Sandy's Life

A Civil Union in Illinois

2011-05-31T19:46:00.000-07:00

In Illinois, tomorrow, June 1st will mark the enactment of S.B. 1716, the Illinois Religious Freedom protection and Civil Union Act ("Civil Union Act").

Our governor, Pat Quinn signed the legislation into law in December and it goes into effect on the beginning of Pride month in the US.

Tomorrow, I and my soon to be husband, June, will, hopefully, be one of the first people to be in line to get our license to have our relationship officially recognized with all the rights and responsibilities as those afforded opposite gender couples in our state.

June is my soul mate. She is, to use the wording from "Different for Girls", the lost sock. She is the other part of me. The part of me that was missing. We are in love. When I started my transition, I *knew* it was the right thing to do. I felt a meshing of gears in my head. I felt that my mind and body were finally together. So too, do I know that June and I are mated. We are meshed gears. Often finishing each others sentences. All of the things that I've heard that life loves are supposed to be.

We could, as many other have been required to, simply continue to live together in a common law arrangement, without benefit of official recognition of the life we share together. But we will not. There are other reasons for having our relationship solemnized.

First and foremost is the recognition that the two of us are in love and wish to have a life together as a married couple. We are in love, and for me to be her lawfully wedded wife is a thrill and a fulfillment of a life long dream.

Also what is available to us, and just as important, is that just like opposite sex couples, we will have hospital visitation rights, the ability to speak for our spouse if they cannot, funerary rights and survivor benefits, and the ability to file joint state income tax returns. And in those states that recognize civil union/same sex marriage, our union will be recognized there as well. And WHEN the federal gummint repeals DOMA (hopefully in our lifetime) we will be able to file joint federal income tax as well.

From what I have been able to gather, the expected turnout is going to be big. I don't know how many are actually going to be there for their license and how many will be there for the celebration of the fulfillment of an agonizingly long process in civil rights. The Cook County Clerks office is planning to have gifts and raffles for those first in line. Naturally, the media will be there as well. And I expect that our friends from the (small "c") christian Taliban, otherwise known as the Westboro Baptist church (if you can call it that) will make their presence known.

I'm writing this late at night because I am too very wired to sleep. I'll post my experience of the next few days at a later point. June and I are not taking an official honeymoon, but will be getting away for a few days.

We plan to have a retired judge solemnize our union. We are scheduled to have him perform the ceremony on Thursday, June 2nd. According to Illinois law we have to wait 24 hours after getting our licence to have the union solemnized.

I have a wedding gown all set for the occasion. My daughters will be my bridesmaids, and my son in law will be June's best man. And my brother has agreed to give away the blushing bride to be.

And as with opposite sex couple marriages, this union will also serve as a legal name change document. And since I have been through this process once before, I intend to change my name to that of my groom.

I post this and my further experiences in my life as a testimonial to others. To show that you can attain your life's desire if you but try.

-Sandy

Our Trip to Miami – Part Two (long-ish)

2010-12-21T20:44:00.001-08:00

Post Op
The days following surgery were actually pretty monotonous. Exercise was very moderate. Mostly consisting of leg lifts walks around the condo. Occasionally we would go outside and walk. While the rain had passed, the temperature was still in the mid 50's so it was a bit chill.

I would minister to Maddie's needs, which mostly consisted of making sure she was well hydrated and checking her cath bag. When she was more mobile she took care of that task herself.

She felt like she had been hit by a truck. Well, pretty much, she had. This is major surgery, after all, and the body is extremely traumatized as a result. So after walking outside, for example, it would not be unusual for her to nap for an hour or more. But as the days went on, she did become stronger, but still had few reserves.

The plan was that she would see the doctor one last time on our day of departure and then we would head for the airport for the trip home.

Throwing a monkey wrench into our stay there was a job related crisis on Wednesday that I had to take care of. And while the issue was somewhat minor, I did spend most of the night fixing stuff. Oh the wonders of technology.

On Friday, we went to see the doctor one last time. The visit and trip to the doctor went very well. Doctor Reed examined Maddie and said that she was doing well and she should make a good recovery and have a very nice cosmetic appearance. He did say that she could come back in about three to six months for a revision if she wanted.

He then removed her packing and examined her vagina. He then brought out her new stents that she would be using to dilate. And then while she was watching in a mirror, he dilated her for the first time. Her initial depth was quite good, over five inches, and the insertion was painless.

There was still some blood seepage, from some of her stitches as well from her vagina. This is normal for this stage of recovery. He then gave her a peroxide/betadine/water douche and told her to douche about once a day for the first week or so and then trail off after that.

He then helped her clean up and after she got dressed, we adjourned to his office for a final review and questions. He had been quite clear in his instructions, both written and spoken.

He then filled out the forms from the State of Illinois which would allow Maddie to modify her birth certificate. The State of Illinois has a moderately difficult process to change your B/C but once you jump through those hoops, the B/C is amended and re-issued. However, the original B/C is sequestered, and the new B/C has no indication on it that it has been amended. And the original B/C can only be examined under a court order. So in this case it is a very good acceptance of trans people.

We then headed back to the Barbizon to finish packing and head back to the airport. The packing and loading was a bit depressing. Maddie was still in a daze from the whole process. Here she had, like many of us, yearned for years and years for this very moment, but now, in reflection, the trip and operation seemed to pass in an instant as we prepared to leave. Almost like a carnival ride that promises wonder and finishes all too soon.

Also she felt useless. I kept reassuring her that because of her weakened condition, she really shouldn't be lifting all that much and should conserve her energy for the trip. She still did not understand how draining the impending flight would be. I jokingly told her to just sit back and think of herself as baggage.

Pat and I finished packing and pat straightened up the condo while I loaded. There wasn't any maid service for the condo, it was more of a sub-let and cleaning up after ourselves is considered a requirement. Also there is a security deposit on the rental and it is returned after check out providing things are ship-shape. But since it was a studio, it shined up quickly.

As fate would have it the nicest day of the whole trip was our last one. For the first time in the ten days that we were there the temperature was scheduled to get above 80 degrees and be sunny. Sigh.

The trip back to the airport was pleasant and while it was a bit confusing finding the place to return the rental car it was done fairly easily. What wasn't easy was trundling all our baggage, including Maddie , to the check in and getting our boarding passes. Fortunately we managed to find a wheel chair quite close to the rental agency and then took a baggage cart for the rest of the bags. The rental place was a fairly long walk from the terminal and fortunately, a sky cap for Southwest came to us at the check in counter and took Maddie in tow so we could check in and get our bags taken care of.

Going through the TSA checkpoint was, as expected, a requisite pain in the posterior for me. Additionally since Maddie was ridding a wheel chair, she was also given a pat down. They also had to check her travel catheter bag that she had strapped to her leg. We have to accept these humiliations so that we can be safe. Yeah, right. Thankfully, the TSA agreed that neither of us were a threat but it still took about 15 minutes to get through the checkpoint. I will refrain from getting on my soapbox (again) about how we are considered guilty by our government and have exchanged liberty for a thin veil of supposed security.

Our sky cap stayed with us while we were patted down and helped push Maddie to the gate. I was very pleased by this and he was quite courteous and polite and made apologies for the rotten weather we had while we were there.

Once we got to the gate, we still had about an hour to wait before our flight left. I had called the house and let them know when we would be getting in. I also found out that I would be flying away from warm 80 degrees and sunny Miami weather into 9 degrees and snowy Chicago weather. Oh fun. We had brought out our heavy winter jackets and would bundle up at the other end.

Even riding as “baggage”, Maddie was already exhausted just getting to the airport. I could see her energy just draining from her face.

We finally boarded. Since Maddie was a “wheelie”, she got to get on first. Pat went with her to help her get settled. I stayed behind and boarded with the rest of the passenger. Though I too was starting to wind down and feel my batteries drain as well. I was glad to get on the plane. When I boarded I found out that Pat and Maddie had secured the front seats in the plane. That was nice since it gave Maddie more leg room and allowed her some more comfort. Also she would be very close to the lav should she need it (she did).

The flight back to Chi took about three and a half hours. And was uneventful and the only thing that gave us any diversion was the peanuts and crackers that were passed out. Flying Southwest is cheap but the first thing you notice besides the single class arrangement is the feeling of being on a cattle car.

Getting off when we landed was chilly and there was a sky cap to take Maddie to the baggage claim area.

This is where we had a bit of a problem. Apparently our sky cap thought that while one person was wheelchair bound the rest of the passengers would be Olympic sprinters. Pat has asthma and really can't run all that fast. And after repeatedly asking him to slow down, I had to stop him in his tracks, stand in front of the wheelchair, and bellow at him to slow the fnck down! Heads turned at my outrage. I told him hat we could not keep up with him and one of us could collapse and need an ambulance if he did not take it slower.

I later complained to his supervisor but other than receiving a cursory apology, I really don't know if he was reprimanded or at least got an explanation about the needs of the passengers in his charge.

Also waiting for the bags was a monumental pain. It must have taken about 45 minutes for the plane to be off loaded and our bags put on the carousel.

Then we trundled out into the cold Chicago winter to wait for our pick up. I was very worried about Maddie waiting out in the cold like that. She could have easily gotten pneumonia just in the shot time in the cold. I sometimes think that waiting for the car to pick you up is actually the longest part of a flight. Christa was the one to come and pick us up and while it only took about ten minutes for her to show up, it felt like hours out in the cold.

In short order we got the car loaded up and we were out of there. Maddie lives a short distance from Midway and we were able to get her to her house in short order.

Pat, Christa, and I, escorted our charge back into her house and the waiting arms of her mother. She was almost tearful to see her come back. Maddie kissed and hugged all of us and let her mom help her up the stairs to bed. I knew that she would sleep very well now that she was in her own bed. And that was something I was yearning for right about then myself. I was road weary and strung out. Pat and I needed to be home and asleep soon.

Christa filled us in on the things going on at the house while we were gone. Fortunately nothing “interesting” occurred.

Follow Up
The next day I stopped in to see how Maddie was doing. She had rested comfortably, but was sleeping in a room in the basement. Her dogs were jumping on her when she came home and she couldn't get the rest that she needed.

Maddie asked me to help her with her first “solo” dilation and follow up. So I showed her how to use the lube and a hand mirror and how to insert the dilator safely. Then I helped her douche. While she was initially confused with all the things she had to do, she got the idea pretty quickly and was committed to keeping up with her dilation regimen.

I've talked to her several times since then and she is doing fine. She is regaining her strength with each passing day and is extremely pleased with the outcome. She is happy that she had it done and has no regrets. She thinks the world of Dr Reed and how he helped her.

She has not decided whether or not to have the follow up labiaplasty. She wants to see how she looks as she heals.

But if she does, and decides to go back to Dr Reed, hopefully the weather will co-operate!

-Sandy

Our Trip to Miami - Part One (Long)

2010-12-21T20:30:00.000-08:00

Maddie's First Flight
After months of preparations and years of yearning, Maddie (know to Susan's as Maddie71) finally reached her date for trip to Miami for her SRS with Doctor Harold Reed.

Maddie had never flown before and was very anxious about getting on a plane. In many ways she was more worried about flying than she was about her surgery.

We arrived at Midway airport well in advance of our departure. I always set off the alarms because of my surgical implant and knew that I would be patted down by our nice friends at the TSA.

I had not flown out of Midway since well before 9/11. They had made quite a number of renovations in the intervening years. Because of these changes I ended up going through the TSA “love pats” not once, but twice. I missed where we were supposed to check our baggage and tried to take all the bags through the checkpoint. The agents said that the check in was on the other side of the checkpoint and we had to go back and check the baggage, then come back through the checkpoint. That was an episode I don't relish repeating.

Fortunately that was the only real hiccup in our pre-flight. We boarded our plane and Maddie was so excited that she was almost vibrating. She kept saying; “Is this really happening? Pinch me!”

As we accelerated for take off she became a bit white knuckled and as we lifted off she had a smile frozen on her face. Then as we ascended to our cruising altitude and leveled off, she became much more relaxed and said it was no worse than riding in a car.

The rest of the flight was uneventful. We got our bags at the Ft. Lauderdale airport and got our rental car and headed into Miami to get our condo. When we picked up our rental car, we were given a selection of various full sized cars. I was originally thinking that we would get some kind of mainstream car. While there were a bunch of beige regular cars, one of the cars that we could select was a bright red Dodge Charger. Well! Guess what Sandy picked! There is something about women and fast, red cars. At least for me...

South Beach
The condo was located in the South Beach area and if you watch the opening scene on the “The Birdcage”, you'll see where we were. The condo is called the Barbizon. It is in an upscale area, just a couple of blocks from the beach. It is an interesting mix of Gay, Hispanic, and Jewish. All the people are very friendly and open.

The weather, however was only somewhat better than what we left in Chicago. It was overcast, rainy, and chilly. Though, the temperature at 55 degrees was higher than we left, it wasn't what I was expecting.

The condo was very nice and well appointed. We settled in and had a nice dinner at one of the local restaurants. And Maddie, well all of us, fell in lust with our waiter... *sigh*

Maddie's Presurgical Consultantation and a wonderful surprise!
The next day was the day before surgery and the occasion for the final pre-surgical consultation, the liquid only diet, and the unenviable pre-surgical bowel cleansing.

Maddie did not have an exact time for her pre-surgical consult. We arranged to show up at his office right when it opened. We arrived just after 9:00. As we arrived, there was already a young woman in the waiting room. She was talking with a person in scrubs. We could not help but listen in. Apparently she was there for a procedure as well, though initially we could not be sure of what procedure she was going to have. The person she was talking to was the anesthesiologist, and he was asking her about her family history and reaction to general anesthesia.

From her conversation, it became obvious that she was there for the same reason that Maddie was there. After the anesthesiologist completed his interview, the conversation became more general and the two of them were just chatting. It was a small waiting room and soon Maddie and I were made part of the conversation.

As we chatted about our experiences in our transition the young woman turned to me and said that I looked familiar. She asked if I posted at a place called “Susan's”? I said yes, I was Sandy. Her face lit up and she said that she was known here as Princess Jasmine!

She has not posted here lately because of her busy life. I asked if I could post about her experience as well, and she said yes. Though she does ask for her continued anonymity for personal reasons.

What a happy coincidence! We chatted while she waited to be taken back for her procedure. Soon the doctor came out and apologized to Maddie for not being able to see her right then, but he had to prepare for Jasmine's procedure. He asked us to come back later in the afternoon after he finished and he would be ready to talk to her. Then Jasmine and the doctor headed back to surgery. Jasmine was just “beaming”!

While Maddie was a little disappointed about not being able to see the doctor right then she was still very excited to be so close to her procedure as well and being able to talk to another person going through her process too.

Maddie spent the day in anxious anticipation. While the weather had not really improved, it did little to dim her mood.

Late in the afternoon, we returned to Dr Reed's office. After a bit of a wait, the doctor made his appearance. He had finished up with Jasmine and then came for Maddie. I accompanied her as her caregiver.

Dr Reed is a dynamo of a man. And extremely talented in more than one way. To give you an idea of his artistry is not only the results of his surgery, but the pictures that adorn virtually every wall in his clinic. The pictures are of various styles and replicas of several well known paintings and artists. What is astounding is that all these pictures were painted by the doctor himself. They are all remarkably rendered and quite beautiful.

The doctor himself is extremely personable, upbeat, confident, and quite self assured. He is also one who wastes no ones time and does not like having his time wasted. He is to the point and and very efficient.

In the pre-surgical interview, he reviewed every item with Maddie went over all the test results again and verified that he was satisfied that Maddie was absolutely healthy enough for surgery and also have a good outcome from her surgery.

He gave her a complete physical and discussed with her what the operation would consist of and what to expect following the surgery both in the short and long term.

One of the reasons that the doctor can keep his prices lower than most other surgeons is that he has his own surgical suite in his clinic so he does not have the overhead costs of working in a hospital setting. The suite is completely certified and state of the art. His staff has worked with him for a while and are competent and respectful and supportive of the trans clients that come to the clinic. The doctor is also a urologist so he sees a mix of trans and non-trans patients.

Following the consult, we asked if we could peek in on Jasmine. He said she was doing fine and resting comfortably. We went back to the recovery area and found Jasmine. She was sleeping lightly and awoke when we approached. She was all smiles and said that she was in little pain. We chatted for a few minutes and then left. All his patients spend their first night in the surgery center following their procedures.

After saying goodnight to the doctor, we headed back to the condo for Maddie to do her pre-surgical bowel prep. As others have noted, bowel prep is not a lot of fun, nor does it need a lot of explanation. She was on a liquid only diet for the rest of the day and went NPO at midnight.

The day of surgery
Maddie spent most of the night up and down from the remains of the bowel prep and excitement of her impending life changing event.

Maddie and I got up early and headed out to the clinic. Pat stayed behind to hold down the fort at the condo. The traffic was light and we made good time to the office.

Maddie was taken back as we got in and we were shown to the changing room. She used the restroom for the last time with outdoor plumbing. Back in the changing room she put on her surgical gown and put her street clothes in a locker.

We hugged and kissed goodbye and she was shown to the surgical suite. And I left her in the good doctors hands.

For the patient, the day of surgery is one where everything revolves around you. You recline on the gurney and everyone else hustles and bustles. Then there is the push of the first anesthetic, then a drowsy feeling, and perhaps actually feeling like you are drifting off to sleep, sometimes not even that, then in the next instant, the doctor or nurse is talking to you trying to wake you up and it's all over. To the patient's point of view, it happens instantly.

Not so for those who wait. Maddie was taken in to the surgical suite and the prep takes about 30-40 minutes, then the actual SRS surgery can take anywhere from 4-5 hours, then there is about 1-2 hours of recovery. So for those who wait, it is an agonizingly long time to find out how someone is doing.

I spent the afternoon with Pat in a kind of mindless wander. In one respect, I knew she was fine, but on the other hand, this IS major surgery. It is not simple, and not to be taken lightly. So in that respect, there is always the worry that occupies the back of ones mind; “What if...”

Maddie's mom too, was on tenterhooks. I called her as Maddie went into surgery so she could begin her “momworry”. I called her a couple of times during the afternoon to let her know that there really wasn't anything to know. It is a frustrating time for all but the guest of honor.

The intention was that Pat and I would meet her as she awoke. So about 4:00 in the afternoon, we headed to the office. When we got there we found out that it would be at least another hour before she went into recovery. She was doing fine, but it would take a little longer.

I was going to stay with Maddie in recovery for some time and Pat was going to go back to the condo. So Pat recorded a video for Maddie on my camera while we were in the waiting room. Then I took her back to the condo.

I called Maddie's mom to let her know the status and that everything was going according to plan, but taking longer than expected.

By time I got back to the office, Maddie was in recovery and resting comfortably. I went to see her and she was sleeping as I approached. She had a smile on her face as she slept. She roused and smiled and held my hand.

I asked how she was feeling and she said she was feeling fine. She was a bit sore but, overall was feeling alright and elated at having finally achieved this life long dream.

I then presented her with cards from her mother who had given them to me to present to her when she awoke. One was a get well after surgery card. The other was a birthday card for her daughter. Both of them were very touching and loving cards.

I called Maddie's mom and handed the phone to Maddie. She and Maddie had a chance to talk and assure her mom that she was fine and that the operation went well and that she was doing fine. Maddie thanked her for her for her cards.

My intention was to stay with her overnight if they would let me. The doctor has an overnight nurse stay with her in any case, but I just wanted to give her support if needed. I then found out that the doctor himself also stays with his patients overnight as well. I was pleasantly surprised by this. It made me feel very confident that she would have the best support possible.

The doctor assured Maddie and myself that she came through the surgery well and would make a good recovery. He was all smiles with her and kept telling her what a good patient she was.

I stayed with her for a couple of hours while she rested, then headed back to the condo. Maddie would be discharged to a local bed & breakfast that is close to the doctor's office for the first three days following surgery. The doctor would look in on her each day and change her dressings and make sure she is recovering properly. Then we would leave there to return to the condo. The originally intention was that we would spend the entire time at the condo because it was quite reasonable. I would have ensured that Maddie was returned to the doctors office for her checkups. However the doctor insisted that she spend at least the first three days at the local place.

The Baltic
The place we stayed is called the Baltic Hotel. It is a small hotel with few amenities. The hotel manager, Christina, however is a warm and gracious lady who sees many of the doctors patients. She is impressed by the people who come through there from the doctors procedures who fight and preserve to attain their life's strongest desire.

Jasmine and her friend was also at the Baltic and we had occasion to visit with them. Jasmine came through her procedure with flying colors and was bouncing back well. Her friend, Elizabeth had a second stage labiaplasty as well. They were upbeat and happy.

Jasmine had a male friend who was unaware of her past, though he was wanting to be more than a friend to her. Their relationship had been developing and Jasmine was quite infatuated with him. But she could not bring herself to tell him about her past. The day following her surgery, however, Jasmine could not hide any longer and sent her friend an email disclosing everything. She did not want to lose his friendship, but could no longer hide her past from him.

Jasmine is a gorgeous young woman and has a wonderful outlook on life. She deserves to have a happy relationship.

Very soon after sending her email, her friend called and said that he did not want to be her friend any longer... HE WANTS TO BE HER BOYFRIEND! Jasmine was overjoyed by this. We are so happy for her and we hope that she has a loving and fulfilling relationship. So often we come to the precipice, stare into the abyss and live, but then we have to face a life alone, with no soul mate or life partner to share the rewards of a life born anew. So when one of us actually finds happiness, it is uplifting.

The days spent at the Baltic went otherwise uneventfully. Several times a day, I would walk Maddie up and down the hallway and occasionally outside. Our stay in Miami was anticipated to be warm and sunny. Unfortunately, it was nothing of the sort. While much warmer than Chicago, it was hardly warm, sunny, or dry. Apparently our cold weather accompanied us to the southern climes. My anticipation of getting a tan, or at least some color did not really pan out. Ah well, I really did not think of this as a vacation for me as being a caregiver is time consuming. However I was hoping to be able to keep the widows open without having to put a sweater on!!!

As I mentioned, the Baltic is a small hotel, and the rooms are not very big.
“How small was it?”
“It was so small that the mice were hunchbacked!”
“It was so small that you had to go outside to change your mind!”

But considering that the reason a person is there is to recover from their procedure, then there is no real need for much more. But if you do come to the Baltic, bring your own movies or entertainment, the TV options are only the regular broadcast channels, but there is a DVD player. There is an internet connection available so you can keep in touch with the outside world.

For those who are looking for a higher class, and higher priced, accommodation, there is Daddio's. Also near the doctor's office. Apparently, the doctor has arrangements wiith both establishments for reduced rates for his patients.

One additional thing I can tell you about being in Miami, is that if you drive, bring your own parking space! There is little public parking. There is parking on the street and in most places the parking uses the new style of parking vending machines. But finding a parking space can be a real problem as the street parking gets picked up quickly. So finding a parking place can be a bit of a challenge.

Back at The Barbizon
Bringing Maddie back to the condo from the Baltic was a group effort and a portent of the return trip. I recall my surgery and I was extremely weak and the trip home was exhausting. Also sitting for hours on the plane will be very uncomfortable, donut or no donut.

We got Maddie bedded down in the condo and made sure she was comfortable. She had been discharged with a catheter and vaginal packing in place. The plan was to remove the packing just prior to our departure, but she would be traveling with the catheter back home.

Oh joy...
***End of Part One***

Transgender Day of Remembrance 2010

2010-11-11T05:17:00.000-08:00

Transgender Day of Remembrance 2010

I cannot fathom the depth of depravity that causes one human being to kill another in such a brutal way. Of particular note is a 16 MONTH OLD INFANT!

I am sitting at my keyboard and I have finished crying for now. I will attend the memorial service here in Chicago, and I encourage everyone to participate in remembrance events in your area as well.

I have compiled this list from the Transgender Remembrance website:
http://www.transgenderdor.org/?page_id=4

I have just posted the cause of death and not the names, because in some cases no identification could be made.

And this is not a complete list, of course. In many cases, violent death is not reported as a transgender related death.

Nor does it include the incredibly longer list of those who have been assaulted, but lived.

Nor does it show any female to male assaults and murders, such as being "raped straight".

Nor does it show the casual acceptance of discrimination and hate toward the trans community.

Cause of Death: Burned to death
Cause of Death:Shot in the head
Cause of Death: Blunt force trauma to the head.
Cause of Death: Shot in the chest and the forehead
Cause of Death: Wong had stab wounds in the right side of the stomach and left side of the chest plus bruises in the right hand.
Cause of Death: Many wounds and defensive bruises.
Cause of Death: Stabbed to death
Cause of Death: Stabbed 17 times
Cause of Death:Stabbed and left in roadside dump
Cause of Death: Strangled
Cause of Death: dismembered and mutilated
Cause of Death: Beheaded
Cause of Death: shot to death
Cause of Death: Stabbed to death
Cause of Death: Shot in the back of the head
Cause of Death: Shot in the head
Cause of Death: Raped and shot 3 times
Cause of Death: Strangled with an electrical cord
Cause of Death:Shot in the chest
Cause of Death: Punched repeatedly and grabbed by the neck
Date of Death: August 1, 2010
Roy was 16 Months old.
Note: 20 year old Pedro Jones told police he had struck the infant several times with a closed fist. Jones said he was “trying to make him act like a boy instead of a little girl.”
Cause of Death: shot
Cause of Death: shot to death
Cause of Death shot
Cause of Death shot in the head
Cause of Death shot in the head
Cause of Death Drowned in her apartment
Cause of Death unreported by police
Cause of Death Brutally tortured and burned
Cause of Death Brutally tortured and burned

We cannot forget. We can never forget. And if a time comes that this list has no entries, we will still remember.

Christa

2010-08-29T16:56:00.000-07:00

Christa

I have a daughter. Her name is Christa. We met a couple of years ago as I was finishing up my electrolysis appointments. I have not spoken of her to you before because I did not have her specific permission to write about her, though I have referred to her on occasion, and, to my mind, there was not anything out of the ordinary to talk about. In many ways she is simply your twenty something young woman. Struggling to make her way in the world like most of the rest of us.

She has allowed me to speak about this in hopes that her experience could be of some use to others. It is her way of paying it forward.

Christa was presented to me as an electrology student where I was getting my face cleared. It was the policy of the electrologist to offer students to her regular clients in exchange for a break in the hourly price. Just as an aside, Christa is the best electrologist I have ever met, and I'm not saying that as motherly pride. She really is that good.

And from our first moments together, we were simpatico. Our appointments were gab fests, girl talk, laughing until we cried, and motherly advice all rolled into one. And all the while she would be pulling hairs out of my face without missing a beat. I told you she was good!

A couple of months into our sessions, through happenstance and accident she was in an immediate, desperate need of housing. Since we got along so well, I offered to put her up in my house until such time as she could find a place of her own. She slept on the couch, much to the annoyance of the cats who usually slept there. They came to accepted her as simply part of the furniture and slept on top of her, much to the annoyance of her sinuses.

She got along wonderfully with everyone in the family, and she and my oldest granddaughter became best buds.

After looking for apartments for a couple of weeks, she confessed to me that moving out and being alone frightened her, but she would do it if she had to.

With a smile, I confessed that our house would be much less joyfully chaotic if she moved out, but I would bear it if I had to as well.

We smiled, hugged and started making plans for her full moving in. We reorganized my office/spare bedroom and moved her bed and most crucial items in there. She put the rest of her stuff in storage.

She had immigrated from a far off land called Cincinnati, Ohio, USA. Home of Skyline chili, and world famous as the location for a sit-com “WKRP in Cincinnati”. ( Best line from the show: “As God as my witness, I swear I though turkeys could fly...”)

She is a transwoman and while completely transitioned, was pre-surgical when we met. And also while a very smart person, was not completely aware of all the issues in her new life.

Early on in my transition, I longed to be a mentor, to pay forward the debt that I owe for my smooth transition from male to female. To make the transition for someone else easier. To help illuminate the path that they must walk.

I got everything I wished for, and more. I became more than a mentor, I became a Mom.

I am Christa's Mom-away-from-Mom. We share everything, except clothes. She is a size 0, where as I am like She-Hulk. I hate her... but in a good way.

