Sunday, February 22, 2015

Before the Phoenix Rises

February 22, 2015

I missed a week of publishing. It was my youngest daughter's 11th birthday last Saturday (when I usually write my blog) and I was busy playing balloon-popping games with a gaggle of pre-teen girls. My daughter was so happy being surrounded by a group of girls; something that never appealed to me as a child. I frequently felt out of place.

When I was ten, I was invited to a birthday party sleep over. I was an only child and so I really did not know if my life and my experiences were that much different than other children. The party was for Michelle and about fifteen girls were there to spend the night, eat popcorn and play games including an immature version of Truth or Dare. I packed my Snoopy, my favorite pajamas, my slippers, and put on my favorite outfit for the party.

When I arrived I was the only girl wearing pants. I had on a light blue Hang Ten t-shirt and some bluejeans. I never went anywhere without my Adidas Superstars. The other girls were wearing party dresses with lace and frills. But I was used to that and didn't really care about what anyone was wearing. The shocker came when we got into our night clothes. Every other girl had on some kind of Baby doll nightgown with pom-poms, or ribbons of some sort. I brought my tan flannel pjs with green and brown trucks on them. I walked into the playroom and a hush fell over the group. "Nice slippers," Leslie smirked, "I think my brother has the same ones." I looked down at my dark brown corduroy slippers and quickly scanned the room for what the other girls were sporting on their feet. Pink and fluffy sums it up.

"Oooh! And MY brother has those same pajamas," Olivia quipped. A buzz went around the room. The girls surrounded me, looking at me, inching closer and closer. My heart raced. I didn't know what was going to happen. I started to feel very uneasy. Kelly came right up into my face and asked me, "What kind of girl are you?"

A tear began to well up in my eyes. "Umm, I don't know," I stated softly.

Michelle came sprinting into the room with a dangerous and triumphant look in her eyes. "I know what kind of girl she is, she's one of these... she's a lesbian!"Michelle had a magazine rolled up in her hands and with that tossed it across the room to Leslie who opened it while the room fell to a hush. It was a tabloid magazine. On the cover was a picture of a very masculine woman who was quoted as saying, "You can't call it rape, we were both women." Leslie proceeded to read the cover story which included details about a round bed, a meeting at a bar, and sex against the feminine woman's will.

The girls shrieked with laughter and made lewd comments. I felt dirty and ashamed. It was the first time I heard either of the words "lesbian" or "rape". I was upset by both.  I developed a stomach ache and left the party. I was never invited to another all-girl birthday sleep over again.

Years later when I came out as a lesbian I had to deal with that awful misrepresentation of lesbians that I had lodged in my child mind. That story haunted me for years.

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My mother told me this week that she read my blog. "You did?" I asked. My mother does not go on the internet. It turns out my son-in-law suggested it to her. My first thought was, "I hope I didn't say anything bad about her!" Then I felt kind of weird knowing my family is reading this, but also glad.

My 28 year old daughter gave birth to her second child two weeks ago. I am thrilled for her because she and I both were only children and in my mind she broke our curse. I was also hit by a terrible depression. For the record, I am glad to have transitioned. My journey is not easy. I am plagued by residual pain and am really, really exhausted, but nevertheless, my transition into manhood was necessary for me to stay alive and thrive as a human being.

However, the birth of my grandson marked a moment for me where I had to grieve giving up being a mommy and a grandmother. I gave birth to one of the most wonderful women on the planet and in my pursuit of being true-to-myself, I had to alter the most primary and instinctual relationship I have ever had: the relationship of mother and child.

I love being a father, but I am not her father. HR, my darling, I feel such great sorrow for the loss of that part of our relationship. I hope you can forgive me for what I needed to do.

In Greek Mythology, the Phoenix is a bird that is regenerated or reborn. It obtains new life by arising from the ashes of its predecessor. Even though I have been in transition for six years, I do not yet feel like I have risen as the Phoenix does. I feel that I am still in the mix of the ashes and the breaking down of who I was, the metamorphic processes of alchemy; the regeneration of soul and purpose; the enduring of post operative pain and narcotics; the realities of facial hair and the limitations of a man-made phallus. I am more like a caterpillar still entering the cocoon; on the outside a functioning man and father; on the inside searching for my new psychological strongholds and ways of expressing myself that both honor my past and breathe life into the man I am meant to be.

In Love and Service,
Nick


Saturday, February 7, 2015

Repentance of Sin

Dear Friends,
Last week I was preparing to see my surgeon, Dr. Crane, to discuss my challenges with the salami, from here forward known as "Sal." I was having unusual swelling and quite frankly, it was making me depressed. It's like getting a Christmas present that requires 50 batteries, and I never got the batteries. Dr. Crane said as much.

