Being a nurse to my future self

There’s one thing I haven’t said about Z, and it’s that she is my roommate. That’s right, I actually live with her, and that’s probably part of the reason that this drama has been stretching out for so long – it would have been easier for both of us at multiple points in the roller coaster ride to go our separate ways and never see each other again.

So anyways, on Monday January 14th, Z got her GRS surgery. The day before, I brought her to the hospital, helped her unpack her stuff, spent a bit of time chatting and then went back to an empty home with a list of chores to do (cleaning, disinfecting, buying supplies, etc).

Now, a quick review of what the whole process entails is that you go in the eve of the surgery, the next morning you’re taken, worked on, put back in your room for 2 days while things start healing (fairly heavy on painkillers at that point). After 2 days you’re transfered to an attached recovery home (kind of like a deluxe B&B) for another 7 days, over the course of which the initial bandages, then the “packing”, then the stent, and finally the catheter are removed, proper medical care and instructions are given, and the process of recovery starts. I say this really as an overview because now isn’t the time to go into these sorts of details…

But that’s mostly because I’ll be in that exact position in around 6-8 months. I realized over the course of the last week that the position that I’m in is extremely priviledged – living and accompanying someone through a surgery is one thing – doing it when you know you’re getting that exact same surgery in half a year, is absolutely amazing.

It wasn’t all titties and rainbows though – I mean, definitely not for Z who had to go through major surgery and recovery and indeed is still going to have various amounts of pain and suffering for weeks and months – I had some major realizations happen and this post is about sharing them.

As things were progressing – as I went to see Z every single day, texting her often, talking on the phone a few times, it started really sinking in that I was talking to my future self – I was experiencing, from the outside, every step of a gender reassignment surgery. Of course I didn’t see most of the actions that were taken, I didn’t live them either – but I heard so much about so many details, I feel I have a much better understanding of what I was “getting myself into” as some would say.

The biggest thing that hit me though, was that I want to have this surgery more than ever. Yes, even though Z’s crotch is currently a bloody mess, even though I know she experienced pain, major discomfort, after-effects of surgery and medication, I want to go through this. I’ve started feeling the pressure, the excitement, a fully emcompassing desire to get through this as soon as possible.

There are, of course, logical reasons for this – wanting my name and gender changed so I stop seeing my old name everywhere, wanting some people to stop telling I’m “not really a woman until I get surgery”, wanting to stop the people that are trying to convince me not to do it (not forcefully, I’m thankful for that, just in small ways).

But all of that… it’s just secondary to the core, which I don’t have words for. It’s an unnamable desire, an unexplainable pressure that’s felt deep inside. Seeing Z go through it and feeling this sort of pressure is confirming to me, one more time and possibly once and for all, that this really is the right path for me and that there is truly nothing, short of a doctor telling me I’d die on the operation table, that could prevent me from getting this done as soon as normal procedure permits.

But In the meantime, I have to be a nurse to Z, and this is turning out to be one of the best experiences I’ve ever had in my transition, it’s such an educational process, and I feel blessed (in the non-religious way) that I’ve been given the chance to go through it.

I’m ready.


You just have to be there

It’s odd, how our view of things change during transition. Not just the emotions, or the physical changes… but the social interactions especially with men, now that’s something to behold.

Growing up in a man’s skin, trying to walk, talk and act like a man under the influence of Testosterone, I never really had any idea how hard it was to be a woman. You hear all these feminists (oh, sorry, “equalitarians”) talk about how they’re treated badly, how they struggle in this society run by men. You see these crushing stories of woman being raped and then blamed for the way they dressed, you see some random girl throwing the finger at some stupid douche that whistled at her… but unless you’ve been in their place, it’s really hard to really understand that.

And I still have trouble really comprehending the extent of the “problem” that women have to deal with. I’m not pretty enough (yet! 😉 ) to receive the attention of random men on the street. I haven’t seen any difference in the way I’m treated by the men around me – probably because I stay mostly cloistered at home, but still, I go out in restaurants and stores and it’s escaped my attention…

Well, almost. There is one area where I’ve realized there’s been a major change, where there’s a complete shift in behaviour that still strikes me as unbelievable. I’ve always had a bit of an issue with dating women before, and I’ve talked about it a little in previous posts. I still have that issue, mind you – if you ignore last week’s drama-prone story, I’m still actually out there kinda looking, and it’s not looking good. But only with women.