And she has a wonderful natal mother back in her far off land. Christa's mom and I exchange letters regularly and have met on a few occasions. Her mom is a warm and witty person who definitely sees the glass as half-full. She feels that her newly minted daughter is in a safe and loving place and loves Christa without reservation. In our letters I try to keep her up to date on how her daughter is doing and explain the things in Christa's life that drove her to this point and how it affects her, and how her mom can come to terms with the changes that are occurring. Her mom in turn, gives me information and stories from Christa's childhood and insight into their family dynamic. In other words, much to her chagrin, Christa cannot pull the wool over either of her mom's eyes.

Christa and I talk about everything. Clothes, life, surgery, and boys. A lot about boys. She is one of the straightest women I have ever met.

And while with me I have watched her grow into her new life and in many ways mature from a teenage girl into a young, and beautiful, woman. It's something that we all must go through in our transition and she has graduated with honors.

I was her support person following her FFS/BA. I tended her while she recovered from her physically traumatic experience.

Her mom, who is a registered nurse, felt that Christa could not have been taken care of any better even if she were in the hospital with her mom by Christa's side.

Christa and my family have spent a great deal of time together. She is charming, warm and friendly, and completely trustworthy. I love her as dearly as I do my other daughters.

Last night, though, I had to do something that I thought I would never have to do. Something I thought that I, as a newly minted female myself, would never be able to do. We had a mother-daughter chat.

Unfortunately, not the one were mom talks about her pre-pubescent girls maturing body and prepares her for some of the changes that are about to occur and the things she needs to start carrying in her purse. Obviously, no need.

Nor was it about how to dress nice without looking trashy. We've already had that one.

It was about boys. More specifically, about men and how women have to develop a sixth sense about them, and situations, and always keeping a route of escape.

Christa is a natural beauty. Small framed and light skinned, with an infectious smile and a lilting manner of speech that is disarming. And her FFS/BA has accentuated her positive features and has given her a confidence that she previously lacked. Think of Deborah Ann Woll, the actress who plays the character Jessica on “True Blood”. The characters' speech, mannerisms and overall body image is very similar to Christa's. Without the fangs, of course.

But her strengths have also proven to be her weakness. In her transition period, she has rarely been read. And while she has had some very nasty encounters and physical violence done to her, she has not had to developed the thick skin that some of us less statuesque women have had to grow.

The other evening, I came downstairs and found her lying on the rec room couch staring at the tube, not really watching it.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing” she says. I pull up a hassock and sit next to her.

“You say that just like a girl.”

“I don't want to talk about it.” Her tone of voice says that she really does want to talk about it, but it hurts too much.

I know my daughters well enough to know when I should pry a little bit and when I should just drop it.

“I'm going outside for a cigarette, do you want one?”

“No.” Oh dear, this was serious!

“Well, how about you come outside anyway and you can sit with me.”

“Alright...” Her voice trails off in a tone that tells me she would rather come outside with me than be badgered anymore.

We go outside and sit on the stoop. Night has fallen, I light two cigarettes and hand her one.

“So what's going on?”

She had gone out earlier to one of the bars that Pat and I frequent. Pat brought me there to help introduce me back into the “straight” life, but this time as a woman.

It is a red necked kind of bar, a little sleazy, a little rough, but Pat has been going there for years and everyone know her and she is friends with just about everyone. It's a little bit of a biker bar and it is not unusual to see two or three hawgs parked out front. And the bikers may be boisterous but usually well behaved.

I was terrified the first time I went. I never hung out with that kind of clientele in my previous life because I was always fearful of getting into some kind of alpha male confrontation.

Pat introduced me to all her friends there and I soon lost my hesitations going there. By now most of the regulars there know about me but accept me because Pat and I are partners. It is sometimes a hoot to watch some newcomer as Pat and I kiss at the bar. They really get a charge out of the “lezzy” action. Some of the regulars have asked inappropriate questions, and some have hit on me. It is flattering in one respect, but I am a “4-drink girl”* to most of these guys, so I don't let it go to my head.

* 4-drink girl – A girl who only looks good after four or more strong drinks.

Pat and I started taking Christa to the bar soon after she moved in as part of her integration into society. Both Christa and I had visited gay bars during our transitions and the acceptance there, of course, is no problem, but going out into the straight world is something quite different.

Christa loves to go to this bar, or did, because they have a pool table and she is a natural to be chatted up for a game of pool and suds. She dresses down a bit (read skanky) because she likes to show off a little.

I sometimes feel that we have thrown her into the deep end of the pool by introducing her to such a rough crowd, but we keep an eye on her and everyone plays nice. One of the bartenders is friends with her and she will throw anyone out who trash talks Christa.

But usually we go as a group. I don't go there alone, because I have a family history of alcoholism and try to never drink alone. So it is usually the two or three of us that go.

Christa, in her previous life, really had no problem going into these types of bars because she was, and still is a biker. She has a Harley which she takes loving care of and is an excellent rider. She has been riding motorcycles since she was sixteen and has been a member of several clubs. She feels comfortable in the presence of bikers, feeling that there is a biker brotherhood that she belongs to. She has been to Sturgis and Daytona, as female, and kind of enjoys that rough and tumble crowd.

That night, she rode her bike up to that bar, alone.

Outside the bar, there were three other bikes parked there. She walked in wearing her skin tight leather chaps and a tight leather vest with her Harley logo emblazoned on the back.

She said that as she was drinking her beer, one of the bikers, a short thin man who Christa towered over in her high heeled leather boots, came up to her and started chatting her up.

(From her description, I recognized this fellow as someone who chatted Pat and I up the previous week and tried his best to stick his tongue down my throat. Later, as I smoked a cigarette outside, he came out and asked when I had done my transformation. I told him I had always been a woman and there was nothing to transform. I knew he had read me, but if this dork couldn't get his terms right, I wasn't about to educate him.)

He he was hitting on Christa pretty hard, probably like he came on to me. After a while he started getting texts from his two other buddies of “Dude Looks Like a Lady!” (I hate that song and think Aerosmith should be rename “Cheap Trick”).

The skinny one shows Christa the text and she tells him that she is appalled that he would think that.

Things start going downhill when the bikers start calling her names. Bad names. Her bartender friend isn't there that night and no one else in the bar comes to her defense. She started to worry for her safety and puts on her helmet and leaves the bar. The catcalls and insults get intense as she leaves.

As she is pulling out she noticed that one of the bikers has come out and tries to follow her. She couldn't tell which one it was, but she didn't really care to be caught by him.

That is when Christa and her baby became one. She has taken very good care of her bike and has personally added many performance options. She gunned the throttle and that clowns headlight faded into the distance. Her Sportster is no match for any but the most high performance bikes.

She rode around for a while using her skills as a rider and expert mechanic to put a lot of rode between her and that knuckle dragger.

She came home later after riding her adrenaline rush off.

“Honey, I'm so sorry that happened to you! I'm glad that you are safe.”

“I feel so betrayed”

“What? Why?”

“I'm not completely innocent, but I have always been comfortable with bikers, I always felt like I was one of them, that we had a bond. If a biker is stranded by the side of the rode, just about any biker will stop to help. It's that code that holds them together.”

I told her, “But you have to think about what you were doing. You were a single woman in a rough bar with a bunch of half drunk homophobic bikers and you got read. Are you surprised by how they reacted? Guys think with their gonads first and their brains second, you know that. And when that guy was hitting on you got told, he probably was feeling like his manhood had been tromped on and he felt he had to retaliate to regain his balls. It's a good thing you got out of there when you did, you could have been beaten up or killed!”

“Yeah, but they were fellow bikers! I thought I knew them. We have a code!”

“The “code” stops where the penis begins! Listen girl, every November there is a ceremony to honor the memory of the trans people who have been killed that year. It's too damn long as it is, and I don't want to be the one that reads your name on that list! Dammit girl! You have to be careful out there! It's goddamned dangerous! You have to watch yourself every moment! Have you ever heard of Angie Zapata?”

“You're a woman now and every woman has to watch every guy evey time. We are physically weaker so we have to watch out for ourselves. Watch every man in the room, pick out the ones who are looking from the ones who are imagining you as a conquest. Keep a special eye on the droolers. And always keep a path to the door. You have a target on your back now. You have to think like that, really. The vast majority of guys aren't neanderthals but enough are to put your life at risk.

“And as trans woman we are doubly at risk. It's bad enough to get mugged or raped, but then to have some homophobe read you, you have another risk.” I was so terrified for her after the fact that I was having a hard time not yelling or crying.

“It shouldn't be that way, Sandy. I just let my guard down.”

“No, life shouldn't be that way, but it is. And you can never really let your guard down. This is the life we signed up for when we transitioned. This is how our lives will be from now on. There will always be those who fear and hate us.”

I lean over to hug her, but she pulls away. “No, please, I'm still to frightened and angry. Not now.”

“Ok, honey, whenever you are ready, I always have hugs.” She goes in to finish looking at the movie she wasn't watching.

“Good night, hon. Please be careful, ok?”

“Ok, mom”

-Sandy

My purse hates me.

2010-08-19T06:47:00.000-07:00

My purse hates me.

I have a love/hate relationship with my purse.

My purse loves to fool with me and I hate the way it treats me.

I feel a purse should be a girls faithful companion, her familiar. It should hold all that she needs and hand it to her exactly when she needs it. To my mind, nothing depicts a woman as being a ditz as seeing her digging around in her purse looking for her car keys. It makes her seem like she is too scatterbrained to remember which part of the purse she left them. I mean how hard is that!? Some bag that is less than a half of a cubic foot in volume and you can't pick out this big ring of jangling metal?

Yet, so often that is me. My purse slammed on the hood of my car, with me pulling out everything trying to find my keys. And me getting all PMSy at some guy trying to be helpful as he puts his hand against the window of my car trying to see if I left my keys in the ignition (again). I swear that my purse (read daemon from hell) tries to embarrass me.

I like purses with a lot of compartments. I like to put my cell phone and train ticket in one place so I can always find it. I want my makeup to be in another compartment so I can do what I need to do and go on.

Keys, sunglasses, same thing. Put them in, and hand them to me when I want them. Is that so hard?

My purse is nothing special, rather nondescript I don't really go in for (and can't afford) a designer purse. The whole idea of taking the initials of the maker and turning them into a pattern on the purse just to show off how affluent you are seems so ostentatious. No, my purse is a simple brown tone affair with three zipper pockets and compartments inside. It seemed like the perfect companion when I got it.

The trouble started early on. I would put my car keys in the outer zipper pocket and when I would go to take them out they would be in the other pocket.

Or it would play hide and seek with me. I would be rummaging around in there looking for my sunglasses and they would be no where to be found. I would look in all the compartments and not find them. I knew full well that they were in there and then they would be no where to be found two hours later when I go looking for them. Fortunately I keep a spare pair in the glove compartment. Then when I get home I put the spare back in the glove compartment and I peek in the purse and there are my regular sunglasses sitting on top.

Grrrr!

And that whole thing of handing you exactly what you need just when you need it Uh-uh! One time when I wanted my lipstick, it handed me a head gasket for a 1952 Buick. Where the hell it got that I'll never know!

Another time it handed me a tesseract.

That thing is cursed! Or at least has a demented sense of humor. I swear I can almost hear it giggling to itself in the night as it concocts its devious plans for my next embarrassment.

I think it was made by Rod Serling.

I'd get rid of it, if I could. But I don't want to make it mad.

It might come back.

-Sandy

I visited a nudist camp.

2010-06-26T10:05:00.000-07:00

I visited a nudist camp.

I can hear mice clicking all over Susan's now as they click on the subject line. Yes, gentle readers, I went and got nude.

Many years ago I and my girlfriend at the time, who would eventually become my first ex-wife, visited a nudist camp called Naked City about 40 miles south of Illinois.

We visited a few times and I got quite an eyeful of people. And there are the same kinds of people as you would meet on the street. Very few of them were statuesque, and most, like me, were very, very common.

It was exhilarating at first, being exposed to the sun and having nothing to hide. I, of course, was watching the women. And internally I was very jealous, or rather envious, of them. I wanted to be one of them. To be so casually naked. And exposed. And female.

Social nudism is an interesting thing. At least for me and most nudists, it is not a turn on sexually, but in a way it allows one a connection to nature that being clothed seems to hide. It's hard to explain, but I feel free-er? I don't know. But it is fun in any case.

This past weekend, Pat and I were lying in bed on Saturday morning. We really didn't have any plans for the weekend, except the regular drudgery that weekends have become. You know, clean the house, do the laundry, maybe either have a cook out or eat out. But nothing extraordinary.

At that precise time I happened to be thinking about my experiences so many years ago and had my laptop on. I had been doing a search for nudist camps in the area. Naked City had changed hands many years ago. But there was another club that came up in the same area.

Their page was up on my laptop when Pat asked “Sowaddayawannadotoday?”

I swung my laptop around and showed her the page. It is very conservative and shows very little, but there were a bunch of people naked in a pool.

“We've talked about this a few times but we never got around to it. How about today?”

“I never thought you were serious!” she said.

“Well, I never wanted to go when I was in transition. After all I was half-n-half and I hated what was below my waist. But now...”

“You really want to do this?” she asked, incredulously.

“Yeah!”

“Let's go!”

“ROADTRIP!!!!”

And so we piled into the car. We got the directions, grabbed a couple of towels, threw a couple of beach chairs in the trunk and headed off.

When I told my daughter where we were headed, she simply said “Oh, Ok, enjoy yourselves!”

Goddess, I love my kids, really! Hell, after you change your gender there really is very little that could do more than raise an eyebrow.

Through out the trip there, Pat kept saying “I can't believe we're doing this!” with a big grin on her face.

There really isn't an address on their website, though there are directions. We followed the directions and down one of the country roads we saw a simple billboard with the club's name on it and had an arrow pointing down a small road. About half a mile down the road was another simple sign pointing to the entrance down a secluded wooded road.

At the end of the road there was a covered gate and an office next to the gate where one checks in.

We went into the office and there were two women behind a counter (fully clothed) who greeted us warmly and asked if we wanted to have a day pass.

We said yes and they asked for our drivers license. They started to write up the receipts for the day passes.

One woman who appeared to be the senior of the two asked for single pass payments for each of us.

The way most camps of this nature work is that a single is one price and a couple is the same price. But to most camps, a couple consists of a male and a female. Same sex couples are not considered a “couple” and are charged double.

I said that Pat and I are partners and that she was my husband and that we live together.

“Well, really we consider a couple to be a man and a woman.”

“But we are married.” All right so we haven't had a ceremony yet, but we have pledged our troth to each other, and we both wear wedding rings.

Then she noticed that the address on both of our licenses was the same.

“Oh, you do live together, don't you.”

“Yes”

“Well, I guess that's different. We really don't have a policy for same sex couples, you are the first that I know of. I don't really see a problem with it. But we do have rules about being overly affectionate. We don't know how the children would react.”

Alright then, a bunch of people completely nude is considered natural, yet two women holding hands would be unnatural. Nudists are actually quite conservative in many ways.

“We can be discreet.”

“Ok, well here are our rules, please read them over.”

The rules are what you might expect in a place that has naked people. They were mostly male oriented. I paraphrase only slightly: No wanking off, no ogling, no sitting in your car (and wanking off), no undue advances to anyone, DO NOT EVEN THINK OF LOOKING AT THE CHILDREN!, no cameras, cell phones or anything else that can take a picture (they will be confiscated), clothing is not optional and not allowed in the pool, bring your own towel and beach chair. While social nudism may be uncomfortable for the first time, disrobing is required (this is a nudist camp after all). Any infraction of the rules is grounds for immediate expulsion without refund.

I'm sure that there were probably plenty of very beefy (and naked) guys that would escort you, ungraciously, back through the gate, and it may or may not open in time.

Actually the rules were pretty simple. Have fun being naked and don't hurt anyone. It seemed plain enough to me.

The lady behind the desk told us how to get to the pool area where we could park the car and then said that she would open the gate for us.

We drove around the park and pulled up behind the pool. By this time Pat has a grin on her face from ear to ear.

“We're really going to do this?!”

“Yes, my darling, we really are” I said.

We get out and stand by the car. She on the passenger side, me on the driver side. I see my reflection in the glass of the back seat door. I pull off my shorts and under pants and then stare at myself as I take off my top.

A gentle breeze caresses my skin.

All over my skin.

This is the first time that all of my skin has been exposed to the open air since before my daughters were born.

And it is the very first time I have stood, sky-clad as the Wiccans call it, as the female I am on the outside as I have always been on the inside.

I stared at my reflection in the glass for several moments.

I was casually naked!

I was exposed!

I was female!

OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!OMG!

My breath leaves me for a moment and I feel light headed and I grab the car door for support.

This was a seminal moment for me. I did not ever expect to feel as truly in touch with myself and connected to the earth as I did at that moment. It was an exhilaration I have rarely felt.

After a few moments, my head clears and I feel more stable.

I deposit my clothes in the car and notice that Pat has not waited for me but has bolted for the pool, buck naked. Wadda gal!

I grab my wallet from my purse, my towel, and get the chairs from the car and follow Pat into the pool area.

The pool is the centerpiece of the camp and is quite nice and large. It has a circular wading area at one end and a deeper section for regular swimming. Not quite olympic sized, but close.

It is still early and there is no one at the pool except us. I set up the beach chairs and drop my towel in one and head for the water.

We were about the only ones in the pool area, and the only one to try the water that early in the morning. The water was reasonably warm as we worked our way into the pool. We splashed around for a little bit and generally had some fun.

We had left the house without eating breakfast, thinking that the resort would have some sort of cafe. After all you really can't just hop in your car, in the buff and head for McDonald's or some thing. We were getting hungry and I wanted to know where the eatery might be. There was one other person at the pool at the time. So I walked over and asked if he knew where the cafe, or whatever it was might be. He said that he was his fist time as well and he was getting hungry as well.

There is a certain unsaid social contract when you interact with other nude people. Of course you can see that they are naked, you are too, so it is not inappropriate to look, just don't stare. Usually you make eye contact. After a while the whole nude thing becomes background, much like the color or cut of the clothes a person wears when you interact with them. Mostly.

Anyway, we walk around to the other end of the pool and find another man and ask about food. He says that one of the members will be starting up a grill about noon and then start cooking and we could buy food from him. That was about all there was.

Well we splashed around in the pool for a while, and people started to show up. All wearing their birthday suits. Some had very nice all over tans, and some were as pale as I was. I was so pale that I initially afraid that I would be hunted by Cap'n Ahab who would be yelling “Thar she blows!!!”

Like similar situations in other places, people were pleasant, but not overly so. We would look at other people and smile and they would nod and smile back. Occasionally a short conversation would start up when a regular member would come by and not recognize us. Usually asking if this was our first time, did we like it, and were were we from.

Through out all of this, never once in all that scrutiny by males and females alike was there even a flicker of doubt about who I was, or what I might have been in a previous life. As you may have heard me say, I feel so comfortable being myself now, that I have to remind myself that I haven't always been this way. But you really can't get any better validation about your gender than to walk around completely nude in the midst of a bunch of other nude people.

On toward noon at the pavilion near the pool someone started bringing up a grill and fixings for a barbeque. Ah lunch! Pat and I had skipped breakfast so that we could get on the road and worked up a pretty good appetite by then.

We took our towels and headed up to the pavilion.

Carrying your towels with you is kind of de rigueur at a nudist camp. It is considered polite to cover what you are putting your behind on.

The guy who was setting up, Rick, was personable and quite adept at setting up his area. We had seen that today's menu would consist of hamburgers, brats, and chicken breast sandwiches.

We started a conversation with him as he set up and started cooking. He was quite friendly and kept up a running banter with us and the others who had started to show up as the aroma from the grill started to waft out into the area.

Throughout the time we were at the pavilion, people were quite nice to us and it was very easy to strike up a conversation. People would walk by and just start talking to us. It really is different with all your clothes off. Being nude is quite an equalizer.

We sat and talked with him for what seemed like an hour. Since no one wears a watch in a nudist camp, time has a strange way of flowing.

As the afternoon progressed, the weather changed very quickly from bright and sunny to overcast as dark and ominous storm clouds moved in. Rick, our grillmaster, turned off the grill and prepared for a storm. He came and sat by us and we talked. He said that he would stick around because it looked like it would pass, but if things got really bad we would be welcome to take shelter at his place. He had been there for over thirty years and he and his wife had a home in the resort.

As our conversation went along we were quite well received. Rick took us around to his other friends and introduced us.

We talked at length about the camp's standing on same sex couples. Neither Rick, nor anyone else that he introduced us to saw any problem with me introducing Pat as my partner and husband. But the standing of the official rules of the camp was that a couple were considered male/female. He had talked with the owners in various meetings about changing it, but nothing had come of it.

The storm that came through was with strong winds and some moderately hard rain. And lightning. Pat and I covered up with our towels as did others as the storm and wind move through. I felt very exposed as the lightning and thunder moved through. Most of the people stayed in the pavilion. After a little while the storm did move on and it was sunny once again.

We spent the rest of the afternoon alternating between sunbathing, swimming and chatting with others.

When I first tried nudism back so many years ago, I got an all over sunburn. Trust me that is not comfortable no matter what gender you are. This time I was much more conservative and used sunblock and lotion. I did get a little bit red, but nothing like the extra-crispy I was the first time.

Our grillmaster and new found friend spent a lot of time with us, or we with him. It seemed to be that we just naturally hit it off. And his wife was very personable as well. When we would sit in the pavilion we would just chatter away with her.

Late in the afternoon, Rick finished his grilling duties and shut down the grill. He put everything away and then came and sat with us. He invited us to his home to visit some more. He also invited us to participate in the evenings activity called a golf cart poker run. More on that in a bit.

We climbed into his golf cart and rode over to his house. When we got there, we talked some more about our lives and the things that had gone on. Except for one thing. My thing. Or rather my lack of a thing. But it was like we had known them all our lives. They really opened up to us, and we with them. It was very relaxed and enjoyable.

Later he took us over to another members house where they were gathering for the pre-party get together for the golf cart poker run. Several people were there and he introduced us to them.

We were warmly welcomed and had a wonderful time. These people were witty and funny and accepted us it was at face value. We really seemed to be taken into their hearts.

Rick also took me around to some of the other members houses and introduced me to them as well. When Rick found out that I was an actor, he took me over to one lady's house who had formed one of the community theatres in Chicago. Being nude leaves nothing to the imagination as you might expect. And body type discussion are considered non-offensive.

When we went over to the lady who started the theatre I struck up a conversation about acting and being on stage and had a very nice interlude with her and her friends.

Near the end of the conversation she innocently asked, “Are those your real breasts?”

I figure that, being an actor, she has seen many types of bodies and probably a fair share of augmented boobs as well. She probably picked up on the shape and general perkiness of my breasts given my age and also, perhaps the fine, but quite discernible scars on the lower edge of my nipples where I had some touch up surgery done just a couple of months back.

I smiled and said no and we left it at that. I wondered too if, she may have wondered about my general build as well. While my second puberty is advanced, and my butt has a fair roundness to it and my hips have a certain flare to them, I really do have a male's body. But she said nothing further about it and we continued our conversation as if all she had asked me is if I had wanted sugar for my tea.

We rejoined the pre-party get together and a little wile later as it was getting to be night, our hosts said that it was time for the poker run.

Driving full sized vehicles at the camp is really not approved accept for getting in and getting out. All other transport is by foot, bicycle, and golf cart.

I had never heard of a golf cart poker run before, and Rick said it was just like a motorcycle poker run, except with golf carts and not motorcycles.

Right.

I pressed further and found out that it was a bunch of people going from one house to another, drinking, snacking, having general fun, then getting a card stamped that had various playing card symbols on it.

Oh boy. A bunch of drunk nude people driving golf carts in the dark. This had “fun” written all over it.

I was initially hesitant as I really wasn't looking forward to driving home over fifty miles after a poker run.

Rick offered a bed for the night if we decided to stay for the poker run and were too tired, or inebriated, afterwards.

Throughout the whole day, Pat's smile had never left her face and embraced everyone she met, either figuratively or literally. She was having a ball, as was I, and I figured “What the heck” and said yes.

As I mentioned, at each house a card would be stamped with some random playing card symbol. The object was that, at the end of the run, you would compare the symbols on your card with those of the “dealer” at the end of the run. The dealer would deal himself a set of regular playing cards when your turn came. If you beat the dealer, then you were put in a raffle for some prizes.

Basically an excuse to have a good time with your neighbors.

Well we had a great time. We went to this and people were in various stages of undress from shorts and tee shirts to bath towels like Pat and I had. After sundown, when the temperature drops, strict nudity is not required of the members so it is “wear what you like”.

Yeah we did drink. And by the end I was in no real condition to drive from exhaustion and liquor. Pat and I took the offer of a bed for the night and bedded down very soon after we got back.

Now, you might figure that a bunch of nude people drinking would lead to promiscuity and orgies or something.

Actually no. Really, being nude becomes something in the background very quickly and normal social mores are just as expected as you would find in any other similar clothed situation. I'm not saying that promiscuity doesn't happen, it's just that being nude within the nudest society is not an excuse for a breakdown of social norms. There are every type of person from quite young to quite old and many families of people. In much the same way as you might find many different types of people in your neighborhood, so too are the varieties of people in the nudist culture. The one thing they share is the joy of nature and nudism. And in many ways, I think I share their view too. This was not a “romp” for me. It really did allow me to connect with nature that I had not done since my last exploration of nudism back more than a couple of decades, and a whole different gender ago.

In the morning, our hosts were still quite tired and slept in. As I was writing a note to them thanking them for their hospitality, Rick's wife came out and we hugged and said that we enjoyed ourselves greatly and we would be back, just as soon as time and tide allowed.

Getting dressed to leave was kind of dreary and actually felt a little alien. We had been nude for just a little less than a day and had become quite comfortable with it.

We left and headed back to our home. Clothed. Feeling oddly cut off from nature.

But now, upon reflection, I am feeling some guilt. These wonderful people had taken me into their hearts and homes and accept me as who I claim myself to be. And yet they do not know my history. As I mentioned, nudists can be very conservative people. And while they did not have a problem with myself and my husband as a same sex couple, would they accept me as a female born male? I fear that I have deceived them and that I should tell them, at least our first friend, of my background. I fear that they will ask us to leave.

I'm afraid to go back. But Pat wants to. She, as well as I, had a wonderful time. And not because we were naked longer than we had been in a long time, but because we found some wonderful, loving people that opened their lives to us.

I've sent our nice hosts a thank you card. I'm still debating whether or not to tell them. If we choose to become one of their family, my past will eventually come out.

We shall see.

-Sandy(I'm naked under my clothes you know)

That look.

2010-06-01T19:55:00.000-07:00

It's interesting how sometimes life sometimes throws you a curve.

I've been full time for over three years now. My confidence and self esteem are pretty solid. While I may feel completely normal now, and think life is wonderful, I never take my transition for granted. I can feel the chest band of my bra supporting my breasts and no longer fear sitting down and landing on my prolapsed vaginal too hard. This gives me an almost constant reminder of the progress I have made. And it feels completely, wonderfully, normal.

Just this morning I was getting my morning coffee and muffin at the office cafe and approached the cashier. Past the cashier and in the cafe were others from the office. Some I knew, others less so.

There was a table of three guys that I have seen often there, but rarely interacted with. One of them looked up and saw me and gave me “That Look”. You know what I mean. Someone who has read you and is going over you like an x-ray machine. He whispers something to his colleagues and they turn and give me the once over also. They chat amongst themselves and then turn and look me over again. I can't tell if they laughed or not, but I did see one of them smile. Then apparently turn back to their previous conversation. I try not to read too much into other people, but I can imagine what the conversation was like. Perhaps it contained adjectives that others here are all too familiar with.

The first individual continues to glance at me while I am standing in line. I think to myself how far I've come. I had just then been thinking how “old news” I was. How I had almost faded into the general stream of people going about their business. And here I was read again, for what seemed to be the umpteenth time.

I finished paying for my things gathered up my purse and headed for the napkins and condiments. All the time walking with my head held proudly and a slight smile on my lips. I picked up a few napkins then headed out of the cafe, walking past these guys, the heels of my shoes making a comforting clicking sound as I waked. My now feminized body now has some appreciable curves and my walk gives a distinct sway to my backside.

