it. I don't. Yes, it gets depressing sometimes, but I just do it, whether I feel like it or not. Six times a day, every day. Every goddamned day.

If I need to block out some time to go out, say to get together with Alison for a few hours, I can do as many as 3 sessions in a 5-hour window, but that's pretty much all I'm doing. Dilate, watch an episode of House downstairs, dilate again, etc. I'm convinced "House" is a great show to watch when you're dilating. He's always so miserable, so by comparison you're kind of having fun.

Lubricants: I use mileral oil gel (aka baby oil gel) exclusively. Again, my doctor's recommendation. If I had gone to a different surgeon, I'd probably be using KY. I'm sure it would be fine. Mineral oil gel works fine and is better than pure mineral oil, since it sticks to the dilator instead of running right off it. Less messy.

Technique: I am very wary of causing complications, but now at 5 weeks post-op, things have healed a great deal, and I am not as worried about causing tears. I spend as much time as necessary getting the dilator to depth comfortably, using steady pressure while trying to relax my legs and abdominal muscles. Sometimes I twist the dilator back and forth slightly, but usually this isn't needed until it's very close to maximum depth. Then I push with about as much force as I can exert with one or two fingers and hold it there for 20 minutes. Sometimes I push a little harder and twist the dilator back and forth some more to try to stretch the skin out some more. That seems to work well. I figure if it doesn't really hurt too much, it's good. But I am careful not to push so hard as to tear something. As I see it, tearing things that are inside you is a bad thing. I learned that by watching "House", too.

I'm currently using two different sizes of dilators, since I can get the smaller one in deeper, and I do that for 20-25 minutes before moving on to the bigger one for 10-15 minutes. When I was only using the blue one, it took me less time per session, but now that I'm doing blue and green, it takes longer. The same thing happened when I moved from pink (smallest) to blue. I used both pink and blue until I could get them both to the same depth, then stopped using the smaller one.

Pain/Discomfort: The first week was the worst. There's a muscle that, as a result of surgery, now has a tear in it. Through that tear, I'm inserting things that it doesn't particularly like having pushed through it. At first, keeping the pink dilator in for even 20 minutes was agony. Now, it's getting much more stretchy, and I could sit there with the green one (two sizes bigger) in me for an hour if I wanted to.

Pushing fairly hard, even at maximum depth, is not all that painful. Uncomfortable, yes, but not painful. Pretty much what I'd heard from other people going into this. Dilating is hardest in the morning, when things have had a chance to tighten up, and gets progressively easier fast. Moving up a size in dilators hurts, but that gets better fast, too. There's one size up from the one I'm on now, but I'm not sure if it's worth doing. I know I could do it, I just don't know if I want to.

Overall: Like everything in this transition, it's hard but it's worth it. It's a lot better than the pain of the first two weeks post-op, but it is kind of monotonous and at times it feels like my whole life is on hold until I get done with this. I find ways to entertain myself and take my mind off it. The rest is just finding the time and having the discipline to see it through.