At the beginning of my whole story with Z, there was a little even that just… happened. I was feeling down (the emotional roller coaster was in a low peak) and this guy I met at the Trans Pride a few months before tells me that from my posts it’s obvious that I need to talk to someone, and he has shit to talk about too, so let’s meet for dinner and a few beers… I really, honestly thought nothing of it, and he tells me it was the same for him. But in the end, after half a dozen beer each and a whole lot of talking, I ended up taking a taxi back to his place and… well, having sex with him, there’s no other way to put it. This guy, he has a way of making women feel like they’re the center of the universe, like there’s no one else he’d rather be with. It was a really enjoyable evening, which actually led to its own drama with him, me and Z, but that’s another story altogether.

It felt very different, being courted by a guy, being kissed suddenly in the middle of a conversation, spending a night with him in bed. The difference was in how… easy it had all seemed. Not to say I didn’t have an internal dilemma about it, that I didn’t hesitate… but it seemed like nothing to him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Ok so enough about this first guy. Fast forward a couple of weeks. I’m hanging out with a female friend and another friend of her’s – an ex-boyfriend, actually. We’re chatting, eating, doing a bit of platonic cuddling. As it turns out, I spent an hour that evening talking about my night with the guy above, and the week following that event. Yes, an hour to resume just a week of drama in my life. Now the ex boyfriend is a little sad (especially after my story) because he just broke up with someone, he’s depressed.. thus the aforementioned cuddling. I feel that there’s a way that he’s looking at me, and the way he’s enjoying the cuddles maybe a little too much.

Well, I decided to test myself, to test the changes in my life and how people reacted to me, so I asked him a question. I was very forward about the fact that it was just a curiosity, that I wanted an honest answer just because I wanted to know – nothing else. So I told him, if I asked you to come back with me to my place tonight… would you?, not really expecting a specific answer… Well, he answered Yes.

It wasn’t as much of a shock as I expected. After all, I had seen hints of what to expect that evening. But still it felt strange that I could get this guy in my bed if I really wanted, no questions asked, no further challenge. I didn’t, mind you, because it truly was just out of curiosity. But it served to prove my point to myself.

This point is that when you’re a woman, however you look, there’s always going to be men around you who will be interested in you. You don’t have to work for it, you don’t have to fight for it… you just have to, like, be there. It may seem like an oversimplification, and there are cases where I’m wrong of course… but I’m pretty sure this is right in most situations.

So what did I learn? The lesson here is that there’s one thing that I’ve never had to do as a guy, that all of a sudden I have to learn to do at an increasing rate: Say No. I’ve never said no to a relationship with a woman before. Maybe it’s a sign of how much of a loser I really was – after all, all 12 of the partners I had in my pre-transition life expressed interest in me, I never rejected anyone knowingly – but it’s also a clear indication of how things have changed forever. Other women around me, they’ve had years of experience rejecting guys. I had to learn the hard way that hoping in a taxi with a guy I met once in my life at a random event, may not have been the best move I ever made. I was lucky that time – but the lesson was well learned.

Ladies, what’s your feeling on this? Especially if you’re born female, I’d like to hear your input, but I’d also like to hear from men and other trans people what they think of all of this. Perspective is everything!

Emotions running wild…

I realized, reading previous posts in my own blog, that there’s been a slight shift in the way I write. Not a big thing, and maybe not as much as I would have hoped for at first… but I’ve started to put a little more emotions into my posts. Not necessarily naming these emotions, but at least showing that they do occur. But in reality, emotions have taken a central place in my life since I started taking hormones, and it hasn’t been easy sailing.

From the outset, I knew that taking hormones would have effects on my emotions and moods, and to an extent, I was certainly expecting it – in fact, I wanted it. Before hormones, I found it almost impossible to cry for myself. Oh sure I’d shed a few tears during movies and TV shows, but these tears were always for a detached, fictional character. Even while I was breaking up with Vicey, I simply could not cry, could not go past the mental block that was created by a combination of my traumatic past and the power of testosterone. I’d get a ball in my throat, and it would just… stay there.

Some will say that women are the opposite – they cry for stupid reasons sometimes, will burst into tears because they can’t open a can of pickles or because their favourite shoes have scuff marks. I’m happy to say that this wasn’t the case for me… Still, I did my share of crying, had my fair share of drama that was too much to handle, too much to keep inside.