There was a time that these types of events would shake my confidence and send my down the rabbit hole. But not now. Being and presenting as a woman is only a small part of who I am. I am Sandy first, an individual who is a guru level systems person with decades of experience with computers of all varieties. I am a grandmother of two darling little girls who love me dearly. I am a member of a business resource group that gives advice for marketing and philanthropy to our community. I am friend and adviser to others here and elsewhere who are looking for support along our journey. I have been on a lifelong spiritual quest for enlightenment and insight into the great unknown. I am more at peace now than I have ever been in my life. And, oh yeah, I happen to be female.

I could feel their eyes on me as I walked past.

I hope they enjoyed the show.

-Sandy(I know I did)

Why continue posting?

2010-04-17T12:16:00.000-07:00

There was a forum post over at Susan's about "Why we come to Susan's?"

Many of the answers were to the effect of:
1) Learning about transgender issues
2) Finding others like themselves
3) Navigating their way through the quagmire of gender change
4) Be a resource for others

I think most of the post-whatever ladies and gentlemen have been in each of those categories.

But once you complete yourself and your transition, why stay? Why not just go on and leave us behind and get on with life. To be honest, many have. And that is absolutely fine.

We stay to save lives.

Unlike other forums about bowling, motocross, or basket weaving, we stay because we need each other. No one else understands the issues of transgenderism as one in our community. No one can really relate to the depression that strikes us. Or can truly understand the joy of taking one more step on our journey of completion.

How many of us have posted because we were at the end of our ropes? We came to look for solace and understanding. We can understand. We can sympathize, we've been there, or are there ourselves.

And how many times have we given hope to someone who was without hope. And who, without our support, would have taken a decidedly darker turn in their lives?

This is why we post. Why many of us stay. To welcome others who are searching and feel lost. To pull someone in from the ledge.

This isn't about hobbies or vacations. This is real life. This is about preserving life.

So keep posting, keep talking, keep the conversation going.

I will.

-Sandy

Well, that's five bucks I'll never see again!

2010-04-08T07:52:00.000-07:00

DO NOT BUY THIS MAGAZINE!

The current issue of Scientific America Mind, is devoted to the differences between males and females.

Normally I don't get these issues, but this one caught my eye because it not only discusses the difference between male and female brains, minds and attitudes, it had an article specifically about transsexuals called

"The Third Gender"
Transsexuals are illuminating
the biology and psychology
of sex—and revealing just how
diverse the human species
really is.
By Jesse Bering

My respect for Sci Am goes back decades, every major scientist from just about every discipline has had an article in here. It has been around for over 150 years. It was the major force in proving medical gadgets and snake oil were fakes and not only useless but harmful as well. It mediated between the AMA and quack "doctors" in proving that their quackery was dangerous and prevented people from seeking proper professional help. It lead to the formation of the FDA and the stringent medical laws that are on the books now.

I remember reading about black holes when professor Hawkings described them and how they were such a mystery.

The EPR paradox of quantum mechanics was debated and even whether or not the universe had a beginning or was eternal.

So I bought the online version of this issue and read through it.

SciAm has changed much over the years. When I first started reading it, it was not really a mainstream magazine and had very little background in it for the layperson.

These days it is much more dumbed down. Most of the articles are pop sci quality and more of an overview rather than an in depth discussion of an idea.

This article was much the same. It is mostly just an overview of things that we in the community already know: Sex is not gender, gender isn't between your legs, sexual orientation has noting to do with it, etc. And it said rightfully that cross dressing and drag are not necessarily related to transsexuality.

And talks about Chaz Bono and Caster Semenya. All fine and good, but nothing really new, even to the moderately cognizant layperson.

Ok, fine, tell me something I don't know.

Then it starts quoting from Blanchard Lawence about autogynephilia!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Fully one third of the article is devoted to talking about their discredited research. And put Lawence's book in the further reading information and also lists Zucker's article in the DSM.

I call bullsh!t on this!

There was nothing about other research or anything about the elements of medical research that may point to more physical reasons for this condition.

The Author bio:
Experimental psychologist JESSE BERING is director of the Institute of Cognition and
Culture at the Queen’s University, Belfast. He writes the featured blog “Bering in
Mind” for www.ScientificAmerican.com. Bering’s first book, The Belief Instinct: The
Hidden Psychology of Souls, Destiny and the Meaning of Life, is forthcoming from
W. W. Norton in the fall of 2010.

I am not remotely familiar enough with the field of psychology to recognize this person, nor have I visited their blog. I may do that later when I calm down.

I am severely disappointed and disheartened that they would allow this rubbish to be published.

Save your money. There is nothing to see here!

-Sandy

Delaney

2010-04-06T19:15:00.000-07:00

Delaney talks to statues
As she dances 'round the pool
She chases cats through roman ruins
And stomps on big toadstools
She speaks a language all her own
That I cannot discover
But she knows I love her so
When I tuck her 'neath the covers

Father, daughter
Down by the water
Shells sink, dreams float
Life's good on our boat
Songwriters: Buffett, Jimmy;Lee, Amy;Mcanally, Mac

I'm not much of a parrot head, though, like just about everybody else think that Mr Buffett is one fine story teller. I have quite a number of his songs on my Rockbox'd iPod and it shuffled this song up on the way home.

When I was a father, I feel I never had the time to give my daughters the kind of attention that is talked about in "Delaney". I always had the job to do and I was on call 24/7 throughout most of my career. I gave them as much as I possibly could (I was even a cookie mom for girl scouts one year), but I never felt it was enough. They turned out all right in spite of that and know that family is what is important in life.

But now I have two little ones under foot all the time (my daughter, son-in-law, and kids live with me). And now I have a bit of a second chance.

I still have the job, but I am more of an emeritus fire fighter in computer geek terms, and rarely get calls outside of work.

And when "Delaney" started playing when I was on the train, I realized I shouldn't waste my second chance.

So my oldest granddaughter and I sat outside when I got home and we chatted, she rode her little training wheeled bike up and back. She rode down the sidewalk a ways waving and yelling goodbye and saying that she had to go to the "leaf store". She rode to the "store", picked a single dandelion leaf and rode back to give it to me. Then rode back to get another. This went on until she was startled (read terrified) when she saw a bug. She is almost phobic about flying bugs because of a bee sting once.

I ran to her aid and calmed her down and hugged her close. It was getting dark so we put her bike away and came in to get ready for supper. She then "helped" her mom with dinner. When it my turn to cook, my granddaughter is "little chief", ala "ratatouille". We make a mess have fun.

She is my Delaney. And I love her so. Unlike Delaney, though, she tucks me in at night and will read me a bedtime story. Book held upside down pretending to read the words and making the story up as she goes. The stories can be quite restful. She'll stop, sometimes in mid sentence, and then say "The End!" She gives me a goodnight kiss and tucks *me* 'neath the covers.

My relationship with my youngest granddaughter is developing in it's own special way. Our relationship is different than the one I have with my oldest granddaughter just as my relationship is different with my two daughters.

She will be two in August and speaks a language not found on earth. She has a running commentary about everything. I truly wish I could understand what she is saying. I'm sure I will learn more from her than she from me. I feel our classes have only begun and she is starting me out on the simple concepts and she will educate me on more complex topics as we go along.

Yeah, life's good on our boat...

-Sandy

My granddaughter, my transition, and me.

2010-04-02T08:34:00.000-07:00

The "talk" has happened.

I discussed it a bit in this post:

Who is that she asked?

My oldest granddaughter now knows that Grandma Sandy was once a boy, and what that means.

I was hoping to be the one that had the conversation, but it didn't turn out that way.

My son-in-law was showing pictures of the renovation we did at my last house. We gutted and completely rebuilt the kitchen. Not recommended for the faint of heart.

Anyway, as he was showing the pictures, my granddaughter kept staring at the man with the goatee. My son-in-law didn't say anything about it.

After looking at the pictures for a bit she pointed to him and exclaimed; "That's my Grandma Sandy!"

My son-in-law said, yes, that was before your grandma became a girl. She used to be a boy. He and I had discussed it before and just decided that if she had any questions or anything, just keep it matter of fact.

"She looks different now" she said.

"Well she had some surgeries to help her change".

And then he went into some brief discussions about all the facial and breast work that was done. I don't think he talked too much about SRS, but she does know how boys are different than girls in that respect.

Later that evening when I got home, she talked to me about all the work I had done. I was quite surprised about how she found out, but just agreed with her and said that all those things were true. It wasn't until later that I found out what had occurred.

And nothing has changed. I'm still her grandma Sandy and she loves me just as much as before. And I teared up a bit when she hugged me after we talked.

Folks, I am so close to bankruptcy that I wonder from day to day if I can put food on the table. My bills seem endless. I worry about money perhaps way more than I should.

I knew that I would be financially ruined by my transition. I may never completely recover.

One of the things therapy is supposed to do is to set expectations for your post transition life. To make you understand that your problems will not magically go away simply because your presentation finally matches what's in your head. Well *that* part is really true!

But I knew I had only two choices left to me when I failed at my last attempt at suicide. Keep trying until I get it right or change.

I knew I made the right decision, of course.

But I never knew the true riches I would receive when I am hugged and kissed by one such as her. They are more precious to me than gold.

-Sandy

Susan Stanton and "Her Name was Steven"

2010-03-17T18:02:00.000-07:00

Many have already commented on this, but I think I should put my spin on this.

Autumn Sandeen over at Pam's House Blend review of cnn documentary her name was steven hit it on the head when she said that you could have gotten plastered playing the Trans Documentary Drinking game. Why in the hell does just about every trans documentary show MTF's putting on makeup or FTM's lifting weights? Is there a chapter on this at the New York Film Academy or what? I was not impressed by those cliched scenes. You would think that if CNN were making a documentary about Hillary Clinton, they would not be so crass as to ask *her* to put on makeup for the cameras.

I have already commented on her very public outing here: The Stanton mess

Ms Stanton was thrust into the limelight as both an example and an advocate. It was apparent very quickly that she was prepared for neither. Her comments regarding the ENDA mess and siding with HRC proved to be equivalent to tap dancing in a minefield. You could tell from her shots as the keynote speaker at Be-All that, while Steven may have been a very confident public figure, Susan was nervous and unprepared.

While transitioning is a public process in that the changes that are made are very visible, the internal process is very, very private.

Also for late bloomers, we spend most of our lives outside the main LGBT community and we have no clue as to what all the forces are when we join. And like me, she spent a very short time from the moment of her revelation of her true nature to the time of her public appearance. Up to that point her mind was probably as closeted as her outfits.

For the most part we are very private people. We spend so much of our waking lives regarding this blessing-within-a-curse but very little of it is externalized. As a result we tend to be withdrawn. It takes much courage to open that door and know that the life you knew is at an end. Then to have all the undeserved vitriol heaped upon her prior to her firing showed it be a great strain on her.

Her thoughts of suicide at the end of the documentary are very understandable. Loss of family, friends, employment, hatred not only from those outside the community, but inside as well all weighed on her. We all have had those thoughts. Many of us have acted on them. And too often, many of us have succeeded.

I feel that we expected too much of her. She was not prepared to be the spokesperson for a whole people. She was just trying to live. And like a butterfly just out of her chrysalis, her wings were not dry, but we expected her to fly. Much of her angst is our doing. And we should not hold that against her.

I hope that in her new position as city manager for Lake Worth that she now has what she was yearning for at the end of the documentary. Going to work in the morning and staying late, saying hello to people, looking forward to Monday, enjoying the weekend and having the love of her son.

In other words, having what all of us want.

Just to live.

-Sandy

Our "friend" bill brady

2010-03-08T13:08:00.000-08:00

From his website for his run for governor of Illinois:

He opposes gay marriage and civil unions. He voted against the state law passed in 2005 that banned discrimination against gays and lesbians in matters of housing and employment.

He would also roll back the LGBT provisions in the previously established Illinois non-discrimination laws that also include gender identity protection.

We must NOT let happen here what is happening in Virginia!
equality virginia

I for one will not be voting for this one!

-Sandy

Non Discrimination Law in Illinois under attack - update

2010-03-08T06:08:00.000-08:00

I live in Illinois where we enjoy non-discrimination in ways that should set a standard for the rest of the country.

We have ENDA rules that encompass gender identity both as state and city of Chicago regulations.

It was primarily this law that afforded me such an easy transition in my life. I feel especially blessed because of it.

Now this law is under attack from primarily a republican gubernatorial hopeful bill brady.

Currently this bill is dormant but could be called at any time:

Here is more information from Equity Illinois: Update on Non-Discrimination Law Attack
And background information from bilerico
and pams houseblend

I would have added my own take on this but these fine citizen journalists have done a much better job than I could.

Please get involved and contact your local state senator especially if you live in Illinois. Do not let the hard won efforts of equality be eroded by these people.

Eternal Vigilance is the Cost of Liberty.

-Sandy

UPDATE: Apparently, through a dedicated undertaking of constituents, this bill has been terminated. Which is a good thing. However we cannot ever relax our stance on maintaining our precious rights.

I look forward to the day...

2010-03-03T16:57:00.000-08:00

I look forward to the day where getting married is an occasion of simple joy, not cause celebre for hate and dissonance.

I look forward to the day that a persons gender may be fluid, fixed, or even slightly molten and the collective response is, "so?"

I look forward to the day that the word queer is returned to it's proper place in the dictionary and not be a simultaneous epithet and true description of a person.

I look forward to the day that everyone sees the joy in life.

I look forward to the day that I can stop being cynical.

With love,

-Sandy

Well here they are...

2010-02-24T19:55:00.000-08:00

I've just spent the last couple of days copying my blog entries from Susan's to here.

You can read the original posts at Susan's and see responses to them at her site.

I'm not leaving Susan's, but I feel having my blog entries in chronological sequence makes more sense and I think that being here they might be more visible to the wider world.

I'm hoping that these posts may help someone else in their journey.

In my small way, I'm hoping to pay forward some of the debt that I owe the others that have gone before me.

-Sandy

The Incomprehesibility of Gender Identity

2010-02-18T06:57:00.000-08:00

The Incomprehesibility of Gender Identity

Through this forum and others like it, and IRL, I have had to explain what this whole gender change thing is all about.

I have had to explain the discomfort that turned to anguish I experienced every day. And the prayer that I said every night.

To those I have had to explain this to, partners, therapists, and relations, the most compassionate have said that they can comprehend the pain, but could never understand it. Others, less compassionate and less comprehending, have called me sissy, faggot, queer, and more. All of us have had to endure this treatment.

But just today I sat down and I tried, I REALLY tried to understand what it would be like to not have GID. To actually be born in a body that my brain accepted, male or female, it doesn't matter.

And I came to the realization that *I* couldn't comprehend or understand this alien concept! I am just short of two years post-op and I am greatly contented, trust me! But every time I look in a mirror, go to the 'loo, or take a shower I know that I wasn't born this way.

What would life have been like waking up every morning and NOT having my gender as the first thing I thought about? What kind of different child would I have been? What would have my school experiences been? Would I have been the same wall flower at dances? Would I have taken a more active role in sports? Would I have challenged the alpha male in school? Or had I been born female would I have dated hunky football players? *heart flutter*

We here at Susan's have this massive blessing-within-a-curse in common regardless of our other backgrounds, and we view those without GID as being outside our two-spirit community. And they do the same to us. We are separate. Even our most loving, compassionate partners view us as different. Loved, but different.

This has been a stream of consciousness post, but has anyone else tried this exercise? Have you tried to put yourself in the shoes of the *others*? What does it feel like? I certainly don't know!

(As the fates would have it, my iPod just randomly shuffled into Pinkard & Bowden's "Since My Baby Turned Gay"! I wonder when "Dude Looks Like a Lady" will turn up)

-Sandy

Has it been worth it?

2010-02-13T07:23:00.000-08:00

Has it been worth it?

I tell ya boy and girls, I sit here at my 'puter scanning the interweb tubes and I sometimes wonder if getting my head pulled out of my lower recesses has been worth the stress.

Back when I used the little boys room, I was blissfully ignorant of the vitriol, hatred, and outright lies visited upon my newly acquired community. Oh I heard news reports and felt that Matthew Shepard's murder was a tragedy. When I was younger still I heard about the Stonewall riots and how the gays had an uprising. I thought it was probably appropriate since just about everyone was rioting about something back in those days.

But it never *touched* me!

I was a true blue male! And I liked girls and all, and had me quite a few! Yeah, I had a rather peculiar hobby, but it wasn't anything serious. Really!

While I agreed that people should be allowed to do whatever they liked regardless of their gender, I really thought it was none of my business really. I was just your average guy. I could never take *that* road! All I ever heard was that transsexuals became pole dancing, sex working, drug addicts just so they could be girls. And the gays and lesbians seemed to be so easy a target for laughter (I think just about every stand up comic had some sort of "fag" routine), or more darkly, being hunted, and killed with no real effort for justice.

No sir! I was NOT one of those! I had more important things to do! I had my whole career to think of! I was raising a family! I was a GUY! Maybe not quite so macho, but still I knew the whole "This is my rifle, this is my gun, this is for business, this is for FUN!" rhyme.

Times change.

Things change.

I changed.

There was a giant sucking sound so loud it measured on the richter scale when I pulled my head out of my, uhm you know, opened my eyes, and found out who I really was! I've documented quite a bit of it here so I'm not going to rehash that stuff in this post.

Now I'm a newly minted female find myself being a card carrying lesbian. I got the toaster oven sign up bonus to prove it! But I cannot marry the woman I love in the state in which I live. And were we to make the trek to one of the states that allow same sex marriage, it would not be recognized in my state. If we don't carry our power of attorney forms when we travel, we could be denied access to each other in case we are hospitalized. And the literally THOUSANDS of benefits that are accorded federally recognized married couples are denied us simply because our genitalia is similar not different. Our casual discrimination is accepted by the rest of the populace as no big deal.

I've become an advocate for the LGBT community at my office and I am a staunch supporter for the repeal of DOMA and DADT and fervently pray for the passage of ENDA.

Just a scant few years ago I would never have known what those particular acronyms meant!

And now when I read about the murders and the violence and the lack of justice I am incensed and outraged. I read about John McCain who I thought was a reasonable candidate for president especially when he showed distasted for calling Mr Obama an arab, stated emphatically, during the campaign, that if the Joint Chiefs called for the repeal of DADT then he would listen to them as president. Now he claims that the Joint Chiefs are out of line to even consider that since we have so much war going on (the same wars that were going on during Mr. Bush's reign of error). Or when extreme right wing bigots call for the murder of gays and lesbians as being in the name of God and Catholic bishops say that gays are worse than terrorists, I sometimes fail to see how humanity will progress.

Everyone in the community, EVERY SINGLE ONE, has had episodes of humiliation, discrimination, anger, or violence committed on them simply because of the differences we have. And in cold November we take time to remember the ADDITIONAL trans people who have been murdered since the last reading of the dead.

I was so g*d*m'd blissfully ignorant of all of this when I had the world as my urinal! I would have taken this blissful ignorance to my grave had I not changed.

I sometimes wonder if knowing is better than not knowing. Is having your eyes opened, and seeing, really seeing, what the fnck goes on in the world part of the blessing or part of the curse?

I am in a particular bitter and cynical mood of late. It may be due to a number of things. The recent loss of my brother surely has something to do with it. But also just the seemingly unending bitter and hateful rhetoric on the one side and the impassioned, though impotent action from our "friends" on the other just makes me feel hopeless and helpless.

I sometimes think that I would like to turn my back on the whole lot of it and just walk away. But I could never look in any mirror ever again.

I have not finished paying off my debt to Christine Jorgensen, and all the rest of the pioneers, activists and martyrs who have gone before me. I do not seek the notoriety that others have, and certainly others are more deserving.

But I will say that I will do this for one more day, and hopefully, tomorrow, I can say it again.

-Sandy

Suicide Redeaux

2010-02-10T07:07:00.000-08:00

Suicide Redeaux

It's been a few months since my brother's untimely death by his own hand.

I'm still reeling from the event. And I am still furious at his selfish act. Though I have forgiven God (or that which passeth all understanding) for the most part.

There is an old joke:

A man's house is in danger of flooding and so he climbs on the roof to escape the flood. The waters rise and the man is flooded up to his waist.

A man in a rowboat comes by and tells the man to get in the boat and be taken to safety. The man on the roof replies "No, God will save me I do not need your help!"

So the rowboat leaves, and the waters climb higher. Later, a speedboat comes by and offers to take the man to safety, but again he refuses, saying "God will save me, I do not need your help!" And the speedboat leaves.

The waters rise even higher and the man is standing on tiptoe on the peak of his roof, his head is the only thing exposed. A helicopter comes by and tries to take the man to safety, but he still refuses, claiming the God will rescue him.

The waters rise even higher and the man is swept away in the flood.

He enters heaven and confronts God demanding to know why he did not save him from the flood.

God replies "I sent a rowboat, a speedboat, and a helicopter for you! What more did you want!??"

I was angry at God for not preventing my brothers attempt.

Upon reflection, I cannot say that he wasn't prevented. Suicide is something that only has to work once. But there can be many attempts. I do not know how many times my brother put the gun in his mouth. I do not know how many times he pulled the trigger. And I do not know how many times he was saved. But, regardless, my brother persisted, and finally succeeded.

I too have attempted suicide. I know first hand the dark demons that can drive a person to this act of ultimate despair. But, I was saved. I returned to life. I started on a path that gave me rebirth.

My anger stems from this. If I was saved, why not him? And the only answer I can say is that, perhaps he was, but like the man on the roof, he refused to see the gift he was given.

In the aftermath of this horrific tragedy, some things have happened that may be for the good. My next younger brother will be taking on the role of Great Uncle and provide my brothers son an adult male presence in his life that he never quite had before.

My brothers family is slowly picking up the pieces of their shattered lives and moving on. I wish them well and hope that I can help them in some way in the future. Though, right now, my presence is viewed as being a bit too alien for them to comprehend and accept. So be it. I will remain in touch but not be an active presence in their lives.

My siblings and I are bit closer now. Having lost one of our own we feel a bit more drawn together. Afraid of losing more than we already have. And perhaps that is for the good as well.

I am of two minds about the hereafter. I am very clinical, mostly, and I view life and self awareness as just "wires in a box". When we die, we just stop. The darkness and oblivion is all that awaits. But part of me feels a spiritual connection to something "out there". And feel, perhaps that Carl Sagan was wrong and maybe there is something afterwards, and we are a soul that has a body. I cannot tell and no one has ever returned to say any different (religion and bible stories aside).

My tears have dried, but I still feel the loss. He is gone and that is all.

-Sandy

My mammogram...

2009-12-22T06:59:00.000-08:00

My mammogram...

I went to see my doctor for my annual check up a couple of weeks ago and at the end he said; "It's time your you mammo, little missy!"

Gawd that is the *last* time I talk with my doctor about the latest policy information about mammograms!

Anyway, I got up at the crack of dawn today to go to the womens imaging center to put my chest into the grape press.

Actually the last one I had wasn't that bad at all. It was a baseline mammo and they just took a couple of shots. And since I have implants they used a more gentle machine, so I didn't think that much of it.

Ah, not this time. This time they wanted a much more detailed look at my breast tissue, not my saline bags. I guess they don't think saline bags can get cancer... So the radiologist took the first couple of shots like the first ones I remember.

Then she says; "Now we have to get some detailed shots of your breast tissue, not your implants." Oh dear.

She positions me in the machine and then grabs my breast and pulls it and presses it into the plate!!! Then the machine clamps down, and to make sure I don't go anywhere, cranks it down a couple of more times. Then she says; "Hold your breath, don't move."

Like I'm going anywhere! And I'm already holding my breath from the pressure.

Then she says she wants one of the side of the breast. And proceeds to do much the same thing with the anterior quarter of my, now pressed breast flesh.

Then the other side.

All in all it was about twenty minutes of ~~torture~~ pictures. But it hardly felt like it was much more than a couple of hours, really!

The other piece of joy was after I was released from the clutches of the machine, I went to get dressed. I discovered that the adhesive they use to put on those cute little nipple markers is remarkably strong. I think everyone in the changing area heard me yelp.

I really, really enjoy being a woman and this is all part of this.

But, there is no real comparison between this and a prostate exam. Any guy that complains of having their doctor put his finger where the sun don't shine is going to get a really stern look from me!

My partner, Pat, got a real laugh out of my description of events. Since she's had these a lot more often than I have, she thinks I've got it easy. I'm glad I could bring a little sunshine into her life...

-Sandy(*ow*)

A note about suicide

2009-12-01T07:03:00.000-08:00

A note about suicide

Last week, my youngest brother lay down on his bed, and put a .357 Magnum loaded with hollow point bullets in his mouth pointed upward at his soft palate, and ate what came out.

I cannot stop the mental image of the bullet exiting the muzzle in slow motion, penetrating the soft palate, splintering and pulverizing cartilage and bone, severing the optic nerve, impacting on his brain pan and opening holes to his cranium.

I can only imagine the carnage that it caused as the shards of the bullet tumbled and churned through his grey matter, forever erasing all that he was.

There cannot be an open casket wake.

But if it were possible, I don't know that I could handle the image of him in a casket. Face in sleeping repose, his mustache groomed and trimmed, hands clasped around a rosary, in his only good suit (he was a t-shirt kind of guy), with a crucifix affixed to the lid of the coffin.

I cannot imagine kneeling down in front of the coffin and saying a prayer for him to send him on his way. Or the funeral where the lid is closed for the last time and the casket pushed into the back of the hearse.

Soon the ashes of the shell that housed his spirit will be laid to rest upon the graves of my parents.

He left a wife, two young children, his sisters and brothers, and scores of friends and acquaintances.

Depression and alcoholism run very strong in our family. My father, all of my siblings, and myself have all wrestled with these demons. It is a very dark shroud to be under.

Examining the issues in his life, I can see how he could have lost all hope. A failing marriage, loss of self respect due to extended unemployment, unpaid bills, a home foreclosure, and a severe dependence on alcohol all fed the terribly bleak depression he must have felt.

Though, right now, I have feelings only for myself, not him. I alternate between feeling enraged, embarrassed, and devastated by his act of selfishness. I'm still trying to deal with having to refer to him forever in the past tense.

Each and every person I have spoken to about this have felt that if he had died by illness or accident the blow would have easier to bear. Now each of us carry a scar that may never heal. We will all forever wonder and worry that there was something more we could have done. Some clue that we missed. Some thing we could have done to stay his hand. And as a result we now have, perhaps, an incremental loss of faith. Questioning that great unknown, asking; why him? Why make orphans of his children and a widow of his wife? And receiving no answer, we turn our backs a little bit more on faith, and become a bit more cynical, and a bit less joyful in life because of this needless loss.

There is a lesson here.

Many of us on this list have also had to deal with the depression and loneliness that comes with what brings us together here.

Many of us have verbalized or thought very seriously about this final option. To give the finger one last time to an uncaring, and hateful world that views us as abominations. To take the easy way out. Take the permanent solution to a temporary problem.

Please, I beg you, stop. Reflect on your life. Even if you are an orphan with no relatives you will still decimate those who even only knew you briefly.

Please seek help or guidance from anyone who will listen. There are therapists and hotlines available 24/7. Please reach out to someone, anyone, you will find someone who will help.

You will hurt everyone who ever knew you. If you care about how people remember you, your memory will eventually and forever be reviled. And if there is some sort of corporeal existence following this one, how can you not eternally regret and despise the stupid thing you have done? Forgiveness from God is easy, forgiving yourself is not.

So fare well, my brother. I feel that I never knew you as well as I could have, but now I never will.

Goodbye.

-Sandy

2009-11-04T12:30:00.000-08:00

An Open Letter to President Oboma:
I submitted the following to the White House website and Pam's House Blend. I am not so naive as to expect any sort of response, but I had to say something!

Dear Mr. President

The loss of civil marriage in Maine is yet one more example of how vindictiveness and hatred are winning against the efforts to fight oppression.

For me to decry the loss is not the issue at hand. I'm sure that others more well versed than I will disect the issue. Though I'm sure, that had the Maine marriage equality resolution been upheld, the forces of hatred would still say it was a victory for them because the margins were so close.

I wish to address a much larger issue. And one that is very personal to me. The very first time I heard you speak, you electrified me. You ignited in me a sense of hopefullness that I had never felt about politics in all my years. For the first time I felt a call to action, and campaigned vigorously for you in my home town. I knew that it would be different. I campaigned for you because of your goals and ideals, not your race, not your sexual orientation, not your gender, not your family background.

