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Last Day of HRT

So!  Yesterday was my last day of HRT. Bye-bye estrogen!  Oddly, I haven’t had any nasty side effects as yet.  No hot flashes.  No night sweats.  I don’t think I have even been that bitchy.  It’s kinda cewl. 

However, the fact that I am 42 days from checking in to hospital has reached that Keanu Reeves “Whoa!” stage.

The First Transport Is Away

Auntie mailed The Check to Mr Thomas yesterday.  In my best (or worst) Southern accent, we are now ₤10,000 pounds more po’.  Additionally, we mailed the first bit of paperwork at the same time. 

To add a certain air of artificial drama, on looking at the calendar yesterday, I realized that it was time to start ramping down on my HRT.  Both steps have real implication, but I’m trying to not put any extra emphasis on them, wanting to keep my stress evels as low as possible.  I figure going off HRT is enough of a head-fuck.  At least I am getting the anti-androgren implant/shot on Thursday.  My GP was so easy about the whole thing, too.  I told her what was happening, when I was stopping HRT, my concerns about testosterone raging through my bloodstream, and she asked, “So, what did you have in mind then?” So easy.

Last weekend as well, we did a bit of shopping - nightshirts, cheap undies, and pads - oh my!  These past few days, the fact that all of this is really happening has slapped me in the face with full force.  To be honest, though, my mind has dwelt more on the after-effects.  I will be able to finally get on with the rest of my life, no longer … caged by transition. I can’t help thinking that I have held back Auntie as well, her surgery being completed ages ago. 

But even as I look up at the last hill of surgery, pain, healing, dialations, and everything that making it over the finaly hurdle entails, I can’t help but think that life after this physical transition must be at least a bit easier.  This road has been so hard. I’ve had some great successes, and I’m quite happy and proud of how far I’ve come.  But I want so much for it to be over.

So close… so close!

56 Days… Now With Sprinkles!

You might say that I have been less than a happy, hoppity bunny in the past few weeks, but that would undershoot the mark by quite a bit. It’s been so bad as of late that I was starting to wonder if the muscles in my neck were ever going to relax. Neck problems, back problems, feeling tired all the time, majorly depressed without the release that comes from crying - it’s not been a stellar Spring thus far to be honest.

I wouldn’t go so far as to say that’s is all over, but I hope that I have at least turned a bit of a corner. Several things helped quite a bit, such as talking with Auntie, not allowing myself to work over the weekend, and knowing that this and next are short weeks, but the real kicker to it all has been deciding that my attitude had to change.

I’ve felt … completely out of control - helpless in so many ways. I can’t change the fact that we are going to incur more debt because of my surgery. I can’t change the fact that I might loose my current job when I let them know that I have to take so much time off. I can’t change the fact that I am pre-op now and that to finish this phase of my life, I have to go through a surgery that is going to take some major healing afterwards. The one thing that I can change is my reaction to it.

It seems odd to me that I would be going through this now. I have a bit of a turbulent ride to start my transition, but after which, I felt quite positive about my life. “The important thing is that I am still making progress,” I used to say, even when going through hours and hours of conventional electrolysis, even when I lost my job, even when I looked up at the mountain of getting out of debt and then saving more thank $40K for my facial surgery, even when I was forced to spend my days in the wrong gender role. Odd, I suppose, but then I suppose we all have the ability to dig for the pony or despair at all of the shit we are surrounded by.

I’ve been in much worse situations than the current one, having much less reason for hope than I do now. After all, in just 56 days, I’ll be on my way to check-in at the hospital. Just 56 days! I *have* been working out daily. I *have* been emotionaly preparing for it. We *do* have the money to pay for it. And I have a wonderfully supportive partner who has been through it all her herself.

When I got into work today, I asked myself, “So, what can I do to make this week as fun as possible?” It’s been ages since I asked a question like that, ages since I thought like that. It’s such a release to do so again!