And The Universe Laughs...
Predicting the future has always been a tricky job, even when it’s just five minutes into the future. Is it going to rain? Will I miss the bus? Will she say yes?
Things rarely go exactly as we imagine them. I sometimes wonder if that’s because our imaginations just aren’t big enough.
These past two weeks have held a series of unexpected moments for me, both good and - well, let’s call it “not my preferred outcome.” Nothing truly bad, just... not the way I planned it.
Moment #1:
I finally get my prescription for testosterone. I literally had to sit in my car for a while to cry and shake and let out the tension. (Well, okay, so I could have stuffed it back in - very much “the guy way” to handle it and my usual instinctive way of coping - but perhaps one of the blessings of my odd gender-screwed life is having learned that it’s sometimes better not to.)
I’ve mostly done a pretty fair job of pretending not to be worried, but the knowledge that medical problems unrelated to transition might prevent my being allowed to take this step - after having wrestled for months (or years, depending on how you view it) with the decision of whether to even pursue it - has been a serious drain on my nerves for the past seven months.
But now, after much waiting and multiple blood tests and careful research on what constitutes a “safe”dosage for someone in my situation, I have the actual prescription in hand, on paper - and it’s the day before New Year’s Eve. Good lord, how much more symbolic can you get?? I’m almost awestruck at how that turned out.
The pharmacist is polite and professional. He does eye me a little oddly at one point and say, apologetically, “I have to ask you if you’re pregnant.” Cue the laughter, on my end at least. He tells me to come back tomorrow to pick it up, as they are not currently in stock. I finish the day in a haze of excitement and introspection, pondering the huge significance of this step in my life.
And the next day, a different pharmacist apologizes... seems that the guy who actually took my information and put in the order hadn’t been aware that the manufacturer has discontinued that particular dosage.
So, two weeks, later, I’m still waiting to hear back from my doctor - who is very busy and also travels a lot - about where we go from here. Maybe I should start a betting pool about how much longer it’ll take...
*Sigh*
Moment #2:
A visiting minister shows up with a toy, a very distinctive-looking stuffed bear puppet. Her bear is so exactly like a deeply-beloved one that I lost years ago during my troubled young adulthood (and I have never seen another one resembling it, in all that time) that it brings up hugely unexpected, strong feelings and memories for me - I literally need to leave the sanctuary during the sermon to go sit in the office for a while and cry it out. (Why is there so much crying in this installment? Didn’t I title it something about laughter? Geeesh!)
This has clearly opened up something for me, some significant emotional trail that I should pursue further to see where it leads. A good friend encourages me to see if I can find another such bear on eBay. I almost refuse - finances are currently slim, and besides, I have looked before - but end up taking the chance.
I immediately come upon the very exact one sought - the very first entry in the page of search results. It’s the only perfect match, and its auction closes in mere hours. ~Wow.~
The current price is manageable... but anyone who’s played the giant game that is eBay knows that that means nothing. I sit up late watching, deciding and re-deciding how much cash I can afford to blow on this. The final moment comes, and huzzah! I have won my prize, and at a relatively affordable cost. The Universe is being kind today.
Next day I check my email for the invoice. Instead I have received a note from the seller... apologetically canceling the sale. The toy seems to have been unwittingly given away elsewhere...
*Sigh*
Yeah, sometimes I just ~know~ the Universe is laughing at me. But I can’t exactly resent it... at least not in these cases. You see, I suspect that they both had lessons attached.
Even while reveling in the bright symbolism of starting my hormone therapy on New Year’s Eve or Day, I had niggling doubts about whether that was a good idea... because sometimes a symbol is just too big, implies too much. In my case especially, with an extremely low dose meaning that the physical changes will come very slowly, might I not end up feeling disappointed at how the apparent promise of the symbol outshone its day-to-day reality?
And even while sitting on tenterhooks watching the auction countdown, I wondered whether it was really the toy that I needed... or was it just the decision to allow it to be important, to be willing to value what it stood for in my life? I already know some of the questions this experience is asking me. One is simply (“simply,” ha!) about reclaiming some lost bits of myself, of trust and joy and innocence. Another is about choosing to retain not only some of those bits, but also my own ways of expressing them, even though they don’t necessarily fit what might be expected of a “typically”masculine person in this culture. (E.g., I think about half a dozen people saw me sitting in the sanctuary after the service, having a serious and somewhat tearful heart-to-heart with a stuffed bear... and I’m okay with that.)