As a member of the LGBT community, I felt a hopefullness from you for social acceptance and social change that other candidates did not seem to exhibit. Your stance on marriage equality was honest and forthright and your stance on the subject of being afforded the same benefits as other married couple as your main goal was one that I could accept and work for.

But since your inaguration, your visible actions and the actions of the Democratic National Committee, which you head, have been woefully absent. Your claim of being able to use the Bully Pulpit for issues of national importance has been virtually non-existant on our behalf. You have made statements of rhetoric indicating your goal of repealing such oppressive, discriminating laws such as DADT, DOMA and support for ENDA. But what have your DONE? I do thank you for your signature into law of the Matthew Shepard and James Byrd, Jr. Hate Crimes Prevention Act, but by what effort on your part did you partake to ensure that this bill would pass through congress? Indeed, it had to be an ammendmant to the National Defense Authorization Act for Fiscal Year 2010 to ensure it's passage. I heard no statement from you or your office stating your official support other than stating that if it came to your desk you would sign it. Neither did I hear any rumors of back room negotiations to persuade members of congress for it's passage.

As you are aware, you could, through your powers as Chief Executive, order a suspension of the enforcement of Don't Ask, Don't Tell for a period of time until a review of it's effectiveness has been shown or it is repealed. But you have not. And still, every single day we lose valuable military personnel not because they aren't patriotic enough, not becuase they are in any other way inferior, but because they are gay.

Is it correct that a minority must secure a majority of votes to repeal discrimintory laws? Or should these laws be overturned simply because it is the right thing to do?

What if the law legalizing inter-racial marriage in California in 1948 had been put up for a popular vote? What would happen if a new law banning inter-racial marriage was introduced today? What if the Civil Rights Act of 1964 had been left to a national refferendum? Certainly these are minority issues, and perhaps should have been accepted by the majority of voters before given complete acceptance. Of course this is rediculous. But such is the state of LGBT rights today. In order for me to marry my partner, and enjoy all the same rights, benefits and responsibilities as other married couples, must I secure the permission from a majority of over three hundred million Americans?

I certainly do understand that your administration has been plagued by so many other issues, many of them as a direct result of the mismangement from the prevous administration. However, while you claim to be a president that can "multi-task", you and your administration don't seem to have time for our community. You leave us to struggle while you remain supportive, yet silent.

While you claim to be one who builds bridges, the bridge between our community and your administration is still under construction.

I implore you to take a more active role on the literally life and death issues facing the LGBT community today, lest the forces of oppression succeed in silencing our voices.

As I have mentioned, I campaigned for you during your election, unfortunately, I have to say that you have lost one campaign worker for your next election. And, if your conspicuous absence on behalf of the LGBT community continues, one vote as well.

Respectfully,

Sandra (real name in letter)

Sandy is (back) onstage!

2009-09-28T07:11:00.000-07:00

Sandy is (back) onstage!

After too many years away from the beloved stage, I have returned.

The production of the Fred Carmichael script "Any Number Can Die" closed and a great time was had by all.

I played Celia Lathrop, the witch with a capital "B". I was told that I took so easily to the part that it seemed like it was second nature.

Anyway, here I am (on the couch) surrounded by my compatriots.

This is the first production where I died onstage. Well at least on purpose...

My family came to the show and my best girlfriends, the two Julies saw it as well. I was so very happy to see them all!

I hope to be in other productions soon.

-Sandy

I am so Damned Fragile!

2009-08-11T15:32:00.000-07:00

I am so Damned Fragile!

Boys and girls, I will tell you that inside this tough post-op woman shell is a very frightened little girl.

There are only two tiny (alright, huge) chinks in my tough hide.

One is my facial hair. I will refuse to go out if I am showing any stubble. I absolutely despise having to shave everyday. More distressing, even though I have had my face cleared repeatedly, I not only still have hairs come up but now some of them are actually coming up BLACK!!!! Needless to say I am very frustrated. Granted I have not spent the number of hours in the chair that some of our other ladies have, but GD it! I really was hoping not to look like a grizzled old prospector by now!!!!

The other is my voice. I am very *very* very sensitive about my vocal presentation. And when I get sirred on the phone it is like a knife to my heart.

There was one occasion in the ladies room where one of the other woman thought I was a man in the stall because of my voice. I was devastated.

Something happened yesterday that almost sent me back to therapy (and it still might, I'm still thinking about it).

A number of months ago I signed up for the fitness center at the office. Two or three times a week I'll go there and work out over lunch. It makes me feel better and helps tone up my body. There was an initial trepidation I had about going into the ladies locker room for the first time, but now it is just what I do. I'm not uncomfortable with it at all. It's where I belong.

Following my workout yesterday, I stripped down wrapped my towel around me and headed for the showers. there are six shower stalls each with their own curtain. I picked a stall, closed the curtain and turned on the water. It's natural to joke and talk in the locker room. And as I was getting under the shower, one of the other women remarked how tired she was. I responded that it was only Monday and there was quite a bit of week left.

There was a pause and then she squeaked "OH MY GOD IS THAT A MAN IN THERE!!!??"

My knees almost gave out.

I poked my head around the curtain, mustering up courage and pasting some sort of smile on my face, I said "No, I get that a lot". And I let just enough of me show to prove that I was a woman.

Embarrassed, she apologized and babbled on about the time she was on vacation and took the wrong turn at a resort and walked into the guys locker, and saw way too much of the male anatomy. She said something about a twenty-one gun salute, which in retrospect was a cute remark.

I smiled and we went back to showering. Well I assume she did. I spent the next ten minutes weeping as quietly as I could. I turned the water on as cold as it would go and just stood under it trying not to openly sob. (God, this hurts to type, I'm weeping again).

I was too terrified to leave the stall, having the irrational fear that I would somehow be called out again. I would be called a charlatan, a fake, *a man*.

I got dressed as quickly as I could and didn't utter another word. I left with my hair barely dry and no makeup on my face.

I spent the rest of the afternoon staring at the screen, and trying to fight back the tears. I'm the only woman in our team and only one of four women on the floor, so a weeping female is not really kept in high regard by my team mates. And I really couldn't commiserate with the other woman because they were busy with their own duties, and really, how could *they* commiserate? Please don't tell me that women get sirred on the phone too. I know that and that is (was) one of the things I used to tell myself to keep my courage up. Yes, it happens, but when it happens to a GG it is just frustrating. To me it is debilitating.

I spent the rest of the afternoon giving serious thought and some fair research into the most dangerous, stupid, silly-assed thing a transwoman could do.

Feminizing laryngoplasty surgery.

I know women who have taken this surgery and had some very poor results. I know of one who can barely speak above a whisper. If I had the surgery, there would be a good chance I would never be able to sing again. I may never be able to go on stage again because my voice could be so profoundly affected. I could lose the ability to speak altogether. And on top of it all, I'm not all that impressed with the results I have heard.

But if I could only croak, at least it would be a feminine croak.

If a person meets me in person, I am not questioned at all about my gender. And when I am on stage, no one, not the director, not the stage manager, and not the audience question my feminine presentation. It's only when a person only hears my voice and can't see my body or face that they question me.

There is a little rational spark still left that really thinks this is a bad idea. But I've picked up the phone about a half dozen times already today to call and ask for information and a consultation.

It's not like I don't try. I've taken training, but maybe not enough, apparently. But, dammit, I've kept my larynx elevated so long I don't remember *how* to speak in my old voice. If I'm awakened out of a sound sleep I still speak in my higher register. Hell, I even *SNEEZE* in a higher tone. There are a number of people (bless them) that have repeatedly told me that they hear nothing but a woman when I speak to them on the phone.

I feel like I've taken a hit below the water line. Inside, I have collapsed. I'm trying to build my self esteem up, but I am so low right now. Pat, my darling husband, has absolutely forbidden me from taking this any farther. But I am so crushed right now.

I came here to tell my story so at least I can get it off my chest. I need to release this pain. You, my brothers and sisters, are who I can turn to with a warm shoulder and tissue. And that, is what I need right now.

There may not be another few chapters of "Sandy's Transition". But right now, for two cents, I'd make that consultation call...

-Sandy

Transgender Day of Remembrance - Chicago

2008-11-17T22:05:00.000-08:00

Transgender Day of Remembrance - Chicago

Last night, Pat and I attended the Transgender Day of Remembrance here in Chicago at the Center on Halsted.

It was held on the third floor roof. It was a chill evening and, perhaps appropriately, and a cold bitter snow started just after we gathered outside.

There were many speakers and one of the honored speakers was Diane Schroer, who had just recently won a precedent setting case of discrimination against the Library of Congress.

In her speech, she asked, "Who Speaks for the Dead". Her answer was the WE speak for the dead. All of us. Those of us that come out of the closet, who take the first hesitating steps to become our true selves. Those of us that have completely transitioned. And even those of us who take a stealth path. We all stand for the dead. We all speak for those who have had their voices silenced through bigotry, hate, and anger.

We have in many ways become less sensationalized and are less fodder for the likes of Jerry Springer and are now given more of an open forum by the likes of Oprah and Barbara Walters to show the world that we our struggle is not a tawdry thrill but a life affirming quest.

But we are still vulnerable to hate and ignorance. And last night was a memorial to those whose quest had come to an end.

Once the speeches were over, the names of the honored dead were read.

On that rooftop deck, there were 24 chairs, each with a blood red candle burning on it. Each name was read along with the date and method of their death. As each name was read, the candle was extinguished and a bell was tolled.

For me, it was a knife to the heart for each peeling of the bell. Particularly hard was hearing the name of Lawrence King, the 14 year old, who was shot by a classmate because Lawrence had asked him to be his valentine.

Once the vigil was over we returned to the building. Pat held me as I wept.

It was a moving event for me. I hope that one day that it will be no longer be necessary to have such a vigil.

-Sandy

An Episode to the Epilogue

2008-09-04T22:06:00.000-07:00

An Episode to the Epilogue

Previously I have posted that I have completed my transition so then too I would have completed my postings to my blog, “Sandy’s Transition”.

Ah were that the case. The last few weeks have left me stressed out, anxious, and depressed as ever I have been in my life.

If you have been following my story, you will have read that I was one of the fortunate few whose insurance coverage actually did cover not only my orchiectomy, but also my Gender Confirmation Surgery as well.

You may have also read that while it was “covered” it wasn’t *covered*. Something to do with my insurance company (Blue Cross/Blue Shield HMO of Illinois) not covering cosmetic surgeries, but the only way to list my referral for GCS was as cosmetic. Catch-22. (And why in the world would you list as “cosmetic” something that good girls don’t go around showing off is beyond me!!!)

My doctor, surgeon, and therapists all sent in recommendations that this surgery wasn’t cosmetic, but was a life saving operation. And only after my doctor talked to the insurance company directly and submitting over three hundred pages of notes and documentation, that the insurance company relented and approved my referral.

But since the operation was out of network, I had to pay for it upfront, then, I was assured, I would be reimbursed. I proceeded to take out a loan with near loan shark rates assuming that the interest rate wouldn’t matter that much since I would be paying it off in a reasonably short period of time after I received my reimbursement.

Ok, let’s fast forward through my trip, surgery, and return. It’s posted on the blog for those who want to relive those wonderful days with me. (I still recall the moment my plane took off for Philadelphia with a wistful fondness.)

Ok, back home and now trying to put my life back on track after a two year process to change every part of my being. One of the details was to start submitting the paperwork to the insurance company to get my reimbursement.

I contacted the person at BCBS about submitting the required information. I was told that there was a form on the website and that I should fill it out and submit that and the relevant invoices to the insurance company.

I did that and didn’t hear anything for a few weeks. I called and after going through the usual mind numbing phone menu and being put on hold so long that I actually started liking the musak that was playing in the background and could recite all the phone-on-hold commercials by heart… backward.

I finally talked with someone and they said that the documentation that was submitted was not complete. They required an itemized invoice including standardized procedural codes and diagnostics.

Ok.

I called the surgeons office and contacted someone from admin. Fortunately the also had been contacted by the insurance company and they had requested the same things. But I would have to contact the hospital to get that information as well as the anesthesiologist.

Ok.

I worked through this process over the next few weeks. Regularly contacting the insurance people as well as the billing and admin people at the surgeon’s office, the hospital and the anesthesiologist.

I then receive a note from BCBS stating that my claim wasn’t covered because they do not cover GCS.

Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!!

I contact the insurance people and they tell me that the never covered that surgery and even though I had a proper referral it wasn’t BCBS’s responsibility to pay it. I was welcome to contact the medical group to see if they would pay for it, but their responsibility was at an end.

Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!! Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!!

After I dried my eyes, actually the tears ran out. I contacted the medical group.

I then had to go through the exact same submission of documentation that I went through with BCBS.

Following that, I was told that even though I submitted the proper information I would not be reimbursed. The medical group only reimburses the hospital and they should have submitted the information directly to them in the first place.

With a calm and demeanor rivaling that of Job, I explained to this person that I had been told that I HAD to pay for it out of pocket since it was out of network and that I was SUPPOSED to get reimbursed! I had been told that by several people at BCBS (accent on the BS!), the medical group, and my physicians office!

This person again told me that the policy was only to reimburse the hospital after they submitted the proper documentation. That person refused to even look at my referral.

At that point, I had a proper and satisfying meltdown. I yelled at them that they were an idiot and I wanted to speak with their supervisor!

After a few minutes I was put in contact with the supervisor and I explained the situation again.

This time, the person actually reviewed the case and said that actually everything seemed in order. My referral was proper, and my documentation was complete. She thought it was just a matter of examining the data and making a determination who would pay what.

I started sobbing on the phone. I was so relieved to get even that response that I lost all control. The lady said that she would review the information and would be getting back to me. She even gave me her direct line so that I wouldn’t get ear calluses wading through the phone menu.

I thanked her profusely and hung up, feeling more relieved than I had in several weeks.

A few days later, the lady from the medical group did call me back and said that she had to contact the surgeon, hospital, and anesthesiologist but she had all the information she needed. She said that there would be two checks sent out. One would come from the medical group, which would pay for the surgeon, and the other would come from BCBS who would be paying for the hospital stay and the anesthesia.

By this time my spirits were lifting considerably.

A few days following that, I did receive a check from the medical group. After waiting another few days, I still had not received the check from BCBS. I was starting to get worried that they would renege on their agreement. I called the lady at the medical group back and asked if she had heard anything. She said no but would check into it.

No sooner had I hung up from her, I got a call from the billing department at the hospital where I stayed.

She told me that BCBS had sent them a check for my bill. She said that she would personally walk the check over to Accounts Payable and have them cut me a check that very day!

I was over joyed!

However after several more days I still had not received the check. I call the lady at the hospital back and asked if she had heard anything. She checked with AP and the said that they had FedEx’d the check and it was recorded as delivered!!! (A signature had not been asked for)

Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!! Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!! Arrgghh!!! Scream!! Cry!!!

In all my years of using FedEx and other services, I had never had a lost item. Why did it have to happen with this one!!!! I felt that I was being toyed with by the fates. It seemed that I had to keep leaping to get to my goal, but it would be pulled out of my reach at the last moment. This last twist to this really had me undone.

I told them that I had not received it and that they should put a stop on the check and could they send out another? (Pretty please???)

The nice lady and her partner at AP said that they would overnight the check to me and require a signature.

The next morning, finally, the replacement check arrived. I was so relieved!

I just deposited it this morning, and bring to a close this last major chapter of my transition from man to woman.

It has been a very short time for me since I started down the path to confirm my true nature. I have been truly blessed by the way my transition has gone. My family loves me, I was not discriminated at work, and the financial needs have been taken care of. Though I do feel that I have had to mortgaged my future to save my present. But in all likelihood I would have probably not lived long enough to enjoy my future were I not to transition.

Just this evening I was sitting at the dining room table with Pat and I was feeling very content. And I looked down at myself then at Pat, and I asked myself what the big deal was. I was finally as much of a woman as far as medical science could make me and I felt so normal that I couldn’t remember what the crisis was when I had male genitals.

Then I thought about having a penis again and I was overcome with revulsion. I guess I really was a transsexual. So many times we wonder if we have made the right decision to transition. I now know I made the right decision!

-Sandy

Doing some more catching up...

2008-08-03T14:56:00.000-07:00

It's been quite a while since I posted anything here. Actually a couple of months.

In that time there have been some wonderful times in my life.

First off, my granddaughter finally had her baptism. It was an interesting time from the stand point that she does not like having her head wet. We were worried that there would be a problem when the pastor anointed her head.

So she simply moistened her forehead and then anointed her with oil which she let her smell first.

The end result was that the baptism went very smoothly and without any screaming. Actually, I think she enjoyed being the center of attention.

Here is a group picture from the event:

On the right are the two proud parents. And on the left are Kara's wonderful godparents, my partner, and my youngest daughter. In the middle are the Pastor, a wonderful woman, and the maiden of honor.

An interesting development as we celebrated her baptism in the undercroft following the ceremony.

The ceremony had been attended by both my ex spouses as well as my daughters (of course) as well as some relatives. One of the parishioners, who is unfamiliar with my history was confused about the number of "grandma's" attending the service. She said that one of the ladies said that she was my daughters mother. And she was confused about my relationship to her.

I took deep breath and said that when my daughters were born, I was their father. She blinked a couple of times and then said, "oh". Then she apologized and said that she didn't mean to pry.

I told her that it wasn't a problem and I didn't think it was prying at all. She smiled sweetly and the rest of the time went very well.

Now my "secret" is out. I am no longer stealth at church. There really isn't that much church gossip, I'm sure it does happen and sooner or later, everyone will know. While I don't make a big deal about my history, I certainly don't wear a sign around my neck that says "TRANSSEXUAL!!!" And there are at least one gay couple already at the church. Well, actually two, now. I and my partner are the other one. And we don't make a big deal about that either.

And neither does anyone else. In the intervening time, there have been no second looks, no whispering behind my back, no suppressed giggles. This is my family and I love them all.

Today, as we were coming home from Church, Pat asked if we wanted to see some animals. I said sure!

As we drove home, she directed me down a different road and we ended up at a small field enclosed with a fence.

On the other side of the fence were emus! I certainly did not expect to see them in my neck of the woods.

Kara was facinated:

Well that is just a quick couple of things that have been happening here.

I'll post more soon.

Very soon, like this week, Kara will have a little sister. So I'll have quite a bit to talk about then!

-Sandy

Epilogue

2008-04-30T09:46:00.000-07:00

Epilogue

It’s been six weeks since my SRS surgery and just over a year since I went full time.

My state of mind has been one of peace and calm. I feel so comfortable in my chosen gender that I find I must remind myself that I have not always been this way.

I think about other transsexuals who have fully transitioned and are post-op and I realize that I am now one of them as well. But I don’t think of myself as having joined some exclusive sorority. More like having survived a grueling trek.

I think about my time before my transition and wonder what all the fuss was about. It’s been so long since I’ve been down the rabbit hole of clinical depression that I have to remind myself that there was a significant part of my life where I would think about being female, then immediately feel that I needed to kill myself for being a pervert, a queer, someone who was a waste of skin. Eventually I started playing more and more aggressive suicide games, hoping that I would accidentally kill myself because I didn’t have the guts to do it right the first time. I would then call myself a coward because I survived.

I’ve willingly, even eagerly, had my face and body significantly altered, been rendered permanently sterile, and have had things done to my genitalia that make “normal” males shudder.

My mind and body have been altered through the administration of HRT and the blocking of testosterone and then the elimination of those glands that so horrified me.

I did not realize the extent to which my mind has been altered until recently.

Just a couple of weeks ago I was asked to help out in the production of the musical “Oklahoma” that was put on by the community theatre group I frequent. Doing tech on a play is usually hours of boredom followed by seconds of terror. During one of the lulls in the action, I picked up a book that was lying around backstage. It was “Little Earthquakes” by Jennifer Wiener. It’s a touching story about a group of women and the experiences in their lives during their pregnancy. I read a couple of chapters and I was hooked! I so identified with those women. I could feel their joys and sadness as their pregnancies developed.

This mildly astonished me. Normally I would read science fiction or action books. And here was this “chick-lit” book and I was carried away! I had to get it for myself. I’m reading it now on the train and have not enjoyed reading as much in quite a long time. I’m wondering if I’ll start liking romance novels next.

Over the last few months my maternal instincts have been getting stronger. I wrote it off as fallout from my daughter who is pregnant with her second child. But the idea of being a mother to a child has really taken me. To my daughters I am still dad. That can never change. Nor do I want it to. But being a mom is so inviting! Even though I can never be pregnant, the idea of growing a life within me is more than intriguing. I see pregnant women and feel more than just a passing envy. I know that childbirth is not for the weak, but I would not fear it

I’m coming to terms with being a lesbian. I have learned not to ogle women. And realize that when I see beautiful woman and have erotic thoughts about them, I understand that they do not see me in the same way (mostly). I’m envious of the way hetero couples can display their affection for each other with kisses, hugs and hand holding. Were my partner and I to show such affection to each other, she and I would be instantly labeled “lezzy” and vilified.

According to my surgeon and endocrinologist the medical community considers me female. My last hormone level check showed my testosterone and estrogen levels completely normal… for a woman. This pleases me.

When I started to seriously consider a transition I felt so daunted. It seemed like everything I would have to do was another mountain to climb. When I got my right ear pierced to match the piercing I had on the left, I remember looking at myself in my cars rear view mirror in grand happiness at my bold feminine gesture. Then feeling overwhelmed when I though about all the effort I would have to go through to complete my journey. Jewelry, clothing, underwear, hair and makeup all had to change. Changing gender is the most arduous and challenging task a human in modern society can do. I had to face the possibility that I could lose everything I hold dear. Not just the material things, but more importantly, things like love and acceptance from family and friends.

In actuality, I lost very little. In comparison to some, I feel that I’ve won the transsexual lottery. The most important people in my life stayed with me, encouraged me, loved me. My darling three-year-old granddaughter calls me “Grandma Sandy” and my heart melts. She and I are “best buds” she watches me put my makeup on in the morning and I have to gather up all my shoes from her in the evening. She is smart, affectionate and wise. One day she and I will have a talk about me, but I am not fearful that she might turn away from me. I’ll still be Grandma Sandy to her, regardless.

I look back now on my journey and feel that I never had a mountain to climb. In fact as I started down the road, I found it paved, flat, and well lit.

When I made my first move to change/save my life, I felt I had stepped into the abyss. I had no idea where I would go or how I would survive. I stepped into the unknown and felt supported, buoyed up by some force. The words of Joseph Campbell came to me over and over: “Follow your bliss.” When you are following your bliss, people will appear in your field of bliss and open doors for you that you never knew existed. This was proven to me time and time again.

I learned to let my life, my extended re-birth, unfold at its own pace, in its own way. When something was right for me to do, it would appear. I learned not to force the pace of change. And actually found it to go quite fast. Though not faster than I could handle.

Here I sit at the end of my transition and the beginning of my life. For the first time I feel whole and normal. I never believed that one person could have this much joy. Every day is a treasure to me, a wonder to be explored.

To those of you who are following your own path, know that what awaits you is joy beyond belief and love everlasting. Be strong and you will persevere.

This marks the end of “Sandy’s Transition”. As I’ve said before, transition is temporary by definition and while I have some residual issues to take care of like completing electrolysis, I feel complete and no longer feel the need to post in this blog. The woman inside has finally been born outside. After nearly fifty-six years, my birth is complete!

-Sandy

My GCS Procedure Part 2

2008-04-28T09:27:00.000-07:00

My GCS Procedure Part 2

***LIGHTS ON***

Well actually this time it was a more gentle awakening than I have had in previous operations.

I became dimly aware of a hissing sound and then realized I had an oxygen tube in my nose. I felt the cool rush of the oxygen start to clear my head.

I heard other people around me and opened my eyes. I felt one of the nurses put something in my hand and say: “This is your morphine button. Use it when you have pain”.

I vaguely nodded.

I became aware of other sensations and sounds. There was a mechanical sound from end of my bed and I became aware of a gentle massage on my legs.

As I looked around I realized I was in a different room and it was near dark. I was lying horizontal and I then I realized it was over!

Actually, the realization was a bit more involved. Because I was not all quite there, I had to work it out.

I figured out that I was in the hospital, then I remembered that I just had a procedure. Since I have had many procedures, my first thought was; "What's next?"

Then I had to remember what procedure I had and that I just had GRS and I realized that there was no *next* operation, I was done!

A feeling of relief and completion came over me. I realized that I had completed my trek, my journey was at an end.

And deep in my brain, I FELT a switch flip from male to female. It was a palpable feeling and I'm surprised that the nurses did not hear it also.

I tried to look down but a sheet was covering me. I could see that I had a catheter and I had an IV in my arm.

I felt that there were ice packs down there and while I felt a bit uncomfortable, I was not in any real pain.

Much like when I had my orchiectomy there really wasn’t that much pain at all.

There were actually two nurses in my room fussing over me and checking that everything was proper.

They were in good spirits and joked good naturedly with me.

I wasn’t completely booted back up but no where near the lobotomized stat that I was in when I came out of my FFS surgery.

They were done soon and asked me if I wanted any ice chips. I was parched and said yes.

The nurse came and spoon fed me some and that quenched me for a bit.

She asked if there was anything else she could do and I said no. So she showed me where the call button was and said if I needed anything just buzz.

I was exhausted but not really tired. So I pressed the morphine button about five or six times…

Very soon I was asleep again. But before I dropped off I just kept turning over in my mind; “It’s OVER! I’ve done it! I’m not half and half!”

I think I had the smile on my face the whole time I was asleep.

I woke up a couple hours later and it was still dark and just pushed the morphine button again.

I did that a couple of times. One time I awoke because the nurse came in and asked if I wanted some water. I said yes and she brought me some water.

I sipped it pretty quickly and she brought me another one. She told me to keep myself hydrated as much as possible. It would help clear the effects of the anesthesia and get my body started.

She reminded me that I had a catheter and not to worry about going to the bathroom. She then told me that the massager on my legs were to keep my legs from forming any blood clots and that I would have it on for a few days.

This also meant that I wouldn’t be able to turn over. I was starting to feel some low back pain from being horizontal. I knew that it would be difficult to keep from having a lot of pain from my back because of it. I would just have to endure it.

Some hours and much water and juice later, the doctor looked in on me.

She asked how I was feeling and wanted to examine me. I told her I was feeling fine. I was a bit uncomfortable but no real pain.

She pulled the sheet down and lifted up my gown. I couldn’t really see anything from where I was at, since I was still lying flat. But you can expect I was extremely curious!

The doctor asked me if I remember what happened in recovery.

I looked at her blankly and asked what happened.

“Well, as you were coming out of the anesthesia you had a panic attack and started kicking. I had to throw myself over your legs to keep you from hurting yourself. That’s why your legs are lashed to the bed!”

I lifted up a little bit and could see that they had tied my legs down to the bed with a sheet. I was very surprised.

The doctor continued to examine me and said that it looked like I had started bleeding as a result of my kicking. It looked like it would be ok, but she wanted me completely horizontal for another twenty four hours to make sure that no blood would pool in the middle of my body or groin area.

She asked if I felt all right and that if I wouldn’t start kicking again, she would take the lashing off.

I promised to be good and the doctor and the nurse pulled off the sheet lashing me to the bed.

I’ve had bad experiences before coming out of anesthesia but this one seemed the most extreme. Also the fact that I didn’t remember any of it surprised me. Usually I remember just about everything once I am conscious. The memory may be a bit blurry, but usually I remember something. This time, zilch!

Over the next couple of days all I did was lie in bed. All I did was listen to the leg massager or watch TV.

I had some visitors. Kate and her wife came by to visit. We had a great time chatting. Also Teresa who was Dr. Christine’s first patient (otherwise known as “The First Lady of Doylestown) came by to visit. And the good doctor’s third patient, Dani visited as well. As it turned out I was the fifth patient of Dr. McGinn.

The greatest surprise though was on the second day.

I was on the phone when the nurse comes in and says that I have a couple of visitors.

I turn and look and in walk the two Julies! Arm in arm and doing a “TA-DA!!!” pose!

They had driven from Chicago to Philadelphia to see me. To say I was flabbergasted is an understatement!

I was talking to Kate on the phone and the nurse came in and started snapping pictures. I am agape in the photos.