Most of this drama in my life was the result of what I mentioned a couple of posts ago – cuddling with this sexy-looking pre-op trans and discovering myself through her, and thanks to her. But it just wasn’t as smooth sailing as I would have hoped for. First of all, what I really didn’t want to admit to myself at first but quickly became a reality I couldn’t ignore: she had a girlfriend. So yes, I was a mistress, I was helping her cheat – I was an evil person. That was the main source of the drama that tore at me almost every day. It wasn’t the fact of being a mistress though – it was the fact that I wasn’t #1.

Let me explain this a little bit more. When you grow up being last, when you get teased at school by everyone (including, in some places, by other “rejects”), you start developing a certain inferiority complex, a fear of rejection, a painful feeling of inadequacy. And even though I’ve had plenty of years to try to get over it, even though it was only my first girlfriend who cheated on me and reinforced those feelings, they still, to this day, continue to haunt me. One day I was happy in the arms of this woman (I’ll call her Z), the next I felt utterly rejected and tossed aside because she would be heading out to spend a day with her girlfriend.

It’s not that I resented her girlfriend, not that I hated her for being there. She was, in fact, a good person. But she represented the very image of me being second place, being unimportant some of the time, being inadequate. Of course, it’s part of the story of every mistress to wish they would replace the one cheated on, but in my case the desire was much more about not being left out and less about becoming a girlfriend.

Combined to that was the fact that Z is a pretty unstable character that would vary between being distant and cold one day, to being snugly and loving the next. All of this served (and in some way, continue to serve) to throw me up and down an emotional roller coaster that still haunts me. It seemed like I couldn’t just be happy with what I had, couldn’t just appreciate and accept the advantages of being there in Z’s arms at least some of the times… I was just a complete wreck when she wasn’t around.

I talk about this in a past tense, but in reality, it’s still going on. Thankfully, the situation has gotten better – Z left her girlfriend a little while ago, and not only because I was there. The girlfriend never learned that I existed, and she never knew that I wasn’t the only one… That’s right, there were other people involved and I was the only one to know about it – which only contributed to throw me deeper into emotional turmoil because not only was I not number one, I also had to contend with other people whom I was jealous about!

But these negative events, the cheating and the other people, those are all in the past. I’m #1 now, I’m on top… but the effects still linger on. It’s hard to put trust into someone like Z, hard to believe them when they tell you that it’s alright, that you’re the only one, that even though they’re not ready to consider you a girlfriend yet, to stop worrying, to just chill out, if only you could be patient and appreciate what you have at the moment…

Ugh! Can you imagine being in this wild tornado of emotions, not only completely new but also compounded by the fact that these emotions were so much stronger because of hormonal changes? My point with this blog wasn’t to share the story of the trans mistress of the trans cheating girl… Well, in a way it was, but really, I wanted to open a window into the chaos of emotions that any woman has to deal with, and that trans woman have to learn to deal with. Because it’s all new for me, it’s all something I’ve never really had to deal with before.

And it’s really, really hard, I’ll tell you that.

I’m interested to hear what you have to say about this, reader. How do you deal with your emotions every day? Is your experience different? More, less intense? I’d like to know!

It’s about the little things…

I know I haven’t posted in a while. There’s been a lot happening in my life, a lot of drama, but it wasn’t directly related to my transition, and I’m trying to keep these two worlds apart except in general terms. I guess now things have become somewhat more stable, and I feel that I should get back to expressing myself here.

It’s been a little over 13 months since I took the leap and did my official coming out to the world – for me, that was coming out at work, to a bunch of semi-strangers that I simply couldn’t address individually. It’s also been over 2 years that I’ve realized I was a woman and begun my journey. During those two years there have been a number of big events that showed me how people react to transition, how I react to it, how society looks at me in this new skin of mine. But it’s the small things that really get to me.

Small things like walking with my daughter in her stroller, going to the park, and being stopped by a nice lady who speaks to her, and refers to me as “your mommy”. Things like going apartment hunting and, after saying I was selling my house, being asked if “he” (my ex) would be keeping the house. Like selling a TV storage unit through Kijiji and at no point in time being misgendered by this guy who spoke to me on the phone and then was super apologetic because I had to help him lug the 50-pound monstrosity to his van.