So, honestly? I don’t know. Frankly, I’m not assuming that I should simply let the Universe have the last word on any of this. I would still really, really like to start my testosterone therapy while it’s still January, thankyouverymuch... and I still want my damn bear, though I may have to settle for a strongly-reminiscent-but-not-quite-exact version. (Perhaps that’s best anyway, so that if I ever do find the original, he won’t be jealous.)
Oh, well. Thank you, Universe - I think.
But hey, while we’re on a roll here, let me tell you about...
Moment #3:
So, its early January, the holidays are well and truly through... and it’s finally time to sit down face-to-face with my grandfather (age 96) and “come out” to him. If you read my previous installment, you know that this has been worrying me greatly, and why.
I have written him a letter of explanation, since he is half-deaf and explaining verbally would be both painful and of uncertain effect. I also have a supporting relative with me, an aunt, in case of need - his or mine or both. (I don’t honestly know what she thinks about the whole thing, except that she firmly believes that it is my decision to make, and that’s good enough for me; she has been an absolute rock and I am immensely grateful for her presence.)
He reads the letter quietly. I sit and wait, playing with a pencil. Pen? Something like that. Something to do with my hands while the strange words fall into his mind. Your granddaughter is telling you that she - he - is really a grandson... and she... he... is seeking... planning... to physically change her/his body from female to male... Will he be confused, hurt, angry? Will it cause him physical distress (his heart, his blood pressure)? I’ve tried to consider all possible reactions...
He finishes reading.
I nervously break the silence, saying, “I’ve been afraid to talk to you about it because I didn’t know what you’d think. She -” I indicate my aunt, “came to help.”
He looks straight at me, tells me calmly that it is my life, my choice... then turns to my aunt and speaks, to my utter delight, a highly original and idiosyncratic phrase that I will never forget:
“What, did you think I was gonna beat her up for wanting to be a jackass instead of a mule?”
Ye gods...
Needless to say, no crying necessary over this one. Sometimes, when the Universe laughs... I’m more than happy to laugh with it!
P.S.
As you may have guessed: Upon hearing this tale, my friends have thus far been quite willing to affirm that I am indeed a jackass in their eyes, and what’s more, I always have been. Thanks, guys. I love you too. I think.
Things rarely go exactly as we imagine them. I sometimes wonder if that’s because our imaginations just aren’t big enough.
These past two weeks have held a series of unexpected moments for me, both good and - well, let’s call it “not my preferred outcome.” Nothing truly bad, just... not the way I planned it.
Moment #1:
I finally get my prescription for testosterone. I literally had to sit in my car for a while to cry and shake and let out the tension. (Well, okay, so I could have stuffed it back in - very much “the guy way” to handle it and my usual instinctive way of coping - but perhaps one of the blessings of my odd gender-screwed life is having learned that it’s sometimes better not to.)
I’ve mostly done a pretty fair job of pretending not to be worried, but the knowledge that medical problems unrelated to transition might prevent my being allowed to take this step - after having wrestled for months (or years, depending on how you view it) with the decision of whether to even pursue it - has been a serious drain on my nerves for the past seven months.
But now, after much waiting and multiple blood tests and careful research on what constitutes a “safe”dosage for someone in my situation, I have the actual prescription in hand, on paper - and it’s the day before New Year’s Eve. Good lord, how much more symbolic can you get?? I’m almost awestruck at how that turned out.
The pharmacist is polite and professional. He does eye me a little oddly at one point and say, apologetically, “I have to ask you if you’re pregnant.” Cue the laughter, on my end at least. He tells me to come back tomorrow to pick it up, as they are not currently in stock. I finish the day in a haze of excitement and introspection, pondering the huge significance of this step in my life.
And the next day, a different pharmacist apologizes... seems that the guy who actually took my information and put in the order hadn’t been aware that the manufacturer has discontinued that particular dosage.
So, two weeks, later, I’m still waiting to hear back from my doctor - who is very busy and also travels a lot - about where we go from here. Maybe I should start a betting pool about how much longer it’ll take...
*Sigh*
Moment #2:
A visiting minister shows up with a toy, a very distinctive-looking stuffed bear puppet. Her bear is so exactly like a deeply-beloved one that I lost years ago during my troubled young adulthood (and I have never seen another one resembling it, in all that time) that it brings up hugely unexpected, strong feelings and memories for me - I literally need to leave the sanctuary during the sermon to go sit in the office for a while and cry it out. (Why is there so much crying in this installment? Didn’t I title it something about laughter? Geeesh!)