I started crying such happy tears. Being alone in a strange place and doing something that can be so scary is very stressful. Naturally I had tried to put on a brave face, but when my two friends showed up, so much of my stress just melted away.

I can just hear the exchange between those two when they came up with the idea:

“So what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know, what do you want to do?”

“I dunno, you want to go visit Sandy?”

“Sure!”

Both say together:

“ROAD TRIP!!!”

Apparently they came up with the idea about the time of my going away party. Their escapades driving out to see me was so funny!

I was so touched by their visit. I could not have been more surprised!

We chatted for about an hour and then they headed out to find a place to stay. They intended to visit Philadelphia the next day then they were going to visit and head back.

I’ll post some pictures soon.

What a couple of neat gals!

Over the next couple of days, the time moved slowly. The ache in my back from having to lay horizontal was so great that I asked for morphine to help me sleep.

Each day the doctor would visit and check to see how I was doing. Each day brought me a little closer to freedom.

I wrote the following in my journal while I was flat on my back:

Kate and her wife gave me this journal as a present and I really appreciate it. I won’t be able to blog until I get to the hotel and get my laptop setup. This is my fourth day in the hospital and for four days I have been bed ridden. To say this has been tedious is an understatement. But:

I’M DONE!!!! XXXXX

The last vestige of my masculinity, my birth defect, has finally been corrected. I’m no longer half-n-half, no longer girl on top and boy on bottom. The feeling of relief is grand.

But it is entirely an internal feeling. The world has seen me as Sandy for almost a year now ( I went full time on April 16th of last year), my car and house and mortgage are all in my name. All in my gender, as is my drivers license and SSN. I am an empowered woman!

March 18th 2008 8:30 AM EST Fifth day post operative.

Just got done running the Boston Marathon!
The first five miles where the worst but after that it was all downhill.

My day started nice and early. About six o’clock, a couple of nurses came in and said that they were going to take out my foley! I was overjoyed, but I knew what was coming.

They fussed with the plumbing and prepared for the, removal. One nurse told me to hold her hand while the other pulled the pipe. It was quite a shock. But, having had a foley as both a guy and now as a girl, having it pulled was much easier as a girl!

Then they removed the pressure leggings from my legs. (Free at last!)

They said that they would be back after breakfast and help me to get up and go to the bathroom.

Breakfast came about an hour later and I really enjoyed eating without having to stay horizontal.

The marathon part was getting out of bed and walking the ten feet or so to the bathroom. My nurse, Terri helped me get to a sitting position. I sat there for a few minutes and tried to keep the room from spinning too much. She then helped me to stand and that actually felt good. Though my left ankle had pretty much given out while I was lying in bed and it was still sore. I think what happened was that while I was kicking as I came out of anesthesia, I must have hit my foot or ankle. Also since I’d been horizontal for so long I could only stand for a few moments before I started to get dizzy.

Terri helped me walk to the door of the bathroom and then things started getting woozy. She called for another nurse and they got a chair under me. I managed to get my butt in the chair before the lights went out. After a few minutes things cleared up. And I was able to make it the rest of the way into the bathroom and on the throne.

I had my first urination with the new plumbing! It was “odd”. I was very swollen and sore from the operation and the foley. I sprayed everywhere.

After that they gave me a shower and I felt wonderful!

Later in the day, Dr. McGinn came to visit me again and prepare me for discharge.

This consisted of pulling my vaginal stent packing. And then she demonstrated to me how to use my new friends, my dilators, Homer and Jethro. If you don’t get the reference, do a Google search. I named them that simply because that was the first name to pop into my head. Homer is the smaller Jethro is bigger. Though seeing them for the first time did scare me a bit: “That is going to go into me?!” The doctor just smiled and nodded and proceeded to show me the proper way to dilate. We just used Homer that time and Dr. Christine said that as I got more comfortable I could switch to the larger one, but I should wait a couple of weeks or so before doing that. I watched in a hand mirror as the doctor performed my first dilation.

After that she handed me the dilator and told me to do it. It’s a simple enough process and if you are really curious, I’m sure you can find examples. It’s quite similar to the organic dilating that has been going on for thousands and thousands of years. Though for me I received no sexual sensation from it. I did feel where my prostate was and the doctor said that would be my “G” spot.

After that the doctor said she would discharge me. Initially I thought that when I was discharged from the hospital, I would be able to drive. The doctor quite emphatically said no when I went in for my pre-surgical check up! So we made arrangements for me to get a ride from the doctor to my recovery motel. The motel was just about a half a mile from her office. Which was one of the reasons I chose that motel in the first place.

She helped me get my luggage into the room and settled in for the night. She gave me her pager number and said she lived just a little bit from there and could return at any time if there was any problem.

She wanted to see me the next day for a follow up examination in her office.

Over the next several days I would see the doctor every other day. During those examinations, the doctor removed the necrotic tissue from my skin graft. It is normal that some tissue in a skin graft will not take and will slough off on its own. This tissue is dead and has no active nerves so the process is painless. The doctor would remove some of this tissue to speed up the process. She also painted some of the area with silver nitrate. This is a caustic chemical, which helps to reduce granulated tissue.

Also during this time I had my first examination with a speculum. I was a little apprehensive at first, but the doctor said that she wouldn’t be looking too deep and she was using the smallest speculum, which was smaller than my dilator. My nervousness subsided and as promised there was no problem or pain.

Also during this period I was visited and ministered by some very close friends.

Teresa, the doctors’ first patient came by and stayed with me and showed me the sights as I was able to. My stamina was non-existent so I really couldn’t do too much and I had to dilate six times a day so at most I could do a couple of short outings a day.

My friend Kate and her wife were my angels. Kate and her wife drove the thirty or so miles from their house to DSI to shuttle my car from the hospital to my motel. I really appreciated that.

Kate’s wife drove me everywhere I needed to go to get supplies like pads and hand sanitizer and mineral oil. She also was a great companion. She let me babble on about my post-surgical condition and was most accommodating of my delicate state. She is a kind and wonderful lady. Kate is very lucky.

Soon my time in Doylestown came to an end. And with a certain sadness I said good-bye to my friends. This trip wasn’t supposed to be a vacation, but I really did enjoy myself.

My procedure was a success I had a wonderful time with some wonderful newfound friends. I’m still debating on whether or not to return, probably in the later part of the year, for a labiaplasty. But if I do, part of the reason will be to see my friends again!

The trip home was uneventful but tedious, and a bit uncomfortable. On the actual flight, I was seated in the window seat. Then there were two people seated next to me who could not get out of their seat without assistance. There was no way I was able to go to the bathroom for the entire flight. I’m glad that it wasn’t a flight from Thailand!

When I got home, I had a terrible headache and was exhausted beyond words. I just dragged my luggage into my bedroom, took a shower and fell into bed. I slept for eighteen hours.

Since then I’ve been making a good recovery both in physical well being and my surgical sight. My depth is all I wanted it to be and sensation is returning. Though it will probably take a couple of months or more to get full sensation back. I have been experiencing some interesting sexual sensations during my dilation as I heal. I will probably be fully “functional” in time. Of course that is important to me, but not why I started down this path.

I’m sorry that this post took so long to write. Between my natural procrastination, my lack of stamina getting back into the swing of things at work, I had little time to get this written down.

I tried not to be too graphic in my description of the procedure or my post-surgical “exercises”. But if anyone wants a more detailed description of what happed or has any question, feel free to drop my a line.

-Sandy (proud girl number 5!)

My GCS Procedure, Part 1

2008-04-08T09:25:00.000-07:00

My GCS Procedure, Part 1

Well I've pretty much put my thoughts together from the trip and the operation, so here goes.

As you may recall, my plans called for me to stay for a couple of days in the Extended Stay hotel which was just a couple of blocks from the hospital.

I had opted to go to DSI which stands for Diversified Specialties Institute. It is a private hospital and from what I could tell specialized primarily in women's issues. Given that there was no price difference, I opted for DSI over Doylestown Hospital. Doylestown hospital is a community hospital and as such my elective surgery could be bumped or postponed by an emergency operation. There was much less chance of that at DSI.

On my last night at the first hotel, I prepped myself for surgery. This consisted of magnesium citrate cocktail in the evening followed by a fleet chaser in the morning.

Between excursions to the bathroom, I repacked my travel bag for the stay at the hospital. I wasn't sure how active I would be so I packed some pajamas and nighties as well as some underwear. I put the rest of the clothes into my big suitcase which would be in the car while I was in the hospital.

As is normal I was to be NPO after midnight, but I was also restricted to a liquid diet for most of the day.

By time the magnesium citrate got done with me I was exhausted anyway and pretty much just fell into bed. It wasn't much after midnight when I fell asleep. I woke up about 05:00 to do the fleet thing and then had to report to the hospital by 06:30.

I checked out of the hotel and put my big suitcase in the car and put my travel bag next to me. I drove the couple of blocks to the hospital. It took me two tries to figure out where I was to check in. The main entrance was still locked, and it wasn't clear that I was to check in at the side ambulance entrance.

I parked the car and went in to the side entrance and was greeted warmly by the attendant on duty. I have to say that the entire staff at DSI was incredibly nice and compassionate.

I was quickly checked in and soon a nurse came to escort me to the changing area.

As I was escorted to the prep area, the nurse asked if I needed to use the washroom. I said yes and she pointed to a one seat toilet.

As I sat down to relieve myself, I realized that that was the last time I would ever IN MY LIFE(!) have to urinate with a hose! The thought was a revelation.

After I finished, I stood and I looked down at my withered penis and felt my empty scrotum for the very last time. I knew that I would never see it like that again. I smiled wistfully, tucked for the very last time, pulled my panties into place, pulled up my pants, washed my hands, and left the toilet.

The nurse showed me to a curtained off area, then gave me a gown and closed the drapes for me to change.

I changed then got on the gurney and covered myself with a sheet.

Through out this whole process my mind is going around and around; "This is it! This is REALLY happening!"

I was calm and excited at the same time. I had no second thoughts or regrets. This last step was finally immanent and I was ready.

I guess it's part of the confirmation of being a transsexual. To have your genitalia radically resected and to be permanently rendered sterile is not only not worrying but comforting.

Over the next hour or so a number of nurses came in and preped me for surgery. I had a heploc IV put in and another set of blood tests taken. We could not proceed with the surgery until the test results were returned even though I had a complete set of blood test done just a few days before coming to the hospital. I found out later that it was a hospital procedure to have their own tests performed.

A little while later, the doctor of anesthesia came in and reviewed my status and talked about what was to go on.

Dr. McGinn came in a little while later and we spoke briefly. She said she would see me soon.

The anesthesiologist gave me a shot and said "This is a shot to relax you and get you ready for the surgey."

I knew what that meant. I kept repeating to myself "Remember! Remember!" I didn't want to just fall asleep in the changing area. A nurse came and wheeled me down the hall. I was starting to feel a little woozy. I was wheeled into the operating room. I saw the lamps and operating table where I would be spending the next five hours or so. There were people setting things up for the procedure

Then...

***LIGHTS OUT***

Hey lookit wot I found!!!

2008-04-01T22:11:00.000-07:00

Hey lookit wot I found!!!

While pawing through old pictures, my daughters found a number of pictures from their childhood.

Among them was a picture I thought was long lost. It is below.

It is from circa 1985 on the crossdressers favorite holiday, Halloween.

My spouse, piglet, and I had been invited to a costume party at a friends house. We had been instructed to have outfits that were from a theme or had something in common.

While discussing what we could do, piglet said: "You could go as a girl..."

She had known of my crossdressing since before we were married and didn't have a problem with it. So this was right up my alley.

The party was on Saturday night, so my preparation began on Friday night.

The first thing to go was my goatee which I had worn for about fifteen years. That was the most difficult part. It was part of my masculine masquerade so parting with it was a bit of turmoil for me, but being able to be out dressed as a woman was more than enough motivation.

My skin underneath the beard was very sensitive because it hadn't been shaved. I had a bit of razor burn as a result.

Also that night, piglet put my hair up in curlers to prepare it for the styling on the next day. That was my first experience with sleeping in curlers. Actually I haven't done it since. I hope I don't have a reason to do it again. Think of sleeping on a porcupine and you'll get the idea.

Saturday, the curlers came out and my hair was styled in the afternoon. A friend of ours from down the street came and helped with my makeup.

After that I put on some pantyhose, a girdle, and a bra stuffed with my wifes stockings. She thought stockings would be better than balloons since balloons can be popped by Halloween revelers at the party.

Next came the mini skirt and the crop top. Because my feet were too large I ended up wearing a pair of my sneakers which kind of made a fashion statement.

Piglet butched up her hair and put on a jean outfit.

We were ready. Sean Penn and Madonna. Well, kind of, if you closed one eye and squinted real hard...

She handed me my jacket and opened the door to the outside for me. I froze. "You mean out there?"

Realize this was the very first time I had ever gone out dressed as a female. Everything else I had done was in the confines of the house.

I took a deep breath and stepped outside.

As a dry run, piglet thought it would be a good idea to go visiting before we headed out to the party. oh boy.

Our first stop was a friends house. I went up and knocked on the door while piglet stayed in the shadows.

My fiends wife, Pat, answered the door and stared at me uncomprehendingly.

"Can I help you?"

"Pat! It's me." I used my male voice because I had no knowledge at that time of how to feminize my voice.

All of a sudden the light dawned on her face. She was incredulous. She brought us into the house and announced to my friend that he had a visitor. My friend did not recognize me either until I spoke.

We sat and chatted for a bit and Pat said that the first thing to go through her mind when she answered the door was; "What does this ugly woman want!?"

Ugly or not, the fact that I passed as female struck a chord in me that would later get much more intense.

Our next stop was my parents house.

My father and mother also didn't recognize me until I spoke. For the rest of the evening my father referred to me as his second daughter. Something I sometimes wish could have really come true. Both my mother and my father passed before I came out. And I feel that if I had really come out to them while they were alive, I don't think it would have been as readily accepted as my Halloween prank.

When we got to the party, nobody recognized me at first. Again it was my voice that gave me away.

Interestingly, through out the night, people spoke and treated me in a mostly feminine way. I also responded as a female. Or at least how I thought a female should respond.

I even gave a little squeak when my skirt was flipped up from behind by a fellow with a sabre.

While I found the experience quite exhilarating, while dressed like that, I felt *normal*. No turn on, no erotic feelings. I just felt like how I should be dressed all the time.

Those thoughts and feelings too would return to me over and over again through the coming decades.

It took about two months for my goatee to grow back. I was glad to get it back. After all I couldn't let anyone know I was anything but masculine, could I?

What a long strange trip it's been!

-Sandy

Home again, home again...

2008-03-31T09:30:00.000-07:00

Home again, home again...

Actually I returned home last Thursday.

The trip home was mostly uneventful with the exception of my actual flight. I was seated in the window seat. Then there were two people seated next to me who had to be assisted to their seat by the stews. It was pretty obvious that I wasn't about to be able to get to the lav for the length of the flight!

I only had one small cup of juice on the flight. I tried to sleep as much as possible.

Wrangling my luggage in the airports was harder than when I left for Philly because I was much more exhausted from the surgery.

My daughter met me at O'hare and drove me home. My granddaughter was asleep in her carseat and didn't wake up until we got home, but she was such a sight for sore eyes.

When we got home, I just wrestled my luggage to my bedroom and collapsed. By time I got undressed, I had a killer headache. I slept for about eighteen hours straight. And by time I woke up the headache was mostly gone, but I was still weak.

Just a note, ladies. Any major surgery is very debilitating to your system. Your body's stamina is virtually non-existent. So the twelve hours or so I spent packing and getting ready for my flight home, the flight itself and the trip back to the house wore me out completely. My brain was writing checks my body couldn't cash. So if and when you have any major surgery, just be sure to take things very easily.

Even today, I went out to do a couple of things and I was only out for about two hours. By time I got back, I ended up sleeping most of the afternoon.

One more thing. I have very little discomfort from the surgery and everything is working as planned. Dr Christine is pleased with the way I am healing. I am still quite sore, though, and my big orange donut is my constant companion.

I'm getting stronger though slowly so I'll start making more posts about my trip.

My passage through my transition is now complete and my life awaits. I am newborn.

Dr Christine asked me how I was feeling and I said:
"Never have I felt as free, never has the light been as bright, and never has the air smelled as sweet."

-Sandy

Hi from Doyestown!!!

2008-03-20T09:29:00.000-07:00

Hi from Doyestown!!!

Ladies!

I am getting my strength back so I'll be able to post more soon.

My procedure went very well and the doctor says I'm doing better than ninety per cent of her patients.

I'm feeling great and no real pain to speak of.

I have so much to tell you about my time here! I'm still organizing my thoughts, but it has been wonderful!

Some of the things I'll be talking about later are;
the hospital stay
the procedure
hospital angels
and
a super secret surprise!

Anyway, ladies, I am tired right now and will rest, but will be posting more soon!

-Sandy(Live From Doyestown!)

Hi from PA!!!

2008-03-11T09:28:00.000-07:00

Hi from PA!!!

Just a quick note, all.

I touched down in Philly this morning and I am now in my hotel. I can see the hospital where I'll be going from my window.

I have my consult with Dr. McGinn tomorrow, just after Kate has hers. There's some talk of all of us going out to lunch afterwards. That would be great!

Then I get sequestered to my room to "prepare" for the big day on Thursday. Something about being NPO after midnight is the easiest part. Those of you who have had surgery "south of the boarder" know about having to be er... clean. 'nuff said.

All my fears of going through airport security were just boogymen in my mind. I did set off the alarms as I thought I would, but I was quickly wanded down and sent on my way. It was the first time I had been patted down since I transitioned. I will say that being wanded and patted down by women is much more accommodating and understanding of my personal space than when I would get patted down as a guy.

Anyway, I breezed through security and had to wait for about two hours before my flight took off. But when my butt hit the seat, all the stress drained from my body and I fell asleep and didn't wake up until after we were in the air.

I guess I had more fear about that than anything else.

Well that part is over.

I'll post more as I get closer, than after my surgery, as I am able.

Thank you all for being there for me. It really helped me cope!

-Sandy(sleepy)

I will not trade one lie for another, but...

2008-03-07T22:16:00.000-08:00

I will not trade one lie for another, but...

This is a first for me. And in the grand scheme of things not a big deal, but does make me wonder about which way to go.

A few weeks back I happened to strike up a conversation with a very nice lady on our shuttle bus. She was very friendly and passing the boring time on the bus with a conversation is nice. She also takes her train from the same depot I use so we walk from where the bus lets us off to the terminal. It's about a ten minute walk and we both remarked about being able to get some exercise was a good thing. She is a tall woman, nearly as tall as I am, so we both can walk very quickly. It's fun to have someone to pace your stride with.

Since this is my last week at work before heading out, I've been debating what to say to her about me being gone for several weeks.

What makes this difficult for me is that she is a recent employee here and has not heard about my transition. To me, I am just another woman in the workforce. And the possibility I may soon out myself to her is a first for me. All of my other outings have always revolved about me as a former male and moving on to female. With her, I may have to tell her I used to be male. She has no clue.

Well I started the conversation by telling her that I would be gone for a while in surgery. She asked if everything was all right. I told her that everything was fine.

After a few more minutes she asked what all I was going in for.

"Oh, just having some plumbing work done..."

"Been there done that!" she replied.

Not a lie, but not the truth...

"Which hospital are you going to?"

"I have to fly out to Philadelphia to see a specialist"

Still not lying, but not being truthful either.

"Well I hope everthing goes OK! Send me a note when you get back and I'll visit you since you live near me anyway."

"Thanks! I would love that!"

My first truthful statement.

I didn't give up the lie of masculinity just to hide behind my femininity. I feel that I need to be truthful with her, but it is just not one of those things you can just slide in the conversation. "Hi! How's your day been. Oh did I tell you I used to be a male?" In a casual context it is not necessary to tell everyone you meet who you are and really it is none of their business, but when a new friendship is at stake, I really don't feel right not being forth coming.

But maybe she doesn't want to know, so if I tell her it becomes Too Much Information.

But if I don't tell her and she finds out (a real possibility), she may be offended that I didn't trust her enough to tell her about myself.

I'm just a bit confused here, ladies. If anyone has had a similar thing happen to them, how did you handle it?

Thanks.

-Sandy

What a nice send off!

2008-03-07T09:31:00.000-08:00

What a nice send off!

Today is my last day at work and one of my groupmates joined us for lunch. It was unusual for him to join us, usually he goes and does exercises. I figured that he wanted to visit with me before I head out.

Well, during lunch, he presented me with a wonderful card signed by the people in the office. I was so touched! Yeah, try as I might, I couldn't keep the waterworks from turning on...

I will put the card by my bedside when I am in the hospital. I'm still smiling!

-Sandy

Overcoming the last hurdle

2008-03-06T09:44:00.000-08:00

Overcoming the last hurdle

As many of you may know, one of the things that told me I was on the right path with my transsexuality was that the insurance company would pay for my SRS. This is such an unusual position for an insurance company to make, I knew it must be fate.

I had verified this several times and with multiple people at the insurance company. The only real hitch was that since my surgeon was out of network, I would have to pay for the operation up front then be reimbursed for the procedure. Ok, no *big* deal, just arrange for a short term loan and then pay it off when the reimbursement check comes in.

Well after some scrambling, and finding out that it’s easier to borrow $5k than it is to borrow $16K, I ended up with a loan from one of the national credit card companies who arranged a line of credit for me. It’s a fixed term loan with an interest rate that is just a couple of points away from loan shark. Again, no real problem since all that would go away in just a few months anyway.

So I arranged for the operation and made the first few payments on the loan. It put a big dent in my disposable income, but I am one to keep my eye on the prize. Completing my transition is uppermost in my mind and felt this was a short term pain.

Now the insurance company put just three conditions on paying for my procedure. And they are:

1. Get a referral from the Primary Care Physician.
2. Have the referral approved by the medical group.
3. It must not be cosmetic surgery.

That seemed simple enough.

My PCP has been with me from the start of my process and had already agreed to write the referral, and the medical group is the main medical group for the LGBT community so I didn’t think that they would object, and, of course, having GRS is not cosmetic. It’s a medical necessity as listed in the DSM-IV for those patients diagnosed with GID.

Well, a few weeks ago I asked the doctor to start the process for the referral. He told me he would get right on it.

A few days later, I received a phone call from the clinic saying my referral had been denied!

I asked why, and the person at the clinic said that they didn’t know other than it was marked as “Not a Supported Benefit”.

I spent the next half of a day calling back and forth between the insurance company, the medical group, and the clinic to find out what went on.

What I found out was very enlightening. The referral was denied because cosmetic procedures are not allowed! As it turns out, the referral has to be written using the insurance company’s automated referral system. The automated referral system will only allow GRS to be entered as a cosmetic procedure!

Catch-22! You can't have a cosmetic procedure but the procedure can only be entered as cosmetic! This deceitful practice gave me a false sense of hope. And according to everyone in the loop none of it was their fault. No one was responsible for setting up the referral system that way, and no one could be found to find out why it was that way. Had I known that they would play these kind of games with my happiness and health I would have come up with alternative plans.

When I asked what recourse I had, the insurance company said that I could self pay… Thanks.

I asked what other options I had. They said that there was an appeals process. I could submit my reasons for opposing their denial and provide as much documentation as possible and they would consider a response. But I had only sixty days to file an appeal and they would respond within thirty days.

As you might expect, I was devastated! The loan I was expecting to pay off was now looking like a constant companion for the next eighty-four months!

I wasn’t going to let it get me down. At the minimum, none of these Machiavellian mind games would prevent me from having my GRS! Everything was already paid for. And since I had sixty days to respond, I wasn’t going to worry about it until I got back from Doylestown. I decided to sit back and enjoy the ride. I wasn’t going to let my frame of mind be twisted out of the near bliss I was feeling as I got closer to my surgery date.

I did, however start composing my appeal in my head and I contacted my therapists and doctors about the turn of events and asked them for a letter explaining why this surgery was not cosmetic. All of my “gender team” were very sympathetic and determined to do the very best they could for me.

I figured that once the letters came in I’d send the appeal through and worry about any other issues when I got back.

Certainly I was concerned, but I wasn’t going to let it stop me.

A few days after that, I started receiving letters. Two were not in my hand, however. One of my therapists insisted that they would send the letter directly to the appeals board. So I sent the information on where to send it, and I guess it was sent. My PCP happened to be on vacation and said that they would have it ready by time they returned from vacation.

Then a few days ago I got another phone call from the clinic. My denial had been rescinded!

Naturally I was over the moon with happiness! There was no explanation other than the denial had been changed to approved and was approved by the medical director.

I had not sent in my appeal yet so I was curious as to why the reversal came through. I initially surmised that my therapist had convinced them to change their minds based solely upon her appeal! If that was the case I was mightily impressed!

The next day however, I was scheduled to have my final blood tests done at the clinic. When I got there, I happened to run into my doctor. We hugged and I asked if he had heard about my appeal. He said no. I told him that his nurse had told me, so he should have checked with him. I told him what the nurse had told me and a smile lit his face.

What my doctor said was that he had contacted the insurance representative directly and he spent over an hour discussing my case with her. He explained why it was a medical necessity for me to have this procedure. He also submitted over THREE HUNDRED PAGES OF DOCUMENTATION in support of his position! In the eyes of the insurance company, unless a procedure will directly save a life, it is considered “cosmetic”. This of course is not the way the medical community sees things.

I am seriously indebted to my doctor. He went way beyond the extra mile for me. And because of his effort my last hurdle has been overcome.

-Sandy(enjoying the ride)

"Who is that?" she asked...

2008-02-27T08:48:00.000-08:00

The other day I was playing with my granddaughter. She'll turn three while I'm away. She is very smart, even if you accept that I am such a doting grandmother.

Anyway, at one point she looked up at the mantle over the fireplace and pointed to the picture frame I have there. She asked to see the pictures. I brought it down and we looked at them.

The frame was one of those multiple picture type frames and I have it filled with pictures of her when she was smaller.

One of the pictures was taken at the hospital when she was just a few hours old. Her mom and dad were posed together holding the new arrival.
I pointed to each of the people and asked her who they were. She got her mom and dad right, but she didn't recognize herself. I told her that the tiny baby in the blanket was her when she was very small.

She looked at it for a second and said "OK." And that was all, she accepted what I said and went on.

We looked at other pictures that had her and other people in it, like my ex spouse. She picked up on them just as quickly and also knew who she was in the picture.

Then she pointed to another picture and asked "Who's that?"

I took a deep breath and said "That's grandma Sandy when she was a boy and had a beard."

She looked at it for a second and said "OK." And that was all, she accepted what I said and went on.

I know that I'll have to go into more detail someday, but for now, she is tabular rasa and accepting of the world as it is with no preconcieved notions. And if we're lucky she and hopefully others of her generation will learn the same lesson and simply say: "OK." And move on.

-Sandy

I got my Baby Back!

2008-02-26T10:53:00.000-08:00

Last night, the nice people from the body shop dropped off my car and took away the PT Cruiser otherwise known as emphasima with wheels.

I must have used half a bottle of fabreeze in that rental and it still reeked of cigarettes. Yuck!

Anyway that car is gone, and my baby was back in my driveway. Of course the bumper looked brand new, that was probably because it was.

I could hardly wait to drive it this morning. And when I got up I found 3 inches of snow over sleet. So instead of getting to the train station quickly, I took it much slower, and so did most of the other drivers. So much so that I missed my early train. But my car is now sitting in the parking lot with no dings or bruises.

-Sandy

Owww! My new baby!!!!

2008-02-24T21:53:00.000-08:00

Last week I decided to drive into work. I had a need to go to my clinic after work so I was going to drive in and then head for the clinic after that.

That particular day there had been a warm drizzle followed by a hard freeze.

I hadn't realized this when I headed out. I went to the gas station before I headed to the express way. As I was headed toward the expressway, the car's annunciator panel lit up saying "POSSIBLE ICE" then "LOW TRACTION" then the little icon light for the posi-track came on.

This is not good, I thought. It was much worse than that. It was the blackest of black ice I had ever seen! I came up to a stop light and I started slowing down about two blocks before the light. I was only going about 25-30 mph and I thought I had it all under control. No I didn't.

At about a block from the light, I started to apply the brakes. I felt the ABS kick in pushing back against the pedal. I was in horizontal free-fall! Nothing was slowing me down accept wind resistance and prayer.