He said, "You are at the three month mark where you want to get back to your life and be done with this process. It takes about a year for everything to work properly, sometimes longer."

Let's be clear. This is what I have done:
  • June 2008: Breast reduction from DD to A size breasts, pre-official transition
  • May 2009: began official transition, shaved my head to have male-pattern baldness, lived as a man even though I still had a high voice, a female chest, and an enormous lady-ass
  • May 2012: Hysterectomy and Oophectomy
  • November 2012: Chest surgery; double mastectomy
  • October 2014: Chest scar revision
  • November 2014: Vaginectomy, urethral lengthening, making of phallus (November 10th is Sal's birthday, awwwww) and scrotum from thigh donor site, skin graft from other thigh
  • Weekly injection of testosterone since July 2009
What the fuck????? Who is crazy enough to go through all of this?
On the horizon I have yet to get my testicular implants and my erectile device, most likely in December 2015.

Two great things happened at Dr. Crane's office. He said that I could fold Sal and wear him sideways or up and that it would not cause any damage. This was of GREAT relief to me, because it was extremely embarrassing wearing Sal in the dangle position. Also, in the dangle position, he acted like a sponge, collecting fluid and increasing in weight throughout the day. Dr. Crane dilated my urethra to make sure I had enough flow for urination.

The other thing that happened is that the BBC was there making a documentary on trans people and I got interviewed. Sal might be featured on the billboards in the UK! Oh my gosh, I have tears welling up in my eyes!

On the down side, I am still struggling with getting off of my narcotics. I wake up with dread every morning which is very unusual for me. Recovering from these surgeries has left me feeling quite exhausted and vulnerable. In fact I feel more vulnerable now than I ever have which is an odd experience. The more complete I become, I am more aware of my feelings. I wish I was in a bravado mood, but I am not.

A few years ago I participated in a Lenten series discussion and was asked to present on Repentance of Sin. I didn't ask for the topic it was a card I drew. I thought "Oh, great. Why me?" But it turned out that in my heart I saw the connection between changing the course of my life from female to male as the turning at the core of repentance. I was living in sin by being a woman. Moving into integrity is my journey to becoming fully male; in thought, word and deed; in my physicality and in my soul.

My transition is my sacred journey. It is what calls me and connects me to the divine. It is my connection to God. In order for me to stay sane I have to stay in touch with each step and treasure it and be grateful for each experience.

Thank you for sharing this journey with me.

In Love and Service,
Nick



Sunday, February 1, 2015

What to wear with a giant salami in your pants?

February 1, 2015

I am going to see my surgeon tomorrow to get advice on dealing with the salami. You may not realize that phalloplasty, or penis construction, does not give a man erectile tissue. Since most men do not walk around with an erection all the time, and would be embarrassed if they did, this issue is a big one.

When transmen decide to go through the surgery, we have to decide how we want our new man-toy to be in terms of length and girth. Wow, what a great option! Except that the thing never retracts; it is the same length whether happy or sad, asleep or in use. The pump I mentioned on my last blog only makes it rigid, not longer.

The combination of the dense fat on my leg (in spite of being 15% body fat at time of surgery) and the creation of a urethra (so I can pee through my phallus) has left me with a very large salami that does not retract. It is very hard to hide.

I tried bending it at the base and wearing it "up" as opposed to "left" or "right"but that only caused me intense pain like when your foot falls asleep.

When I was a child, I had a very personal relationship with Jesus. This is odd because my family was not religious. My father was Jewish and changed his name so that no one would know he was Jewish. That might seem odd today, but his grandmother and grandfather fled the Czar in Russia and eloped to the United States. She kept a kosher kitchen but her children avoided religion.

Nevertheless, I had visions of Jesus frequently and on the rare occasions that I did go to church, I wished to wear the robes of the priest and to stand at the altar delivering the gifts of God to the masses. Now, more than ever it would be so helpful to wear a robe for my work uniform! I honestly never thought I would regret giving up the option to wear a dress.

I wanted to pursue being a priest but as a woman I felt a huge disconnect. I simply could not be Mother, I HAD to be Father; Father Nick.

Now I still long for the priestly robes and to prepare a sacred altar. I recently decided to get ordained from a non-denominational-easy-ordination church so I could legally perform weddings and ceremonies for friends. I have to say that I am really surprised at how happy it makes me to have this piece of paper. It has stirred something up for me and I am now looking for ways to share some of my spiritual experiences, including this blog.

I hope I have something great to report from my visit with the surgeon tomorrow.

In Love and Service,
Nick