This has clearly opened up something for me, some significant emotional trail that I should pursue further to see where it leads. A good friend encourages me to see if I can find another such bear on eBay. I almost refuse - finances are currently slim, and besides, I have looked before - but end up taking the chance.
I immediately come upon the very exact one sought - the very first entry in the page of search results. It’s the only perfect match, and its auction closes in mere hours. ~Wow.~
The current price is manageable... but anyone who’s played the giant game that is eBay knows that that means nothing. I sit up late watching, deciding and re-deciding how much cash I can afford to blow on this. The final moment comes, and huzzah! I have won my prize, and at a relatively affordable cost. The Universe is being kind today.
Next day I check my email for the invoice. Instead I have received a note from the seller... apologetically canceling the sale. The toy seems to have been unwittingly given away elsewhere...
*Sigh*
Yeah, sometimes I just ~know~ the Universe is laughing at me. But I can’t exactly resent it... at least not in these cases. You see, I suspect that they both had lessons attached.
Even while reveling in the bright symbolism of starting my hormone therapy on New Year’s Eve or Day, I had niggling doubts about whether that was a good idea... because sometimes a symbol is just too big, implies too much. In my case especially, with an extremely low dose meaning that the physical changes will come very slowly, might I not end up feeling disappointed at how the apparent promise of the symbol outshone its day-to-day reality?
And even while sitting on tenterhooks watching the auction countdown, I wondered whether it was really the toy that I needed... or was it just the decision to allow it to be important, to be willing to value what it stood for in my life? I already know some of the questions this experience is asking me. One is simply (“simply,” ha!) about reclaiming some lost bits of myself, of trust and joy and innocence. Another is about choosing to retain not only some of those bits, but also my own ways of expressing them, even though they don’t necessarily fit what might be expected of a “typically”masculine person in this culture. (E.g., I think about half a dozen people saw me sitting in the sanctuary after the service, having a serious and somewhat tearful heart-to-heart with a stuffed bear... and I’m okay with that.)
So, honestly? I don’t know. Frankly, I’m not assuming that I should simply let the Universe have the last word on any of this. I would still really, really like to start my testosterone therapy while it’s still January, thankyouverymuch... and I still want my damn bear, though I may have to settle for a strongly-reminiscent-but-not-quite-exact version. (Perhaps that’s best anyway, so that if I ever do find the original, he won’t be jealous.)
Oh, well. Thank you, Universe - I think.
But hey, while we’re on a roll here, let me tell you about...
Moment #3:
So, its early January, the holidays are well and truly through... and it’s finally time to sit down face-to-face with my grandfather (age 96) and “come out” to him. If you read my previous installment, you know that this has been worrying me greatly, and why.
I have written him a letter of explanation, since he is half-deaf and explaining verbally would be both painful and of uncertain effect. I also have a supporting relative with me, an aunt, in case of need - his or mine or both. (I don’t honestly know what she thinks about the whole thing, except that she firmly believes that it is my decision to make, and that’s good enough for me; she has been an absolute rock and I am immensely grateful for her presence.)
He reads the letter quietly. I sit and wait, playing with a pencil. Pen? Something like that. Something to do with my hands while the strange words fall into his mind. Your granddaughter is telling you that she - he - is really a grandson... and she... he... is seeking... planning... to physically change her/his body from female to male... Will he be confused, hurt, angry? Will it cause him physical distress (his heart, his blood pressure)? I’ve tried to consider all possible reactions...
He finishes reading.
I nervously break the silence, saying, “I’ve been afraid to talk to you about it because I didn’t know what you’d think. She -” I indicate my aunt, “came to help.”
He looks straight at me, tells me calmly that it is my life, my choice... then turns to my aunt and speaks, to my utter delight, a highly original and idiosyncratic phrase that I will never forget:
“What, did you think I was gonna beat her up for wanting to be a jackass instead of a mule?”
Ye gods...
Needless to say, no crying necessary over this one. Sometimes, when the Universe laughs... I’m more than happy to laugh with it!
P.S.
As you may have guessed: Upon hearing this tale, my friends have thus far been quite willing to affirm that I am indeed a jackass in their eyes, and what’s more, I always have been. Thanks, guys. I love you too. I think.
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