There was only one car ahead of me at the light. She was stopped. I was slowing down but not enough. By the time I came up to the light, I had slowed to less than five mph. I tapped her bumper. Well at least THAT stopped me!

I got out of the car to examine the damage. As I did, I almost fell on my butt! It was like a skating rink! I felt that I could have pushed the car sideways if I wanted to! Well at least the car was telling the truth! There was definite ice!

The lady whose car I hit was driving a big SUV and so I didn't even knock the snow off her bumper. She got out and we checked her car and it was fine. She looked at my car and said I had some damage. I turned around and I think I squeaked! There was a HOLE shattered in my babies bumper!!!! I had hit the lady's hitch adapter and it had poked a hole in my baby!

I was a bit surprised by that. After all the impact was less than five mph, the bumper should have absorbed the impact. The only thing I can figure is that the temperature was almost zero and I think the plastic in the bumper got very brittle.

*sigh* *whimper*

I exchanged information with the lady, but she said that there didn't look to be any damage to her car.

I proceeded to get on the expressway intending to still get to work. As I got on the expressway, I saw a jackknifed truck in the opposite lane. I also saw two or three spun out cars on the side of the road. Then the car in front of me spun out. All this in less than a mile of getting on the expressway. I never got above twenty mph! About that time, I decided that it would be a great day to work from home!

I got off the expressway as soon as I could and headed back home.

I called the insurance people and they offered to send out a truck to pick up the car and take it to the body shop. I agreed. They also offered me a rental car while mine was in the shop. I said yes to that as well.

So a couple of hours later, the truck comes to my house with the rental car. He drops off the rental then I pull my car out of the driveway so he can load it up on the truck. My poor baby! It looked so forlorn sitting on the truck waiting to go see the car doctor.

To put the topper on the day as a whole, the rental car they dropped off was a PT Cruiser. The same type of car I had traded in no more than a week before! What makes it worse is that the previous renters of that car smoked in it! It reeks! I nearly gag every time I get into the stupid thing!

I can't wait for my baby to get back to me...

-Sandy

My new baby...

2008-02-24T21:41:00.000-08:00

I was visiting piglet a couple of weeks ago in Indy and she now works for a Saturn dealer there.

I hat remarked that I was getting tired of driving the PT Cruiser I had and she suggested I take a look at Saturn's selection.

Well, to make a long story short (I know, I've never really done that, have I?), I drove down in the Cruiser but I drove back in a 2008 Saturn Aura. nice... Very nice!

She is a grayish blue color called ocean mist. I wanted RED but they were out of stock... darn! But ocean mist is a nice color for her...

She is sleek and smooth and ready to rock! She has get up and go and always seems to be "straining at the bit" to kick in the afterburners! A few days after I got her, I passed 100MPH for the first time in many, many years. And she still had plenty of pedal left! OOOooohhhh! Fast women in fast cars!

I don't drive recklessly but having the ability to get up to speed quickly is really sweet!

-Sandy(I'm NOT a lead foot! well...)

Catching up...

2008-02-24T21:26:00.000-08:00

Ok, it's been quite a while since I posted anything, though not because I didn't want to. I've just been very preoccupied.

Coming up in just a couple of weeks is my final operation and I am getting very anxious right about now. Not for any particular reason, just a free floating anxiety. I haven't flown since before 9/11 and I really don't know what to expect. I've heard all sorts of horror stories about being randomly selected for a background check.

I'm not worried about my documentation, about the only piece of documentation that still lists me as male is my birth certificate. My drivers license and my Social Security records all list me as female so I am not particularly worried about that.

Jeez, all this bull and presumption of guilt just to get on a damn plane. I'd rather drive there. Driving there is not the problem. Driving *back* would be incredibly difficult since I'd have to stop three or four times a day to dilate. And I'd be sitting on a donut as well. And be pretty uncomfortable to boot! No, I'll brave the nightmare of preflight security checks and a guaranteed call out by our Patriot Act brown shirts er TSA officers to grope me because I have three pounds of stainless steel in my shoulder. I'm so glad the the government is of the people, by the people, and for the people. It's just that some people are more equal than others...

I'm not worried about the operation. Hell I've spent decades, literally, waiting for this moment. I researched and prepared for years. I've watched so many videos of various doctors performing the gender reassignment surgery that I probably call out which instruments the doctor was using at any particular time. No, once I check into the hospital, I'll probably bliss out until I wake up from the anesthesia.

Anyway, I'm just a little high strung right now. And getting more so as it gets closer to my flight out of here. Also I keep gaining weight when I want to be going in the opposite direction. Stress will either make you gain or lose weight. This time I'm gaining,. If I so much as smell anything sweet, I gain a pound. At least my boobs still stick out farther than my gut. I wish the fat was in my butt though, I'm still kind of flat back there.

A lot of my nervousness also has to do with trying to make sure I've got everything covered before I leave. My travel and lodging arrangements are complete, most of my pre-surgical tests are done and I just have to get my blood work done about March 3rd or so. The Dr. wants the blood work to be no older than two weeks prior to surgery.

Now I have to start thinking of packing. Since I'll be spending a lot of time "exercising", comfort and ease of removal is the fashion tip of the week. So track suits and sweat pants will be my major clothing items. then the standard other things, like shoes, cosmetics and skin care. I'm not sure what sort of consumables I should take, like pads and lube. The doctor said she had some pointers, but I haven't heard back from her yet. Besides, I never start packing until the last minute anyway.

I actually had a point in mind when I started this post and I wandered everywhere accept to the point.

The point was that I haven't posted in a while because I haven't been able to keep a thought in my head long enough to sit down and compose a post!

-Sandy(woman, thy name is DITZ!)

I can never pass...

2008-02-15T21:25:00.000-08:00

I can never pass...

It struck me the other day that somewhere along the way, I crossed some sort of barrier and I didn't realize it.

I can never pass as a guy again. No matter what I did, I will always look like a girl in guy clothes.

I could bind my chest, but I'd still have roundness under any tight fitting shirt.

I could put on a false mustache or beard but my softend face would still give me away.

My mannerisms have become quite comfortable for me since I came out. That would probably be the hardest thing to change. That's one of the reasons why I was picked on as a child is because of my feminine mannerisms.

My speech patterns have become distinctly feminine and I would have to think about everything I said to make sure it didn't come out too "girly".

Also I am so used to raising the pitch of my voice, and speaking in a more pinched tone that I would be very consious of keeping my voice low and making sure it didn't start to rise.

Then there are the clothes... I literally don't have a thing to wear! REALLY! I gave away all my guy clothes months ago.

About the only thing left that could be used to help me pass as a guy would be my bone structure but even then I see women on the street all the time that are big boned or large stature.

Like I said I could never pass. And why would I ever want to?!

-Sandy

Time marches on...

2008-02-11T21:26:00.000-08:00

Time marches on...

In just over a month, I make my trek to Doylestown for my GRS. All my travel and lodging arrangements have been made, most of my medical tests are done and shipped to Dr. Christine. I'll complete my medical tests early in March since the results have to be no older than two weeks. My genital electrolysis is complete with a touch up scheduled for the end of the month.

It's just a matter of time and watching the clock.

Unlike my FFS/BA which was like an unending wait for "Christmas", this seems much different. If I could put it into some sort of context, I just want it done and behind me. I think women who are pregnant may have the same feeling. Being pregnant can be really tedious and the process of childbirth can be REALLY uncomfortable, but the blessed result is worth all the wait.

I think that's where I'm at right now. I am not so much looking forward to the operation, so much as I am really anxious to have all this behind me. Most of my life has completed it's transition and this is the last piece of the puzzle. I'm not necessarily looking forward to seeing my newly formed genitalia for the first time as I just want it all to be over so I can complete my transition and no longer feel like I am half and half.

I know I'll be taking on a new habit that will be with me for the rest of my life (dilation) and that intercourse will be on a spectrum from numb to mind blowing with a small but measurable chance that I may never have sensation there at all. All of us that walk this path have to realize that. And I think that to most of us, that wasn't the reason we got on this roller coaster. To us, being a woman is so much more, so many things, that simply having a (neo)-vagina doesn't come close to making us feel complete as women, but not having one is like a puzzle with a piece missing (or if you want to be a bit crass a puzzle with a piece that sticks out).

"Like sand through an hourglass, these are the Days of Our Lives." (So-Crates from "Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure")

-Sandy

They've moved in...

2008-02-11T20:13:00.000-08:00

It's been a few weeks and I haven't been posting simply because I've been fighting a rather recalcitrant computer with less that acceptable results. Best two falls out of three... Actually, the computer may win the occasional battle, I *always* win the war!

Anyway, a few weeks ago Jen, Bill and Kara moved in with me. The details are as interesting as they are tedious. I won't go into them simply because some of the details are so fantastic as to defy logic. Most are so tedious as to induce coma. Anyway, they no longer reside in a dank basement and now have more appropriate accommodations here at the transition house.

It just struck me that every human in this place are in some form of transition. I am in transition from male to female, Jen et al, are in transition from a dank basement to eventually having an apartment of their own, and my friend downstairs is in transition to a better life.

How interesting.

-Sandy

Reverend Brown

2008-02-06T21:27:00.000-08:00

Reverend Brown

Piglet has been in communication with one of our mutual acquaintances who I’ll refer to as Reverend Brown.

In bringing him up to date on why she is in Indianapolis and why we are no longer married, he replied that he was happy that everything seemed to be working out and that he was glad I had found my path. “Though of course, I could never condone it.”

Now I’m not going to get all snarky on Reverend Brown like I did on “Rev” Felps. I have worked with this man on many occasions on stage and I know that he has love in his heart and follows his calling. He is a man of great humility and wonderful humor. Also his family is loving and caring. So I know that he truly is happy for me. So we’ll leave the snarkies out of this.

It did make me wonder though. Where does one draw the line between a valid medical condition and a sinful betrayal of God?

Let’s say diabetes. A condition by the way that Reverend Brown must deal with. Of course no one, except a rabid Christian Scientist, would even think of saying that this isn’t a valid medical condition and must be treated.

Well, how about a broken limb? Actually in many cases if nothing is done the limb will heal on its own. Though of course it may heal a little bent. But again no one would hesitate in recommending that it be treated medically.

Let’s leave the physical and go into mental issues. If a person has clinical depression, again, no one would argue for a minute that the best recourse was to seek medical support. Whether that support was drug related or had some sort of surgical intervention would not be questioned.

So what is the bugaboo about gender?

I have not spoken to Reverend Brown since I came out so I have not been able to question him directly about this.

I can speculate that if you say that “God does not make mistakes”, then dealing with medical issues in a medical way does not question faith but perhaps allows the person to become *more* faithful through the fulfillment of medical intervention by relieving them of the propblem they had.

And that if a person has been given a particular internal burden such as transsexuality, and then if they succumb to the inner drive to become true to themselves then are they giving in to sin since they did not use faith and prayer to put those sinful thoughts out of their mind?

Could it not also be that if “God doesn’t make mistakes” and a person follows their heart and becomes true to themselves, couldn’t they also be following a path of faith?

Only Goddess knows…

If anyone has any opinions about this please let me know, for I am truly curious.

-Sandy

How to tell if you are transsexual...

2008-01-13T21:29:00.000-08:00

How to tell if you are transsexual...

I'm also sure that the answer has occurred to anyone who has spent any time with an electrologist!

I'm proceeding on with my facial clearing and I am having regular sessions with my electrologist. Fortunately I'm blessed with little facial hair so the amount of time I'll spend getting my face cleared is not all that great. Something on the order of 10 to 20 hours, which is much less than other girls in a similar position.

But still as I lay on the table this last week, and have each hair zapped and the resultant sting that goes with it, and there will be literally thousands of those stings, I realized that no one would do this for *fun*! Also this is not vanity. At least not from the standpoint of wanting to make myself more beautiful. It is to help re-enforce my image as a woman.

There are others who have asked "How can I tell?" as they embark on their journey. All I can say is that if you are willing, and in many cases eager, to put yourself through the discomfort that comes with feminizing your body, then you are trans.

Spend an hour in the chair sometime, and if you not only can endure it but want to come back for more, then you are a transsexual.

I don't know if there are similar issues with FTM transsexuals. Can any of you guys tell us what there might be on your road that might help give an idea as to how to tell?

-Sandy

I shoulda stayed in bed!

2008-01-08T22:29:00.000-08:00

While not the day from hell, it certainly was the day from heck!

It started last night. My two daughters and my granddaughter met me at the train station. They had spent the day at the aquarium and wanted a lift home. It was one of those January thaws and the temperature was a balmy 62 degrees. There was some spitting of rain but nothing severe.

Well, by time we got to our stop, all that had changed. It was a monsoon! Heavy rain, lightning, thunder and high winds.

In the time it took to get downstairs from the platform I was drenched. My hair was soaked and dripping down my back and my hose was soaked too. I really should know better than to wear a skirt when there is a threat of rain. But it was such a nice day *up to then*!

I took the kids to dinner and then home. By time I got back I was still sodden and everything was sticking to me. I had a right fine chill and immediately changed and went to bed early. All the while the rain never let up.

This morning, it was still raining when I got up and looked like it would continue throughout the day.

I debated about driving in since I had a root canal to go to today and I thought I could go straight from the office to the clinic. Then I thought better of it. I was sure the rain would foul up traffic horrendously and I would spend a tedious amount of time on the road.

The trains are very reliable and rain rarely is any problem for them.

Well I drive to the train station and trot to the platform dodging the puddles that should now be fitted with diving boards and scurry under the nearly flooded bridge which the occasional fool thinks it's fun to splash the pedestrians. I hope there is karma to be paid for that stunt.

I get on the early train hoping to get in early so I can leave early for my dentist appointment. Well that isn't to be. About halfway downtown, the train stops. We find out that the power to the train was dropped because the train behind us *caught fire*! They dropped power so they could evacuate the passengers and put out the fire.

Now I've been riding the Metra Electric for over twenty years and I can there have only been a few times where the trains were over fifteen minutes late. And NEVER have any of the reasons been due to a fire!

We sat there for almost an hour! By the time we go moving again, I was sure I would have missed all the shuttle buses that pick up from the train stations. So I decided to go directly to the main bank building and catch the shuttle from there. They arrive every fifteen minutes and run throughout the day.

Except today. The shuttle is actually more like forty five minutes late as the traffic downtown is at a standstill from all the rain. That is something I'll never understand. Why traffic moves slower the longer it rains. When it snows, that is understandable, but rain?

So now instead of getting in about half an hour early, I'm actually almost two hours late! I am not a happy camper by that time at all!

And I still had my root canal to go to!

Whenever I have one of *those* days, I try not to do too much because I have the everything-I-touch-magically-turns-to-crap talent turned on.

I get through the day more or less uneventfully and get to the dentists office on time and fill out the paperwork for the procedure. The procedure goes uneventfully enough and I stupidly think to myself that maybe I'm getting out of the bad and into the not-so-bad.

Ha!

Just now I noticed that the temporary filling that the dentist put in had fallen out. I'll have to get in touch with my regular dentist to refill it! And it's starting to ache.

I shoulda stayed in bed!!!

-Sandy (maybe under the bed would be better!)

Such a wonderful Christmas Season gift!

2008-01-02T13:57:00.000-08:00

This past weekend, my sister and I, put on a kind of post-Chrstmas / pre-New Years party. We invited everyone in the family and friends and many of the folks made it.

During the course of the evening, my daughter leaned over to me and whispered in my ear that she was pregnant again! I'm going to be a grandmother again!

My eyes filled with tears of happiness as I hugged her to me. I was so suprised. She is due in August and I hope and pray that everything goes well.

I could have not asked for a more wonderful gift!

Of course my young granddaughter will still be doted on to extremes by me, but there is plenty of love in my heart for both of these wonderful lives!

-Sandy

An epiphany.

2007-12-31T14:21:00.000-08:00

I had an interesting experience at church this past Sunday.

As we are still in the Christmas season, the readings regarded the birth of Christ and also spoke about the pregnancy of Mary and also Elizabeth, the mother of John the baptist.

I've heard these stories many times over the years, but for the first time as they were being read, I was overcome with a sense of identification with the women in the readings. It's a little hard to explain, but I felt community(?), sisterly love(?), something, when listening to the reading regarding the pregnancy of Elizabeth. I could empathize with her feelings much closer than I ever have before. And too in the discussion of Mary's conception and pregnancy, I could feel an empathy I never had felt before.

Prior to my change I never really identified with anyone in the bible, male or female.

It's not like I can get pregnant or anything like that, but I felt more... feminine(?) than I have before.

Interesting, and in many ways, gratifying.

-Sandy

Christmas, a day of firsts…

2007-12-26T21:33:00.000-08:00

Christmas, a day of firsts…

This Christmas was a series of firsts for me.

It was the first Christmas in my new house.

It was the first Christmas for me as myself.

It was the first Christmas where my family gathered together in my new house.

All of these couldn’t or wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t transitioned, in fact if I hadn’t transitioned, I may have not been here to tell about it at all!

In many ways I feel so blessed.

-Sandy

Reurning to Church...

2007-12-26T14:00:00.000-08:00

Piglet had a chance to visit with some old friends of ours while she was up here for the divorce. They were people we knew from church. She set up the dinner after she had been contacted by them following her notification of her moving.

She had dinner with them and afterwards mentioned to me that they had started attending a new church and we were both invited to attend.

These ladies knew about me and the changes I had been through, but had not met me yet. They knew that piglet and I was divorced but wanted us to come to the church anyway.

I’ve been away from major religion for several years. My spirituality dwindled to almost nothing as I descended into the abyss of depression that occupied my life prior to my coming out to myself. I had found some solace in the Native American spirituality, but in no way could you call it an organized religion. It is a very personal thing. Something that I needed at the time, but one cannot be completely involved with spirituality in isolation. A person needs others to be in community with them (the saying “two or more of you are gathered in her name” is the key).

With my transition and change of locations, I really didn’t have time for attending a regular service. But now as my life recovers from my changes, and I start to pick up the pieces, things are starting to return to me. One of the pieces was my involvement with the Anglican Church. I find it interesting that just when I was reminiscing of my times at the church, a door opens for me allowing me to return.

This has happened time and again through my transition. When something was ready for me to take it on, a door would open for me to walk through.

Still I was a little nervous going to that first service. There were several families from the old church that we had attended there and they all had heard about me. As I walked into the undercroft to hang up my coat, piglet visited with some of the people we used to know. I did a quick dash into the restroom to freshen myself up and to get a bit of courage up to go and greet the people I used to know.

I shouldn’t have worried so much, or at all for that matter. I was warmly greeted by the couple of old acquaintances I knew and we all hugged like old friends meeting, which I guess we were. Very soon after that it was time for the service and we went upstairs. We all sat together. The pastor’s sermon talked about constants in change and much of it seemed to speak directly to me. As things change, our connection with Christ (spirit) remains constant.

Throughout the whole service I was overwhelmed with the feeling of having come home.
During the peace, which always struck me as the Anglican version of the seventh inning stretch, I was nearly moved to tears as my new and old friends greeted me.

After the service we returned to the undercroft for coffee hour. I was greeted by just about everyone there. Some of them knew about me most did not. But it didn’t matter, I was greeted warmly and sincerely. I sat with piglet and my friends from the old church. One of the people from the old days is now a Deacon and he asked if I was happy now. I told him I was ecstatically happy. He introduced me to the pastor and she was very happy to see me and wanted to make sure that I came back. I told her I would be.

I also attended the Christmas day service and again I felt that I had found something that I really needed and was missing from my life.

I have come home.

-Sandy

The Divorce

2007-12-26T13:54:00.000-08:00

Well that phase of my life is over.

A couple of weeks ago the stbew…

By way of explanation, I used the term stbew to refer to Soon To Be Ex Wife simply to save me typing. Also I do not like to use peoples names in any context without their specific permission. In conversation with my SO she has given permission to me to use her nickname, piglet.

So…

A couple of weeks ago piglet came up and we went to the to our divorce hearing. We had finally agreed to all points and also finally got both our lawyers to get to the court at the same time.

Our proceeding wasn’t all that eventful as we had already agreed to everything. It was mostly just a matter of signing papers and making statements before the judge. There was an interesting moment, however. During the proceeding, one of the questions asked of piglet was to the effect of feeling that there were irreconcilable differences and that there was no chance of us getting together again. Piglet looks over at me and says “No, I think not!” To which the lawyers and judges start to giggle.

Actually she had a couple of retorts come to mind but responded with the most conservative answer. The others were “Duh, ya think!” or my favorite “It’s more a case irreconcilable similarities!”The rest of the proceedings were pretty straight forward with only a minor hitch that was quickly resolved.

So that is it. The divorce is now final and I am now a single woman. To a great extent the court proceeding is anticlimactic. Much of the splitting up has already been done and we have been living apart for months. There are follow up issues to take care of such as insurance and the last financial arrangements. But that is it.

We are still friends and have no animosity toward each other, but we are now officially on separate paths.

-Sandy

My life and loving it!

2007-12-23T15:05:00.000-08:00

This has been a tumultuous year for me. But now it appears that my life may be less tumultuous going forward.

I am a woman with a transsexual condition, and I just started living full time in my true gender as of April of this year. My transition from male to female is all but complete. I have one more surgery left to complete my physical transition and I will be done. That surgery is scheduled for March of 2008. To the masses it is *the surgery*. But for me and other transsexuals like me, it is just the cherry on top of the hot fudge sundae. I won't say it is no big deal, because it really is. But I am much more fulfilled living as a woman full time. Society completely accepts me as a woman and I am absolutely ecstatic about that.

Once I have the Gender Reassignment Surgery, my position in society won't change by one iota. But internally I will know that I am complete, or at least as complete as modern science and surgery can make me. Every time I go to the 'loo or take a shower I'll know I am complete and that will make the smile on my face just a bit wider.

So what is the point of this blog?

I've posted my transition up to this point on www.susans.org, in the blog section called "Sandy's Transition". Catchy title, huh? Located there is the information that describes in tedious detail the major aspects of being a transsexual, living (or dying) as a transsexual, and those details that would be beneficial to other transsexuals. Don't look there, or here for that matter, for hot sexy shemale love or any crap like that. If that is your taste, then google is just chocked full of websites that will cater to your interests. Living my life as a transsexual has been devastating in many respects but a glorious blessing in other respects.

I posted at susans so that other transsexuals can find help and solace for dealing with their condition. But transitions are, by definition, temporary conditions. My transition is nearly complete and I only anticipate posting about my surgery.

But here, I will talk about my life, now. Not the life of a post-operative transsexual, but life of a woman in society. Just another gal in the workforce. And as such can be real boring to someone looking for information about pre-surgical life.

So here is my life now. I am happier than I have ever been in my life. Living a life that is filled with joy and beauty. I walk around with a smile on my face nearly all the time. I am proud of who I am which is something that I have never experienced before. So, yeah, I am a happy girl.

It wasn't easy getting here and I very nearly didn't live through it, but I did, and I am glad I did!

-Sandy (Silly, grinning, fool)

I wonder what it'll be like.

2007-12-18T21:34:00.000-08:00

I wonder what it'll be like.

My GRS early next year, will mark the end of my transition from male to female. There'll still be loose ends to take care of like finishing my facial electrolosis and getting the rest of my official records changed to my current name and gender. But other than that I'll be finished.

I was just wondering what it'll feel like not having a constant anticipation of the next step in my life's transition. Before I came out I always had this yearning to be female. Then I came out, and I had anticipation to start therapy and HRT. Then as I started therapy and HRT I had a growing anticipation of the feminizing effects that the hormones would cause in my body.

And so it went. Each step in my quest to become the female I knew I was and to become myself in society, lead to the next step and the anticipation of that goal.

Soon that will be over, and I was wondering what it would feel like to finally feel as normal as I can ever be. I'm already picking up parts of my life that have been on hold because of the transition, divorce and moving into a new house. Maybe that's all it'll be, just a normal life.

I really wonder what that will feel like.

Do any of you other men and women who have completed your transition (however you define it, pre/post/non op) have similar feelings?

-Sandy

So that's why...

2007-11-30T21:35:00.000-08:00

So *that's* why...

The other day I met with the therapist who would provide the second opinion of my transsexual diagnosis and send a letter to my surgeon.

The person I met with is a well known therapist and author who specializes in gender conditions.

I was a little nervous meeting her. After all, getting the second letter gives me a green light for me to proceed with my surgery and complete my transition. Many people have said that the HBSOC, now called WPATH, is too restrictive and presents more of a gatekeeper role to the transsexual seeking GRS.

I, personally, have not felt this to be the case. The therapists I have seen have acted more as partners and have been very compassionate in aiding me in my journey.

When I met with her, she was very quick to put me at ease. We spoke for about an hour, and for the most part it was more of an interview than a therapy session. The nature of the questions and discussion will remain private. But in no way did I ever get the impression that I was being interrogated or tested to see if I was transsexual enough or had attained some sort of qualification. It was a very relaxed session.

Near the end of the session, she asked me if I had any questions for her. I did in fact have some questions.

One of the questions I had regarded why GRS, which has virtually no impact on a persons gender status in society (nobody sees what's in your pants) has such a requisite qualification (WPATH), when facial surgery, which has a huge impact on a persons gender status in society (everybody sees your face), requires virtually no qualification other than an ability to pay.

As readers of my blog may remember, this is kind of a hot button for me and I was really curious why it was this way.

Her response was very enlightening.

As you may know, surgeons are under a strict ethical guideline to not remove healthy tissue. Additionally, I found out that there are also laws regarding this as well, referred to as mayhem laws. These put additional restrictions that, among other things, specifically state that healthy reproductive tissue cannot be removed unless there is an overriding medical necessity requiring their removal.

GID is considered a medical condition as listed in the DSM-IV, and the only known solution to address the condition is surgical intervention to change the transsexual’s gender to that of the opposite gender. Thus, it makes it a medical necessity to remove or change the healthy reproductive tissue. This also covers mastectomies and hysterectomies in FTM transsexuals.

The two letter protocol is considered due diligence from a legal point of view. Basically it protects the surgeon and hospital if they are sued as a result of a person receiving GRS and then regretting the decision. It also ensures the person seeking GRS receives adequate counseling and is able to properly set expectations as to what the surgery will do and how their life will be like following surgery.

The one letter protocol for HRT has a similar purpose. But since many of the effects of feminization or masculinization can be reversed if stopped in time, there is no need for a second opinion.

Additionally, it protects the transsexuals that follow us. For example if this due diligence was not performed, and a person turned around and successfully sued, you can expect that the hospital where the operation was performed would never allow any such operations in the future. And it’s hard enough to find a surgeon in the western hemisphere as it is!

Given that I have a clearer understanding as to why things are the way they are.

-Sandy

I have my SRS date!

2007-11-16T21:39:00.000-08:00

I have my SRS date!

I got my date!

March 13th, 2008. With Dr. Christine McGinn in Doylestown PA.

I am excited and calm at the same time. But interestingly, at least for now, I am not filled with the kid-before-Christmas feeling like I was when I was pre-FFS.

Transition, by definition, is a temporary condition. It is moving from one state of being to another. In many ways, my procedure will mark the end of my transition. The end of my temporary time between two states of being. So too, this marks the final chapters of "Sandy's Transition" saga.

To be sure, I will still have much to say, both about my surgery and life as a post-op. But perhaps after that I may need a new blog. One where I talk about the mundane things in life as a woman. Gawd, doesn't that sound exciting... NOT!

What does GRS mean to me? I've turned this question over in my mind a lot. I have accomplished ninety percent of everything I wanted when I started my transition. The most imoportant thing to me was, and still is, being a woman in society. And I am that. And living a very happy life as a result. Having GRS will do absolutely NOTHING to affect one way or another how society views me. People on the street, the lady behind the cosmetic counter, and the guy who asks "You want fries with that?" will not look a me any differently than they do now. For the vast majority of them, I am immediately viewed as a woman and that is all. Having a neo-vagina will not do anything to make them see me as more of a woman than they already do. So why do it? Why put yourself through the pain and expense for something that a limited number of people besides your doctor and nurses will ever see?

Do any of you ask yourself that question? Why do it if nobody can tell?

As we like to say, gender is between your ears, not between your legs. Now to be sure, were I to enter into a relationship, having genitalia that is congruent with my psyche and the rest of my body would be important. But right now there doesn't seem to be much chance of that happening anytime soon. And even if there were, they would eventually have to know the truth about me. So if they knew about me they would also possibly accept the fact that I had an "outie" not an "innie".