I mean, of course the big things matter. Coming out to my sister was one of the most intense emotional moments of my life, and so was telling my mother. Losing my dad to this transition was a saddening moment too. But the small details, those matter too.

So why aren’t you guys commenting?

So I’ve been posting more or less consistently for about 10 months now, and I do have stats that show me that a fair number of visitors are seeing my posts, often on the same day I post them.

Now, granted I get a lot of visitors from my friends on Facebook because I link to every post and they comment on those links instead of the blog, but I’m curious about why I’m actually getting so little commenting.

So my question is, if you’re not coming from Facebook, why are you not commenting? Do you have nothing to add, are you shy about asking questions? I’m just curious!

A change in perception and perspective

This is a bit of a follow up to my Cuddling as a Woman post. As the days continue to go by and the cuddling with this person continues and evolves (because yes, it did happen again), I’m starting to really notice and realize that I have a very different perception of some things that I thought I had a clear opinion on. I really don’t want to get into too many of the juicy details here, because after all there is a certain decorum to be maintained in a public blog and this isn’t 50 Shades of Grey.

The main detail that I left out in the last post was the fact that this woman I cuddled with, is actually a pre-op MfT transsexual, like me. Mind you, she sounds, and mostly looks, like she’s a genetic born woman so I don’t see her as a trans – I see her as a woman, period. But of course, both of us being pre-op means there are certain, err, mechanical details that makes this a non-standard, more delicate relationship.

Why am I saying this? Because when I started my transition and thought about the fact that I would most likely hang around with a good number of other trans girls, I asked myself, “Could I ever maintain a relationship with one, could I ever sleep with one?” and the answer was actually strongly negative. In my mind, I simply couldn’t fathom being in bed with another person, trans or not, that had a penis just like me.

My perspective on this has changed, because my perception of this woman is so strongly feminine that my brain refuses to acknowledge the fact that she has the wrong equipment. My hands have found their way on top of her panties, our hips have met in different ways, and I can clearly feel, as she can, that there is something there that’s extraneous. But I don’t give a fuck.

The perception change is in my view of gender and sexuality. What I saw was a clear binary – either you had a penis and I wanted nothing to do with that area, or you had a vagina and then it was alright. But now, after what I’ve lived… it seems to me like the physical aspect of it has a lot less importance than the perception of the other person’s gender. As I was touching something that I’ve never wanted to think about, I wasn’t weirded out, it wasn’t awkward or disgusting. It was just… ok.

For a split second, now and then, something told me, “this is soooo gay”, but that voice was quickly silenced by the incongruity of what I was plainly seeing in us, two lesbians.

Now, if this is starting to sound like much more than cuddling, you’re perfectly right. It did evolve quickly into much more than that, and it continues to do so every time we meet. Time will tell what, precisely, this is going to become. In the meantime, if you see me with a grin on my face, you know it’s because I’m as happy as I could possibly be at this point in my transition.

Well, this feels different! Cuddling as a woman

So a few days ago I had a brand new experience that wasn’t totally unexpected, and was definitely very pleasant. It may not seem like a big deal to some of you readers, but when you’ve lived your life as a man and all your relationships are with heterosexual women, you quickly learn that it’s always the man’s job to do most of the work when it comes to cuddling (and, sometimes sex. especially the vanilla type).

All my life, I’ve wished it was different. Wished I was the recipient of those touches, grabs, fingers running down on a piece of exposed skin, light nibbles on the neck… But that rarely happened unless I asked for them, and that’s no fun at all!

I mean, I always knew I was different from other men, even if I didn’t know exactly why… but now I do, at least in this respect. Basically, I spent an hour doing some pretty intense cuddling with a woman that I’ve been hanging out with for a few months. Since she’s a lesbian and, technically, so am I (with zero experience, mind you), so the whole situation was so different than anything else I’ve ever felt, I don’t think I can even relate.

I’m starting to look more like a woman every day and I kind of feel like a woman if I don’t look too much at the mirror, my hands, my feet and my shoulders… But during that cuddling session, I was a woman. I felt it deep inside myself. I felt small in her arms (and she in mine), I felt wanted, I felt like I was getting the attention I’d always wanted. And of course, I returned those feelings right back.

Of course, these are just words. This is one of those things that people say can never be explained, they have to be experienced. I’m starting to believe this is the case.

And now, I really want to experience more of it, if only she’d let me.