So why do it?

Because, I know. And every time I go to the 'loo, or take a shower, I am reminded of it again. I have this one last vestige from the time before. And, through the skill and expertise of doctors and surgeons, what was the old has been chiseled away to expose the real person living within all this time. What remains should also be changed, reshaped, and reborn to complete the work. Without it, is like painting the Mona Lisa and not painting the enigmatic smile on her face. The painting would be incomplete. I would be incomplete.

I want to be complete.

I will be complete.

-Sandy

I applied for my passport

2007-10-28T21:40:00.000-07:00

I applied for my passport

Earlier in the week I got a flyer in the mail saying that the post office would be holding a passport application fair.

I knew I'd have to get one eventually in anticipation of a trip north of the border, hopefully next year, so I decided to go there and apply there rather than send it all in the mail.

I brought all my documentation with me so I could document my citizenship (certified birth certificate) and my proof of identity (drivers license and certified copies of the name change judgement). I applied using my legal name and female.

The guy taking the application, never raised an eyebrow or ask any questions. He only wanted my birth certificate and the application. He did however give me a very penetrating look. I wonder how many transsexuals he has processed.

They also took the pictures there are well. I really wish I had put some makeup on first. What an ugly picture! Yeesh!!

Anyway, they said it will take about six to eight weeks to get a response. We'll see what they put on my passport if they do send me one. If they find a problem in the application there could be additional delays. I figure that they have to use my legal name, but I'm wondering what gender they'll put there.

As I left I realized something. The people who were taking applications were local postal employees. And at least one of them, if not all of them by now, know that there is a transsexual living in their midsts and what her address is.

Ah well, I may have outed myself in a big way, if these people gossip. No matter, some secrets cannot be kept forever. If it gets to my neighbors, I can only hope they are understanding.

-Sandy

I'm still in the clouds!

2007-10-22T21:46:00.000-07:00

I'm still in the clouds!

This past weekend I had a session with my therapist. I hadn't seen her in a couple of months as I had been moving into my house and time was a bit chaotic for me.

We spent most of the time just catching up and talking about what had been going on in my life. It was a pleasent session as most of them are. About halfway through the session, she asked if I was still going to pursue SRS.

"Absolutely!" I said.

Then she said; "Well, in that case, let me get some dates from you so I can put together the letter. And I'll contact the other councelor so you can meet her and get the second letter sent on to the Dr Broussard."

My jaw dropped! I was not expecting to start talking about my letters until I had completed my one year of RLE. What she said was that the Harry Benjamin guidelines are just that, guidelines. It is up to the therapist to evaluate the candidate for SRS and determine when they are ready to proceed. As she put it, having the guidelines work for the patient, not against them. So it's not necessary to be a stickler about the one year requirement.

I'm still walking around in the clouds. If I can get the letters on file soon enough, hopefully I can get the surgery scheduled in 2008 for 2007 prices.

But shaving six months off my wait to be complete is like a dream! That is just great.

I wonder how they say; "We're going to put you out now so we can intubate you..." in French Canadian?

-Sandy

Bad wigs....

2007-10-21T21:48:00.000-07:00

Bad wigs....

As I was unpacking boxes I found my first wigs.

One of them is one of Julies favorites (yeah right!). I got it from a friend of mine. It really looked better on her than me. When I met Julie for the first time this was the wig I wore. She showed great restraint in not laughing hysterically.

The other is the very first wig I started wearing. My first therapist said it sucked. A wise and insightful woman!

Sandy buys a house...

2007-09-27T21:55:00.000-07:00

Sandy buys a house...

My year of transition, my year of chaos.

A number of things have been going on in my life starting before I had my operation and going through just a couple of weeks ago. I hadn't spoken about them because if things fell through it wouldn't have changed anything so I wanted things to be taken care of before I talked about them.

My stbew had been trying to sell her house for a number of months and was getting no real offers. I will not go into the way the house was exclusively in her name. Suffice it to say that was the way it worked out. I had taken some of my possessions from the house and put them in storage. Eventually I had to take all the rest of my stuff and put it in storage.

Since she had not sold the house, I put forth the idea of having her sell the house to me. I could take my stuff out of storage, and I'd be nearer my family and I know the house pretty well having lived there for well over twelve years. She tentatively agreed and we discussed what could be done.

I decided to see if I could qualify for a mortgage. I really didn't think it would go anywhere but I was willing to find out.

Well my first few calls to a broker were actually good. They thought I could qualify for the amount I was looking for. It was interesting in that I had to explain to them that my social security number was the same but my name had changed as well as my gender. They were not particularly disturbed by it, just as long as they could track my finances going back. I also had to send them a copy of my judgment when I had my name changed. From that point on they had no problems and always referred to me as Sandra.

I was getting that positive information, but I was still not sure if I could finish the qualification. But just after I started the process someone came and offered earnest money for the house and had a prequalified loan ready to go. I rescinded my offer so the other offer could go through. She could get the house sold quicker with that offer than anything I could do and would get a lot closer to her asking price.

I still wanted to proceed with my loan. Now that I was in the early stages of acceptance I wanted to pursue getting a mortgage. The cost of keeping my things in storage was a severe cash drain which could be better used toward a mortgage payment, at least tax-wise.

I got the pre-qualifications for the mortgage and contacted a realtor to look at houses. I looked at a dozen or more houses before I found one that really looked good, was in good condition, and felt "right".

I put a bid on the house and while there were other bids, mine was accepted. (yay!).

I engaged a lawyer to represent me. This lawyer knew of me and had no problem representing me. His statement was that what I was going through was a medical condition and that is private information and was of no business to the seller or agent. That was nice.

We went through the negotiations process with the realtor and the seller. At this time no one other than the mortgage company and my lawyer knew of my past. To the realtor and the seller, I was just another single woman buying a house. Since my past wasn't germane to the issue of buying a house, it never came up.

Finally after all the tedium that has to occur before a mortgage is approved, I finally get a closing date for my new home!

Going through a house closing where you are the buyer is every bit as intimidating as signing a contract in blood. In fact I think I may have... My lawyer made sure that I understood every nuance of the contract that I was signing (and initialing all sixteen pages). All good information, but it is intimidating knowing that the bank will be my closest friend for the next thirty YEARS!

But when I left the closing, I knew it was my name on the title to the house, and the mortgage. I'm really a woman in society now.

Once I had gotten the final approval for the mortgage, I started contacting the utilities companies and arranging to have my services turned on for my new residence. This is where it is interesting from a transsexual’s point of view. Every utility company I had to deal with, I had an account in my old life. They would ask for my social security number and I would explain that the old name they had was in fact me and that my new name, and gender, was current. In every instance there would be a pause of a couple of seconds as they absorbed the information then they would say: "Yes Ms, (lastname)! Would you like your account to be listed with your current name?" To which I would reply "yes."

Apparently it may not be all that unusual for a transsexual to have contacted a utility before, and really, they don't care who's listed on the account as long as it gets paid.

About a day after closing, and with the great assistance of my family and friends, I moved into my new house. What my neighbors saw is a single woman moving into her new house. Moving in, of course is only the first step. Now I have to unpack all those bloody boxes! And also go about making the house into a home. I've put up a few pictures, but I need more design help. I also got two new kittens who are a couple of lunatics. Tessa and Patty are their names. They run around almost constantly and when they aren't in motion they are asleep. And they are mommy's little girls to be sure. Whenever they want to take a nap, they'll climb up in my lap and go to sleep. It makes getting things done a little difficult. It's amazing how two little kittens can hold down a full grown adult woman like that.

Moving out of Julies house was an especially heartbreaking time for me. We're still good friends and we still talk and get together, but I'll miss our hour’s long chats. And I'll miss her invaluable, thoughtful, and tactful advice about fashion ("Those shoes are TRAGIC!"). Though I'm sure I can get an opinion just about anytime... Thanks, Julie, for everything! You provided the fertile soil so this seed could grow. And when I find that first wig I wore when we first met, I'll have it bronzed and sent to you! (late update. I found the wig!)

Much of this happened before my operation and had to be suspended while I was in recovery. So there was a period of about three weeks where my real estate agent didn't see me. She new I was going to have an operation but I didn't say what. When we met following my recovery, she never said anything about how I looked. Either she kept her thoughts to herself or she really didn't notice the difference between my old face and my new face. It could have gone either way. I think she sees many people during a week and may have only recalled the vaguest idea of what I looked like.

A couple of weeks after I moved in, I had to mow the lawn. It was an interesting time. I finally got to meet my neighbors and chat with them. It’s a very nice neighborhood and the people here are very friendly. But I will say that mowing a lawn in ninety-degree weather while wearing a wig is very warm work indeed!

What has been interesting in this whole process is that I simply expected society to treat me as the person I am, and it has. I have committed to this life, I have gone through the legal process to change my name and gender to the extent that I can, given that I'm pre-op. And I have been simply matter-of-fact about who I am when it has been necessary. And as a result the responses I have received have also been matter-of-fact.

As I've said before, I don't wear a sign around my neck that says "TRANSEXUAL!" but I will not hide it if it becomes necessary. I would prefer that my neighbors always see me as nothing more than a single woman. So in that respect I prefer to be stealth. Though I do know that my secret may eventually become known. Especially since my kids still call me Dad. I'd prefer being called Sandy, but old habits die hard.

As I started my transition I could not see anything beyond becoming myself. I had no idea what life would really be like as a woman in society. Now I am finding out. It's WONDERFUL!

-Sandy(hand me that next box, ok?)

How much is a third of a second worth?

2007-09-27T20:39:00.000-07:00

How much is a third of a second worth?

I've been asking myself that since I came back from Dr Z's. What that refers to is the amount of time the human brain takes to figure out of someone is male of female. All the makeup, all clothing, all the primping and pruning are evaluated in the period of time, that 1/3 of a second.

What the good doctor tells me is that after he gets done with me (and I heal) that one third of a second will much more often come up with "woman". All it takes is money. And I gain 1/3 of a second.

Is it worth it?

It is to me...

-Sandy

The stbeh...

2007-09-17T21:58:00.000-07:00

The stbeh...

This past weekend I visited the stbew in Indianapolis where she moved a couple of months ago. I took some things down there to give to her and she had a few things for me.

Over all it was a pleasent time, we're still amicable and friendly. I also brought my two new kittens to visit with their older siblings. Unfortunately they did not get along so well. The older siblings are used to having the house to themselves and did not appreciate new kittens being brought in. The kittens two were a bit hostile since they were in alien territory. Watching a ten week old kitten trying to out hiss is sort of cute, but not to the kitten of course. Things finally settled down a bit when I moved them to the back bedroom where they could be by themselves.

The spouse said that she would be going to church on Sunday and invited me to go along before I headed back to Chi. It was a nice day and I accepted. I didn't bring any Sunday-going-to-meetin' clothes with me so I dressed casual and put on some light make up.

The service was pleasent and mostly as I remember it. I was a Catholic in my youth so I recalled most of the service. I felt spiritual connection with the congregation and spiritually fullfilled as well.

At the end of the service we exited the church and was greeted by the pastor. The pastor shook my hand and asked my name, I answered Sandy and he asked if I had a last name, and I told him my last name.

All of a sudden he got a surprised look on his face and looked at my spouse. My spouse then said: "Let me introduce you to my soon to be ex-husband, Sandy."

The pastor quickly recovered and said; "Hello Sandy! It's wonderful to meet you! Please come back!" I explained that I was from Chicago but would attend when I was in town. I was amused by the exchange, but not surprised. I was gratified that the pastor was so accepting of me.

When the spouse applied to become a member of the church she had to explain why she was getting a divorce, so the pastor already had an idea of what was going on, and accepted it. I think he was taken aback by having me actually show up at service. Most divorces, of course, are not that amicable so it is unusual that the couple would actually come to the same service together.

What I'm finding is in those situations where I am outed or have to out myself, more often as not I am accepted. There is no recrimination or declaration that I am a sick individual. Heavens! We're almost mainstream!

-Sandy (when did they get rid of latin?)

A month and four days...

2007-08-25T17:51:00.000-07:00

A month and four days...

It's been a month and four days since my operation. I apologize for not posting sooner, but I’ve been plain exhausted!

After three weeks of recovery I returned back to work. Everyone says I looked much better. In fact one of the girls I go to lunch with looked at my ID, which was taken when I came out at work, and said that I needed a new ID picture taken. My face had changed so much that I no longer really resembled the other picture. I did get a new picture taken.

Even since then, people have remarked how my face has changed since then. I'll be taking new pictures soon. Much of the swelling has gone down and all the discoloration has gone out of my face. There still is some tightness under my chin which may be from adhesions. I'll be seeing Dr. Z soon and will ask him about it then. Also there is still very little sensation on my scalp and under my chin. Which makes shaving particularly tricky! Parts of my face are starting to have some feeling. Some of which is like an itch but no amount of rubbing makes it go away.

One of the reasons I haven't posted more is from a combination of exhaustion, and post-op depression. I have been pretty much coming home from work and just vegetating on the couch.

Both Dr Z and my physician warned me about this possibility and my physician has given me a script for an anti-depressant. They take about three weeks to get to full effect, but after two weeks I'm starting to feel a bit better. I no longer have the emotional swings that would make me weep looking pictures of kittens, but it has made me a little lethargic. I'm able to concentrate at work now and can start getting back up to speed. I'm hoping not to be on the anti-depressant for too long. I was very happy prior to the operation and I am pleased with the results so I should be at least as happy again. I just have to get past this post-op period.

Today is the first time I have felt good enough to want to post. It's Saturday and I can concentrate on putting my thoughts together for the first time in a while.

As I mentioned before, I have had to learn slightly different techniques for putting my makeup on in the morning. My eyes have changed quite a bit so that has made a difference. Also I use a bit more lipstick now than I have in the past. One of the side effects of the operation, especially the upper and lower eyelid work, was that many of my eyelashes fell out from the trauma. They've been coming back in, but I haven't been able to use mascara until late this week.

Well that’s about all for now ladies. Hopefully I’ll be posting more soon.

-Sandy

A first for me...

2007-08-11T17:53:00.000-07:00

A first for me...

Yesterday I did something I would have never attempted before.

I went out with *NO* makeup! I had some grocery shopping to do and I was feeling just a little tired so I just wanted to get the stuff and come back home.

Previously I would never have even considered such a ridiculous idea. I felt would have been clocked in a minute.

I looked in the mirror and said to myself; "This is what you wanted, this is why you went through all this trauma. C'mon girl, just do it!"

I did wear my wig though.

I threw on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, my sandals and headed out. No foundation, no lipstick, nothing. I felt almost naked.

It was early afternoon when I got to the grocery store. And guess what, most of the women there weren't wearing any makeup either!

And nobody gave me so much as a second glance, everything felt normal.

This is what I have been looking forward to for such a long time!

-Sandy

Christmas Finally Arrives! Epilog

2007-08-06T17:54:00.000-07:00

Christmas Finally Arrives! Epilog

Ladies, I could go on at length on what my FFS/BA experience. But really I think I’ll bring it to a close here.

I am now fifteen days past my surgeries and I am feeling quite a bit better. My strength is returning, but I am finding I don’t have the stamina I started with. I expect this shall return as well in all good time.

These procedures are not a quick fix. It will take weeks and months, if not a year before all the changes that were done completely manifest themselves.

Right now, though, much of the bruising has disappeared. I still have a couple of black and blue marks around my mouth, which make me look like I took a punch in the mouth. This too is fading quickly.

My healing has impressed everyone including the doctor. It is not unusual for some patients to look like raccoons for weeks afterwards. I had some discoloration but no real bruising.

When I look at my face right now, I don’t see the old me at all. I’m a little surprised at that. Other people who’ve gone through this for some reason seems to still show their old face but much more feminized. I see a feminine face, but not my old face feminized. Maybe it’s just me. I do find that I have to come to terms with that.

Over the course of my four day stay at the recovery hotel the Doctor visited me every day and he would change the dressing on my incisions and examine me closely for any signs of infection or unexpected changes. He also listened to my feelings and fears and warned me about postoperative depression, which is a known surgical phenomenon.

Lisa was my angel of mercy. She stayed with me 24 hours a day and took care of my every need. She ensured I got my medications on time and correctly dosed, administered to my incisions, and all I ever had to do was whisper her name and she would be right by my side for whatever I needed. She had direct access to the doctor and emergency care so if something did go wrong she knew exactly what to do. I cannot compliment her enough. A spouse, friend, or relative would have been overwhelmed with the needs to care for someone in that condition that soon after surgery. She also prevented me from getting a concussion on one occasion where she escorted me to the bathroom. Upon finishing, I stood up too quickly and passed out. The next thing I remember is that I’m sitting sideways on the toilet and Lisa is holding a smelling salt ampoule under my nose. She managed to control my fall and keep me from seriously hurting myself.

She also performed the day three “Four Hour Shower”. Actually it’s not quite that long but does take at least two or more hours. Basically she goes over every inch of every incision and removes any built up scabbing that can cause scarring and pulled each individual hair stuck under a staple to prevent infection. Then she assisted me with a complete hair washing and body wash. While the clearing of the incisions was tedious the shower felt marvelous. I also noticed I had grown a four day beard. YUCK!! Fortunately I did bring my electric razor with me and managed to get most of the hair off my face.

Both Julies visited me and brought me some wonderful get-well gifts and cards. They were also quite diplomatic in describing how well I looked. Especially since Julie Marie visited me on my first post surgical day. I do remember that I felt particularly, er, less than my best, but she made me smile by being there and making me laugh which didn’t hurt as much as I might have thought.

Our other friend Julie visited as well on day two and by that time I was much more capable of speech in English.

My daughter and son in law came to get me on my check out day. My lovely grandchild did not recognize me. Even after having had all my bandages removed. It took a couple of tries from her mom but eventually my granddaughter looked at me and said SANDY!

A few days later I had to be driven back to the clinic for another post op checkup. Kara climbed into my lap took one look at me and said PRETTY!

Which, considering I was still wearing my nose splint, “pretty” would not have been and adjective I would have used to describe me. But right then when she saw through all the gauze and bandages and said that, I actually felt “PRETTY”.

What I’m finding is that as I describe my experiences here, I am reliving them. And right now that is not the best way I can help my recovery.

My intension at writing these posts and the “You Are Not Prepared” post was to prepare YOU!

I’ve accomplished so much. I read about how some people think this is just a matter of having the money, or the paperwork, or both and a few days later, poof, your gender has been changed.

Or on the other end of the spectrum, there are people out there who are capable RIGHT NOW to move forward with their life. But don’t because of fear of the unknown.

I have tried to make the unknown, less so, and to those with stars in your eyes, I hope I helped clear your vision.

I AM NOT A HEROINE! I did this because I must; it’s that plain and simple. Imagine coming out of any other major surgery. I would imagine that you would hurt then too. All it takes is time and you will heal.

I am healing and will continue to heal for a number of months to come.

BTW:
The man named Ben who I speak so glowingly in my post surgical post is in fact my younger brother.

He has been working with Dr Zurkowski for many years and is in fact one of his main surgical technicians and a very close friend to the good doctor. In fact suggested I meet with him when I came out to my brother many months ago.

My brother stopped by today to take the staples out of my incisions, all 37 of them, and make sure my incisions were healing correctly.

We’ve been joking around with each other for several decades and have long since buried any hatchets between us. He was casual in his speech to be because we’ve known each other all our lives.

The doctor of course drives all the procedures upon a patient but the entire surgical team is responsible for the patients’ health and well being while in their care.

I may have spent ten hours under anesthesia, but Ben stood by the doctor during those ten hours assisting him in ways, I really don’t want to know. The doctor and the rest of the surgical team held my life in their hands. If I didn’t trust them I wouldn’t have gone there.
As you may recall I was looking to these surgeries as the way to expose the woman within me. The Doctor was also my sculptor. This has come to pass.

For the first time today, I put on my makeup and wig and Julie and I went shopping. I could not take my eyes off my reflections that I saw in the stores. I am not so vain that I would ever call myself beautiful. But what I didn’t see for the very first time in my life was the GUY! Every reflection showed me a woman. A woman who has longed to be alive for all these many years. And now she is alive. And the guy markers that always seemed to pop through no matter how I would work on them were gone!

I am one happy woman!

-Sandy(Born at last!)

One last thing: For those dying to know I appear to be settling into a 40D. I have a couple of very happy girls!

Christmas Finally Arrives! Saturday, Post Surgery! (Very Long)

2007-08-05T17:55:00.000-07:00

Christmas Finally Arrives! Saturday, Post Surgery! (Very Long)

THIS IS NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH! BE FOREWARNED!

****LIGHTS ON****

I become aware of some caustic fumes deep in my lungs and start coughing.

My body is racked with agony. In the distance I hear someone saying something to me but I can’t make it out…

Again I feel the fumes in my lungs.

“Come on Sandy, take deep breaths…” I begin coughing again.

“That’s it girl, keep taking deep breaths and try to cough”

The agony now becomes more focused more in my upper chest and face. I wanted to run away from it all.

I say something that I never though I would ever say:

“My God! Why have I done this to myself! What was I thinking?”

Actually, my lips were still numb from the anesthesia and the surgical changes made to them. So as a result, I think what came out was:
“Mwe Fd! Ha ha I dom thr to mslf!”

“Come on Sandy, keep taking deep breaths, you’ll be fine!”

“Here, I’ve placed your feet against my legs I want you to try to push yourself up if you can.”

I pushed some and made a little progress.

A female voice then says “Sandy, I want you to push against me. Ben will help pull you up on the cart.”

I try but I don’t want to hurt her.

“It’s OK, Sandy try push hard against me. Really I can take it. I do this all the time!”

With a massive effort on my part I push against the person holding my feet. I feel arms under my armpits helping to lift me into position.

I try to open my eyes, but the light is too bright and my eyes fill with tears. I’m not sure whether it is from the light or the agony or my emotions. I’m still not conscious enough to make out much of anything.

The pain is nonstop. I think that if I had gone bobbing for French fries it wouldn’t have felt this horrid!

Someone wipes my eyes and asks me to open them. I try but I still can’t focus on much of anything. I can make out some indistinct shapes that I think are the ones who have been talking to me.

I blink a few more times and my vision starts to clear. I become aware of an incredibly tight bandage around my face. I can’t breath through my nose. I can barely move my head because of the constriction from the bandage.

The male voice says;
“Sandy, how do you feel?”

“Mbe kl cp!”

“Try that again, I can barely make out what you are saying”

With a prodigious effort and trying to make every word distinct I say;

“I FEEL LIKE CRAP!”

“Good! That means that the anesthesia is wearing off. Keep trying to take deep breaths. But don’t breath through your nose. It’s packed from the operation. You’ll have to leave it there for the next couple of days. Just keep breathing through your mouth.”

This guy is just a fountain of good news…

“I HURT A LOT!”

“Well what did you expect? You’ve been operated on for about the last ten hours or so, how do you think you should feel?”

I swear, I’m going to hunt this guy down when I heal and beat the crap out of him.

“We’ll get you some Vicoden in a little bit, but you have to stay awake and take deep breaths!”

The female voice says;
“Sandy, when we get you stabilized, we’ll be taking you back to the hotel, OK?”

“WHAT?”

“In a little while we’ll help you to get to the wheel chair and take you back to the hotel…”

“OK”

In my mind I know there is nothing to do for the pain but to endure it. I try to muster my pain mantra but to no avail. I cannot take myself to a different place, a happy place that is away from the pain. It keeps coming over me in waves.

I keep blinking and the light becomes more tolerable and the shapes start to become clearer. I can detect the difference between the male and female staff that were trying to stabilize me, make me conscious and get me moving.

I had entered the clinic just a little past 6:30 in the morning. Only the operating staff was there at the time.

It was now well past 11:00 PM in the evening and everyone except we three had left. The doctor could come back to the clinic on a moments notice if necessary, but actually I was recovering as well as could be expected and coming around after all the anesthesia they had pumped into me quite well. At least that is what I had been told later.

“Sandy, we have to remove your catheter now”

“YOU COULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT WHILE I WAS ASLEEP!?!”

“Don’t worry, this will only take a second. You’ll feel some tugging but it shouldn’t hurt.”

I feel some severe tugging then searing pain.

“OOOOWWWWW!!!!! IT HURTS LIKE HELL!!!”

“That’s ok, Sandy, it’s out now. Yeah sometimes when the catheter is in that long it can get a little stuck…”

I’m going to find the truck that hit me and make sure it hits him! I owe this guy big-time!

Speaking of trucks, I’m still feeling like the truck that hit me actually went around the block and came around for another go at me. Then backed up and made sure he did the job right.

“I’M STILL FEELING LIKE CRAP!”

“Ok, Sandy, we’ll have something for you in just a second. Hang in there, girl”

Like I’ve got somewhere else to go? This guy is just a full of good news.

After what feels like an eternity later someone is trying to open my lips. My mouth is so dry that my tongue doesn’t feel like a part of me. I try to push my lips apart. I feel a part of a tablet enter my mouth. Then the female says “I’m going to put some water in your mouth. Try to swallow the tablet.

I feel a few drops of liquid enter my mouth and like someone dying of thirst I gulp it down. I completely forget about the tablet. It is now stuck at the back of my throat. “Here try again.”

More liquid and this time I manage to swallow the tablet. I wish I had about a gallon of that wonderful liquid they had given me. I think it’s called… water.

“Ok, now, Sandy, we’re going to help you sit up and help you get into the wheel chair.”

All this “we” stuff. I just want to be left alone for about the next ten years or so. Then maybe I could try climbing under a rock somewhere where the pain couldn’t find me.

“OK…”

I feel the hands of the guy and girl help lift me to a sitting position and gently spin me around move my legs off the table. The movement makes the fire on my chest burn more.

“Ok, now Sandy, we’re going to help you stand. The wheel chair is right next to the bed. Just lean on us and we’ll help you get into the chair.”

“OK”

The hands help me to slide off the gurney and as I try to get my feet under me I realize I have to lean on them. I have no strength whatsoever to stand on my own. I lean into their arms and they move me to the wheelchair.

Then I feel hands lift my legs and place them on the footpads of the wheel chair.

The female asks, “How do you feel, Sandy?”

“I FEEL VERY DIZZY”

“So I guess you don’t want to go back out to that bistro we went to last night for a quick snack?”

After some deep mental calculation and thought and sifting through my memories that feel like they’ve been scattered to the four winds, a name comes to me…

“LISA?” The lady from Compassionate Care that I had dinner with just the previous evening. When I thought about it real hard I seem to remember I had a fun time.

“Yeah, hon! I was just joking about going out. You’ll be eating through a straw for the next few days.”

“I’M VERY TIRED”

“That’s ok. We’ll get you to the car and get you back to the hotel and get you bedded down for the night. You did great! You came through with no problems at all!”

“I STILL FEEL LIKE SHIT”

“Well, hon, you’re going to feel like that for a while I’m afraid. You will get better though. Just keep thinking about that!”

“I CAN BARELY SEE”

“Well, your eyes are really swollen right now. Actually it’s surprising you can see anything at all!”

“We’re going to unlock the wheelchair now and start moving you to the car, OK?”

“OK”

I feel the wheels unlock and the chair begins to move. The male voice says; “I’ll open the doors so you can just move her straight to the car.”

I feel movement. Lisa says; “How are you feeling? Are you dizzy or nauseous at all?”

“NO”

“Ok, we’ll be at the car in just a few seconds. Hang in there and keep taking deep breaths. It will help clear the anesthesia.

Soon I feel the night air on my body. Somewhere along the line I realize I have my clothes on. My Einsteinien brain after only a few seconds of deep thought comes to the conclusion that they must have dressed me while I was drifting in and out of consciousness.

Over and over in my head I keep asking myself, “Why did I do this to myself?”

What in the world possessed me to put myself through such agony!? There must be a word that is more appropriate than agony for the way I felt, but I can’t come up with it.

Eventually the memory comes back to me:

“Sandy, you had no choice. You had to run out of the burning building that was your deteriorating masculinity. If you hadn’t taken these steps, you would have been dead by now.”

Oh yeah, that’s why.

“I’M FINDING IT HARD TO BREATH! MY CHEST HURS AND FEELS TOO TIGHT”

“Sandy, you just had breast augmentation. Your breasts are bandaged tight against your body to keep them from moving for right now. Just keep trying to breathe as deep as you can. The bandages are elastic and will stretch.”

Oh yeah, that too… I’m feeling like a bit of a dim bulb. Actually a dim bulb is smarter than I am. My brain just recently checked back in from where ever it went while I was having my “overhaul”.

Soon we are at Lisa’s car. She is going to be taking me back to the hotel. Somewhere in the back of my mind was the thought that if I felt embarrassed before when I was waiting for the doctor to come pick me up, I can just imagine what I’m going to be looking like when they wheel me into the hotel now! About then, really couldn’t care less. My ability to be embarrassed was still backlogged in my brain that was still busy trying to unpack from its vacation.

“Sandy, we’re at the car now. We’re going to lock the wheels and help you into the care, OK?”

“OK”

I appreciate how they explain everything they are about to do to/for me. I really have the mental capability of a hockey puck right about then so this is very helpful.

Much like the gurney, Lisa and the guy almost physically lift me into a standing position and maneuver me into the car.

Someone, the guy, I think, buckles me in.

Lisa gets in the drivers seat. Ben, the guy with all the joyful news and finesse removing my catheter takes the wheelchair and folds it into the back seat.

“I’ll follow you back and we can get her into bed” he says.

Lisa starts the car and we head back to the hotel.

As my brain continues to unpack, I realize that this hotel is one of main hotels that the Doctor uses for the recovery of his patients. They must see people like me roll in all the time.

I think my IQ is up to 12 or 14 by then…

Along the way I fell asleep.

What seems like just a couple of seconds later, Lisa is trying to wake me up and Ben is trying to unbuckle my seatbelt.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m thinking that these two have put in a full day’s work on me and would really like to get to bed themselves. I can be so considerate… But I haven’t a clue how to help them.

“Sandy, we’re going to put you in the wheelchair and take you upstairs now, ok?”

“Mo’ ke’”

My ability to speak in English has obviously been replaced by some language not yet known in this part of the universe.

Ben swings my legs out of the car and helps me stand up. He holds me tightly as he swings me around the unfolded wheelchair that Lisa has placed there and locked the wheels. Golly! These guys think of everything! I can feel my IQ hitting a Mensa class rating of 20 or so.

Ben helps me sit in the chair and puts my legs into the footpads while Lisa unlocks the wheels.

I feel like a Raggedy-Ann doll. Actually I kind of look like one also between the bandages and my limp body,

They wheel me back to my room. As part of my pre-op preparation, I had given Lisa one of my room keys. That way I wouldn’t have to bring anything with me to the clinic.

They get me to the room and Lisa unlocks the door.

They wheel me to the bedroom and turn down the bed closest to the bathroom.

“Sandy, do you need to go to the bathroom?”

“YES”

One of the things my brainicac mind noticed was that I felt very swollen. When I looked at my hands I couldn’t see any tendons or veins. Again some deep thought produced the supposition that they had been pumping my body full of saline while I was under and I had absorbed it like a sponge. I would all come out sooner or later. But I was so swollen I could barely make a fist.

I remember from my orchiectomy operation just a couple of months prior, I was under anesthesia for less than an hour. A similar swelling happened there but nowhere near as severe. In that operation I gained about two and a half pounds of water overall. I could only imagine how much I had gained then.

They wheel me into the bathroom lock everything in place, help me sit and give me some privacy.

In the background I hear them talking about how to get me bedded down and how much medication I should have prior to sleeping.

A few minutes later they check on me and help me back to my wheelchair. They wheel me back to the bed and help me to lie down.

Lisa said; “Sandy, I’ll be right her for you from now on. Don’t sit up or try to get out of bed on your own for now. Just call me and I’ll take care of anything you need,”

“OK” I’m such a deep conversationalist. I should go on one of those deep intellectual talk shows like Maury Povicich,

Lisa gives me some pills and more water and says;
“That was the vicoden and valium. Just relax for now. You should fall asleep soon. Just remember don’t get out of bed, without calling for me first OK?”

“OK, THANK YOU LISA”

I try to relax. I’m propped up with a lot of pillows in at about a 45 degree angle. I try to relax.

Lisa says; "Sandy, I've made a wad of gauze. Hold it between your teeth so you can breathe through your mouth. That way your lips won't stick together, OK?"

"OK" I feel Lisa open my lips and push the gauze between my teeth. I can breathe but my mouth feels like a dessert.

My pain mantra does start to help. I take deep breaths and try to relax my body as much as possible.

I close my eyes and feel my muscles relax from the effects of the meds and meditation.

Finally I drop off into a deep, dreamless sleep.

As I feel myself losing consciousness, I ask myself one more time why I did this.

The answer is the same. I did this to save my life. I truly had no other choice. But if I had to do all over again, while I wouldn’t change a thing, perhaps I wouldn’t be skipping into the operating room next time!

-Sandy(it was a BIG truck!)

Christmas Finally Arrives! Saturday, the day of Surgery!

2007-08-03T21:14:00.000-07:00

Christmas Finally Arrives! Saturday, the day of Surgery!

Saturday, July 21.

This post may be a bit shorter because I spent most of the day under anesthesia so there may not be all that much to describe…

Even having set the alarm for 5:00, my eyes popped open right at 4:45, I knew I was anxious, but I thought I could make it to 5:00. No such luck. I was wide awake. So I got up and started my shower. This was one of those special showers where you are to use antibacterial soap, all over your body. You normally don’t use that type of soap that way as it can be too harsh on the system, But for pre-surgical preparation it is appropriate. Especially in your hair as they will be working extensively in your scalp but don’t need you to shave your head (thank goodness!).

Even taking my time it was still like 5:30 by time I got done and was dressed in my tracksuit with the zipper front ready to go.

No breakfast, no water, nothing of any kind in my stomach. On a whim I called Julie Marie. I thought I would get her voicemail and leave her a message about how I was getting ready to go and how she was missed at the girls’ night out the previously night.

To my surprise, Julie herself answers. She was up early and was taking her time getting ready to go to work.

We chatted for quite a while. She was so very disappointed missing my last supper.

One of Julie’s disappointments was not being able to see my old face one last time. As it turned out however, Friday morning, our schedules actually coincided and we actually had a few minutes to have breakfast together before we had to rush off to work. So actually she did get a chance to see my old face one last time.

She wished me all the best and hoped everything would go well. About that time I got a call from Dr Z. saying he would be at the front door in about two minutes. So I said my goodbyes to Julie and headed downstairs.

The doctor recommends that you come to the clinic on the day of surgery basically in your pajamas and slippers or comfortable shoes. No hats, wigs, jewelry, makeup. Also you are instructed to wear nothing tight, white, or pulls over your head. The reasons are obvious. I spent weeks looking for pajama sets that would button up on top. Even guy PJs. That isn’t the style anymore! All the girl pajamas I could find all had pullover tops and the guy pajama tops consist mainly of a bottom, and a robe. I guess that guys can either sleep bare chested (I guess that’s supposed to be sexy) or they could wear a regular t-shirt (maybe that’s supposed to be sexy too, I don’t know about that myself).

Anyway, what I did have was a red tracksuit type of outfit that had a zipper hoodie and wide elastic pants. But it was velour not cotton. Not really designed for running, but close enough. It wasn’t tight, white or pulled over my head. Since I have gunboat size feet, finding slippers for me is extremely difficult, actually impossible, so I just went with my comfortable shoes. I had underpants on but no bra. I figured that any bra I owned would soon be obsolete so why even bother?

I did feel just a little embarrassed waiting for the doctor. There were a couple of people waiting for taxis, I guess, and me with no makeup or wig or any sort of adornment and wearing an obviously feminine tracksuit made me feel a little andro. I didn’t look much like a girl at all despite all the hormones and the softening of the face I’ve had from the medications I still felt out of place.

Fortunately, the doctor showed up just a couple of minutes later. And we were off to the clinic.

You have to admit that being picked up by the doctor who is going to perform your surgery is impressive. He could have easily sent one of his staff to pick me up or have sent a taxi for me.

But he wanted to have time to discuss any last minute questions I might have had or to calm my nerves if I was nervous. I was neither one of those so we chatted about his upcoming vacation.

We got to the clinic in about ten minutes. He parked the car and escorted me into the clinic. He showed me into one of the examination rooms and gave me a gown to wear and showed me where I could put my clothes while I was in the operating room.

A few minutes after I got changed, the doctor and the anesthesiologist came in with a bunch of legal forms I had to sign. Then the doctor took one last look at my face started drawing on my face and chest with a marker to point out where he would be operating.

After he got done with me I looked in the mirror and felt my face looked like a road map! He used some colors to indicate where he would be working under the skin and other colors where he would be making incisions. And I think the tic-tac-toe board was a joke…

He then said he was going to scrub up and get ready. I was then put into the capable hands of his staff.

I was soon escorted to the operating room were I was laid out on the table and the nurses and technicians helped me off with my gown and covered me with a sheet. They attached an IV to my arm and we joked around a bit and they did everything to put me at ease, I remember looking up at the surgical lights that would soon be illuminating me. I was feeling pretty comfortable, a little nervous, but thinking; “Finally this is happening! This is REAL. I am finally going to have what I’ve been wanting most of my life!”

Then the anesthesiologist came up to me and said the now familiar words: “We’re going to put you to sleep now so that we can finish prepping you for your surgery and intubate you for the surgery. I was about to say “Thanks…” when…

****LIGHTS OUT****

-Sandy(the sandman has nothing on these guys!)

Christmas Finally Arrives! Pre-Surgical Check in day.

2007-08-02T17:58:00.000-07:00

Christmas Finally Arrives! Pre-Surgical Check in day.

Alright, ladies. Having spent the better part of ten days getting my body and spirit back into the same place, I guess it's time to talk about how my FFS/BA went.

This will be a *long* story, even by my chatterbox standards and I will break this up into multiple “chapters” instead of one long “War and Peace” type of post.

Anyway, lets go back to the beginning. No not that far back, just to the Friday I checked into the Staybridge hotel where I would be recovering.

Dr. Zukowski put together a really remarkable manual for his patients called the FFS Success manual. Each one is customized for the client that he will be operating on. In there are descriptions of all correspondence, a description in detail of each of the procedures that are going to be performed, a pre-surgical check list, a day before check list, an explanation of what to expect on the day of surgery, what to expect after surgery, ongoing post-surgical maintenance, and for those clients from out of town, the names of the recommended hotels, what taxi services are available and known to be reliable, a list of restaurants in the general area, and maps on how to get to the clinic and hotels from just about anywhere in the major metropolitan area. Whew!.

Plus there is a DVD that he produced that is broken down into three major sections. One is a roundtable discussion from "Z" girl alumni (and that is the official term, "Z" Girl) about their experiences with FFS primarily, how long it took to heal and how long it took for all the various pieces of procedures fit together. And these girls of the discussion have been post-op for anywhere from a few weeks to several years.

The second section of the DVD is the doctor working with an actual patient who had FFS just the day before. He came and described the procedures that the person had, then removed the outer bandages to examine the state of the recovery, then re-wrapped the lady for another twenty four hours. The next segment returns twenty four hours later and does a final unwrap of the outer bandages, unpacking the nose from the rhinoplasty and then cleaning and redressing the incisions. He then describes the most difficult part of the patients recovery. Namely the facial massage that the patient MUST do at least three times a day in order to help the soft tissue re-seat on the cartilage and bone and also force fluid that will drain from the face into the lower jaw. It is a function of gravity. This massage must be performed for several weeks post op if you want your procedure to look as good as possible. The reason I say that this is difficult, besides taking about twenty to thirty minutes to do each time, is that it is initially painful, and after a few days is simply very uncomfortable. But it must be done. I personally have noticed how well my healing is coming along because I am trying my best to maintain this regimen. Face it girls, you've just become a high-maintenance woman! BTW: No makeup, wig or other adornment like jewelry for at least ten to fifteen days. You have incisions that need to heal, and putting makeup into those incisions is just inviting an infection. Deal with it.

The other part of the postoperative maintenance that the patient must perform is the wearing of an admittedly medieval torture device called a compression garment. I know it is medieval because the instructions are in Latin and the last person it was used on was called Galileo. It does what it says. It is an elastic garment that will compress your lower jaw and cheeks so that there will be less swelling between massages. This must be worn at all times if possible. Once you return to work you don't necessarily have to wear it, but it should be worn at all other times for the following two to three months. Trust me you really look like a fashion plate wearing it! It's ugly, uncomfortable and needs regular cleaning. Realize, ladies, that these procedures require you to play an active role in your healing. Unlike other surgical procedures, like an appendectomy, all you have to do is reduce your activity and your body will heal on it's own. That is true here as well, but you must help direct your body HOW to heal! Otherwise you will spend many weeks recovering and you will really not get the results you were hoping for. It's not fun, it's not painless, but after all the money you spend for this would you want to do anything but take the very best care of yourself as possible? Think of it like buying a new car (it costs about the same). When the instructions say, for example, don't over-rev the engine for the first five hundred miles, do you really want to endanger having to install a new engine just because you felt like over-revving the engine?

The third section of the DVD covers the major issues displayed in the second part, but this time in a more clinical session using one of his staff as a demonstrator, Basically Dr Zukowski explains in great detail again the need for constant care of your face and the need for the three times daily massage.

I went to work on Friday with the intension of driving from work to the hotel. Naturally, that day like the day before Christmas was about the slowest time I have ever spent sitting at a desk.

Driving from downtown Chicago to the north side was tedious. Fortunately I had a friend of mine call me just as I was getting on the expressway and we chatted all the way up there. Thanks Wendy!

When I checked in, there was a message left for me from Lisa Lopez of Compassionate care. She was offering to go out to dinner with me, as it would be my “last supper”. When I got settled in, I called her and accepted her offer.

I also had an appointment at the clinic for a lymphatic drainage session. Rena the lady who performs the process is a seven-year post op female and extremely joyous in her outlook on life. I invited her to dinner too. It turns out the “last supper” is kind of a tradition for girls who are going to go through major surgery who have to stop all food and drink after midnight, so the plan is usually to live it up a bit before you have to go dry. One of Rena’s friend was there as well and I invited her too.

After my session with Rena, as I was on my way back to the Staybridge, I got a call from Julie,too as she is known around here. She said she could come to dinner, but Julie Marie could not make it as she was being pulled into a last minute dinner with a high ranking member of the company she works for and felt obligated to go. Of course I understood and told Julie,too to call me when she got on the road so I could tell her where we were going to end up since none of us girls had a clue about what we wanted to eat.

They were all supportive of me choosing, but I really didn’t care so long as it was good food and we could have a good time.

Well trying to get four women to agree on just about anything can be more difficult than getting a resolution through the United Nations! We must have thrashed for almost half an hour before we came up with an idea so that is the way we went.

Another friend of the group of us called Liz called Rena, I think, and we invited her to dinner as well. What a gaggle of girls!

Liz met us at the bistro just shortly after we got seated.

Julie,too had not quite shown up but was only about twenty minutes late by time we got seated.

It was a wonderful upscale type of “place” which I think actually specialized in bowling and bocce ball but had a top-notch bistro.

Anyway by time Julie,too showed up we were still trying to decide on an appetizer! We were such chatterboxes! Anyway we split a few different dishes between us (there was a lot of food) so we all had a chance to try different things.

And we talked about *everything* you can imagine a bunch of woman could talk about. After what seemed like a short time later, I looked up and noticed we were the only ones left in the restaurant! God that was fun!

I’m sure the waitress got quite an earful from us! Let’s see, two GG’s and four transsexuals, most pretty well lubricated with excellent food, friends and liquor. We were in rare form. I had a blast!

By time we left I had only about half an hour left before I turned into a pumpkin and had to be completely dry and without food. I didn’t bring any food from the bistro back with me because I didn’t want the temptation. But we said our goodbyes in the parking lot and hugged a lot and Lisa and I hustled back to the hotel. She would be staying there while I recovered.

I got back to the room and Lisa checked in on me just to make sure I was all settled in. I had two big glasses of water and finished them just as the clock on the microwave changed to 12:00.

Ok, I thought, here is where the roller coaster REALLY starts. I climbed into bed and tried to get to sleep. Actually sleep came pretty easily for me. After the drive up there and the wonderful time I had with my friends at the bistro (and the triptophan in the pasta I had) I dropped off pretty quickly.

I had set the alarm for 5:00 so I could take a shower before I was to be picked up by the doctor at 6:15 AM.

One of the last thoughts I remember having before I drifted off was “Oh boy! This is where it finally starts!”

-Sandy (More to come!)

You are NOT prepared!

2007-07-27T21:50:00.000-07:00

You are NOT prepared!

My dear friends, first let me tell you that I am doing fine and I will be posting pictures soon.

But I wanted to start a thread as part of my transsexual advocacy that is not all giggles and fun.

First remember that I am a transsexual and I have always been a transsexual and I will always be a transsexual. In no way am I questioning my decision to go forward with this nor do I have any doubts that this was the absolute right thing to do. So let's get that straight ok, people?

Given the choice I would do this again without any hesitation. My need to become the woman I know I am is the one thing that has made me sane for perhaps the first time in my life.

What no post-op of any type has mentioned was the shock it was to wake up after surgery. There are many FFS and SRS women on this list and all of them talk about what a thrill it was to finally be who there were meant to be.

Over my next several posts in this thread, I will tell you, while it is still fresh in my head, the way I was unprepared for the pain that would overtake me once consciousness returned and the ongoing pain that I have as I go through the healing process.

Ladies, I have been through some major surgeries in my life. I have experienced some very severe pain in my time. And without going into too much detail, I have a certain level of constant pain for that has been with me for over 25 years. So I thought I was prepared for what would await me when I woke up after surgery.

Not even close.

I'll have posts of what all the fun things that happened in the clinic and the truly extraordinary staff that Dr Zukowski has from the receptionist all the way through to the Doctor himself. He accepts nothing but the absolute best from his staff at all times. The proof in that pudding are his other "Z" girls, and soon myself. I will be a beautiful Z girl and proud of it!. And you don't get that by being mediocre.

No the problem here was absolutely and completely ME. When anesthesia kicks in, it is ***LIGHTS OUT***. There is no drifting off to sleep, no counting backward from 100, nothing. Just the anesthesiologist saying that their about to put you out so they can intubate you.

(By the way, I will be discussing things in blatant medical terms. If you are squeamish about that, move along to one of my happy posts.)

The next thing that occurs is that you really have no knowledge of the passage of time. It is like a light switch. One moment you are off, the next moment you are on. There is no gentle return to consciousness, just like there was no real drifting off to sleep.

You may have your eyes closed or you may not understand what is being said around you. But one thing will be absolutely clear.

YOU WILL BE IN PAIN! Not a little "Oh I've just had an orchiectomy" pain, or "What was the number of the truck that hit me" pain. To my mind there is no description for the level of pain you will feel.

And that will be your closest companion for at least the next twenty four hours. Even with the industrial strength pain relievers they will give you.

There are more nerve endings in the face than there are just about anywhere else in the body. So to my feelings right now even SRS may be less uncomfortable than FFS.

Now you other ladies who've been through both, let me know. Which one caused more discomfort?

I'm going to go with SRS regardless so I guess I'll find out myself soon enough. As I said before nothing is going to stop me.

To you caregivers who will be with your SO's as they go through this. YOU ARE NOT PREPARED either unless you have a nursing or medical background. The amount of support your spouse, friend, acquaintance needs is more than just about anything else you may have had to do for another human being.

Now before you ladies start either running for the exit or get a posse together for a necktie party in my honor, let me again say, I am happier now, though very tender, than I have been in my life.

If I could trade places with reverend butt-head who thinks that this is a sexual turn on or some sort of perversion and that simply reading from scripture will cure me, I would trade with him in a minute and he may not be transsexual but he would come away with a much clearer idea of what we people of two spirits endure just to live.

I didn't want to bring everyones day down, but I am just now able to stay awake long enough to put a sentence together that doesn't sound like I'm a girl from the sixties (which I am by the way).

I just wanted to warn all of you who are contemplating this extreme measure that you will have a very, very rude awakening on that Christmas morning.

-Sandy (much humbled)

Re: It's nearly Christmas...

2007-07-20T10:26:00.000-07:00

Re: It's nearly Christmas...

Tomorrow is the big day for me. At least so far...

As I was getting dressed for work today it occurred to me that it was the last time I would be putting breast forms into my bra. I may need to get all new bras. At least some new ones. I will be bigger tomorrow...

It also occurred to me as I was putting my makeup on that tomorrow when I look in the mirror in the morning, it would be the last time I would see that face that had been staring back at me for 55 years. My new face will be much less masculine. It will be softer, more feminine. Not right away, of course. The first time I look at my face after I get back to my room I'll probably be horrified. No, scratch that... I WILL be horrified! I've seen pictures of other girls who have gone through this. I will look like I've been hit by a truck. And no makeup for at least two weeks. Otherwise there is a significant chance of infection. I don't want to endanger the doctor's good work by introducing some microbes that shouldn't be there...

If you girls have the stomach for it, I'll post pictures of the after effects.

But later, and not all that long after, I'll start to heal and the swelling will reduce, the incisions will heal, and the soft tissues will reform around my face.

Swan from duck, butterfly from caterpillar, dragonfly from nymph. I will emerge. The true me will be revealed.

I've been looking forward to this for months. Actually my whole life. It's one thing to dress and act as who I am. It will be a much appreciated boost to my self esteem to actually *look* like who I was always supposed to be, before all those nasty "y" chromosomes messed things up. At least mostly.

I brought my laptop along so hopefully I'll be able to post from the hotel where I will be recovering. If not I post when I get back. But it'll be a few days, regardless. I won't really feel like doing much more than sleeping for the first day or so.

-Sandy

P.S.

I just got a call from Dr Z telling me he would pick me up from my hotel at about 6:15 am tomorrow. He went over the instructions one final time. No food or drink after midnight. Wear something comfortable and loose. No makeup, no jewelry.

After all the preparations, this is now moving on its own. I can relax and flow with the tide of change that I have started.

I am at peace.

It's nearly Christmas...

2007-07-17T11:17:00.000-07:00

It's nearly Christmas...

At least that is the way I'm feeling right now.

In just about ten days, I check into Dr Zukowski's clinic. And about eight hours after that I will be *different*.

I don't want to say a new woman, because I'm already a new woman. But when I look in the mirror (after I heal) I'll see much less of the male markers left over from my battle with testosterone. And more of the softer more feminine face that has been trying to come out for so long. I won't have to wear makeup to de-emphasize my masculine traits like my Neanderthal brow bone, or squarish jaw.

I'll be able to wear makeup to better accentuate my feminine features. More to the point, I won't HAVE to wear makeup if I don't want to! Right now I don't dare go out in public with out makeup. I feel I am asking to get read if I do.

I'll probably have to learn different makeup techniques for my new face. I'm kind of looking forward to that.

The Christmas part is that while I know exactly what the good doctor has in store for me, I have no idea how I'm going to look.

For example, he said that part of the rhinoplasty/septiplasty will be to reduce the bony ridge of my nose and to shorten the end of the base and thin the width of the the of the nose. Making it more feminine looking. But I don't know how that will look on me. Or really what it will really look like. I've seen before and after pictures from the Dr. Z's book so I have an idea, but it isn't like you can go to the nose store and try on a bunch of different styles and have the one you like.

The same goes with the rest of the facial procedures. Also how will all of these changes REALLY make me look?

I trust the doctor and I am confident that he will do his best for me. As he said he doesn't try to fit his patients into a mold but rather work with them to give them the best possible results.

So on that "Christmas" morning in July I'll be anxious to see what I look like. Actually those first few days after surgery I'll probably look like the creature from the Black Lagoon. Maybe I should make that my new avatar! But still by then, I should get an inkling of what the final product will look like. Though for the first day or so, my eyes will be swelled shut so I won't see much.

The other procedure is tracheal shave. That will be a welcome change. I won't have to worry about that thing bobbing up and down when I talk.

And of course the breast augmentation. Or as Tink has so eloquently put it, being visited by the breast fairy. One of the things the doctor stressed was, buyers remorse. When he told me what size of implant he thought would look good with my frame, I was astounded. It seems like a huge amount. Like my breasts will end up in a different zip code than I am. The doctor stressed that virtually all of his patience who have opted for smaller size implants were eventually disappointed. The "buyers remorse" was that they wish they had gone with the recommendation. He explained that given my build and weight the size he recommended would look fine. Also when the implants are placed under the muscle, there is less protrusion so they will be a bit softer. So I'll be going with his recommendation.

You may have noticed I haven't mentioned the size of the implants. I did this on purpose. I really don't want this thread turn into a breast size debate. Once the procedure is complete and the swelling has gone down some, I'll post something about how my "girls" are developing and how I feel about them.

What I am looking forward to is not having to put breast forms on again. The one things that really gives my self esteem a hit are my small breasts. I feel like I'm being false having to put my forms on in the morning. Well soon that will be a thing of the past. And I look forward to it. (I'm hearing the Bob Hope theme song in the background...)

All told I should be out for about three weeks. By time I return to work, I won't be completely healed but enough of the swelling should have gone down so that I won't scare little children as I walk down the street.

Posted on: July 12, 2007, 12:13:40 AM

The clock is ticking down.

Actually the clock seems to have stopped! Just like a kid before Christmas...

An interesting feeling this time. Several weeks ago when I had my orchiectomy, prior to the operation I had more than a few thoughts questioning my motives and whether or not this was right for me.

This time there is no question, no hesitation. No C.L.O.D. fears. Just wishing Saturday would get here!

Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers as I go through the procedure. Thank you all!

-Sandy

The Quilt

2007-06-28T18:37:00.000-07:00

The Quilt

This past week, I had an opportunity to volunteer at our company's display of sections from the Names Project AIDS Quilt It was part of our LGBT Pride month celebration. The Quilt project was originally started in 1987 as a protest against the way in which people with AIDS were treated and many left to die without support by the healthcare industry.

A quilt panel is 3 feet by 6 feet and represents the size of a human grave. To date there are over fifty thousand quilt panels. It is so large that it can no longer be displayed in its entirety. Each one representing at least one human being. Think about that. The quilt only represents only about 17 percent of all the people just in the US of all the people who have died as a result of AIDS. Worldwide, these numbers are in the *millions*.

I am one that cannot comprehend the magnitude of such terrible numbers. But staring at a single quilt panel constructed to be the same size and shape as a human grave and then imagining a person lying on that spot. Then realizing that in some cases this panel is all that is left to remember the passing of that person...

A panel can be made up of any fabric, though they recommend long wearing cotton. They are decorated with pictures, buttons, or paraphernalia from the life of the person.

While I have lost a friend to AIDS, I contemplated making a panel for him, but I never did. Regardless, when I saw all those panels, and we only had a few hundred, I was moved to tears. The room took on the feeling of a wake. A somber place where lost friends can be remembered.

What devastated me were the panels for infants and children. Some less than a year old. I could not look at those panels without weeping.

To date there is no cure or vaccine for AIDS. All that is available is suppression therapy which involves a complicated regimented cocktail of expensive medications which can reduce the presence of the AIDS virus to virtual indictability. This adds years to the lives of those infected. But just because it is undetectable, it is still present and continues to wear away the immunity defenses of the human body.

An amazing coincidence occurred as well. One of our co-workers came to view the panel. He had lost two partners to the ravages of AIDS. He had made panels for each of them. And amazingly BOTH panels were on display. What made it even more miraculous was the each of the panels were part of different panel blocks (six panels to a block) so the chances of those two blocks being given to us to display is truly miraculous.

Please pray to all that is holy that the scourge of this disease is controlled soon. We have lost too, too many.

-Sandy

All in a day's work...

2007-06-24T18:38:00.000-07:00

All in a day's work...

The other day I was going into my office building and my mind was elsewhere. We're supposed to press our id badges against the reader to unlock the turnstile. I completely ditzed out and just barreled right into it. I hit the bar of the turnstile right at my hips and I was bent over double by the impact. Feeling *very* foolish I fished in my purse for my badge. The guard sitting behind his desk asked if I was alright.

I said; "Yes, I'm just a little ditzy today, that's all."
He said; "Well, just be glad you're not a man!"

I smiled sweetly at him and giggled.

He doesn't know *how* glad I'm not a man!

-Sandy