tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55218134691323482012024-03-12T18:43:39.763-07:00Adventures of a Gender RebelWhen I moved to NYC sixteen years ago, I was finally able to express myself and start to live as the woman I really am. It's a journey that still has many miles to go, but I'm here to share my thoughts, hopes, dreams and confusion. Also you know, some cute pictures too. Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.comBlogger184125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-31060493080075751582022-07-12T08:23:00.002-07:002022-07-31T07:05:08.865-07:00My New Novel Disgusta is Here!<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj__FZdXpj4v00sbT_GR9UWEb-b_UWndfUJxOcuwxW5b3FL_cOoui0QaDM13oc3ZbLhw4GnGFQzYaFuqY3sNLypyEl-jTSW7hW0jJzidNFazs-CIAt8aIBJAL3JQWfzeXkHg-028qAgLCu9YXsd7vCV9GEr4ct8lcNnubJ69HQKMSuJ7r533oJbzpBo/s1641/280041863_3162102920698704_239604185717057448_n.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0; text-align: center; "><img alt="" border="0" width="600" data-original-height="1263" data-original-width="1641" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj__FZdXpj4v00sbT_GR9UWEb-b_UWndfUJxOcuwxW5b3FL_cOoui0QaDM13oc3ZbLhw4GnGFQzYaFuqY3sNLypyEl-jTSW7hW0jJzidNFazs-CIAt8aIBJAL3JQWfzeXkHg-028qAgLCu9YXsd7vCV9GEr4ct8lcNnubJ69HQKMSuJ7r533oJbzpBo/s600/280041863_3162102920698704_239604185717057448_n.jpg"/></a></div>
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/Disgusta-Faith-DaBrooke-ebook/dp/B0B5KDNJFG/ref=sr_1_1?crid=3ASVWBOR82DMQ&keywords=disgusta&qid=1659276293&sprefix=disgusta%2Caps%2C117&sr=8-1" target="_blank"><b>Available now in print and electronic formats!</b></a>Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-3693610848914428912022-05-03T12:08:00.002-07:002022-05-03T12:08:25.769-07:00What a Couple Years!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisor_US8VcqVAcsvGUBy3S4hYJ7y0f96MdBwPGlInZGrKNUKqBgM3SySfP3bXGsW7jGzaBsqCjvrv0X9o7wlFsWszuR7V4GKZvvvWiRpqRvCE-1DSwV5_rE8UvyPAwD--n8fwS5Q6b6xk1Sr99bjZ82o0CvLVI76jRPP7XFabOFQFNcCbEa_PyWKO_/s1495/20200402_144332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1495" data-original-width="1022" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisor_US8VcqVAcsvGUBy3S4hYJ7y0f96MdBwPGlInZGrKNUKqBgM3SySfP3bXGsW7jGzaBsqCjvrv0X9o7wlFsWszuR7V4GKZvvvWiRpqRvCE-1DSwV5_rE8UvyPAwD--n8fwS5Q6b6xk1Sr99bjZ82o0CvLVI76jRPP7XFabOFQFNcCbEa_PyWKO_/w438-h640/20200402_144332.jpg" width="438" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Oy. It's been a couple of years, hasn't it. Seriously. Starting in August 2019, I got my FFS after a lengthy and frustrating legal battle with my insurance. Then in November I got my top surgery. Then it was time for my GRS to happen in May of that year. All of those in the span of about nine months. And that was just the surgeries. <div><br />Covid-19 happened too and threw everything into chaos. Thankfully Kath and I were super lucky. We weren't affected negatively and didn't lose anyone that we knew. We even got to work from home which was really nice. So while we were super lucky, we were still stressed out and overwhelmed. <br /><br />Creatively, I got burned out. I really did and unfortunately that slowed us way down on recording Gender Rebels. But now we're back and recording again. We are even posting new patron only content too. <br /><br />On the writing front, two of my pieces are in the new edition of <a href="http://transbodies.com/second-edition/" target="_blank">Trans Bodies, Trans Selves</a>. It's a great A-Z encyclopedia of all things trans. I heartily recommend it. <br /><div><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAmHH-4xtI3-KzFnWJRM409I_O6Gh5PJ57LeRJh8qsjCKQC30vRFeP83BleL9sprCaO8-YmlM8-es-gVnVTjiqsa1AMgMiM1rkqoqgM2u06_xGygnFSVMzPpYnQvha5w9LJAPBOVPLH4-ayNPOlYbXOpmEZYMVbNjxJZzvZZ_aNz9hmQM7KMOmUcp/s400/369EF6075CD9EEBC7FFDBF149D875F836DF7ACBF.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="309" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiAmHH-4xtI3-KzFnWJRM409I_O6Gh5PJ57LeRJh8qsjCKQC30vRFeP83BleL9sprCaO8-YmlM8-es-gVnVTjiqsa1AMgMiM1rkqoqgM2u06_xGygnFSVMzPpYnQvha5w9LJAPBOVPLH4-ayNPOlYbXOpmEZYMVbNjxJZzvZZ_aNz9hmQM7KMOmUcp/s320/369EF6075CD9EEBC7FFDBF149D875F836DF7ACBF.jpg" width="247" /></a></div><br />And in July, my novel <i>Disgusta </i>will be coming out! So I will have plenty of more updates about that coming soon. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYsJrETWt0vwq1CH4fqRpUNsAdfisDxLrjH6isi5QPOLvsZlHWuwzEEYzZK9JjipYXU_j8c-hNTmM81SltnRaNJAcaG0vNZ0sq5kLE3ARr5aijiokYcypq01fyx7KBA9u_fHzNsiD_e60HKevo1tD_VdzV3N9Xpg6ahr6ras5HRByt5Xmdqo6jWHTg/s1641/Disgusta%20Banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1263" data-original-width="1641" height="492" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYsJrETWt0vwq1CH4fqRpUNsAdfisDxLrjH6isi5QPOLvsZlHWuwzEEYzZK9JjipYXU_j8c-hNTmM81SltnRaNJAcaG0vNZ0sq5kLE3ARr5aijiokYcypq01fyx7KBA9u_fHzNsiD_e60HKevo1tD_VdzV3N9Xpg6ahr6ras5HRByt5Xmdqo6jWHTg/w640-h492/Disgusta%20Banner.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-183fdd4e-7fff-8061-5727-a133ae31efd8"><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Disgusta </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">is a young adult novel about a teen who growing up in the suburban South in the Nineties. In high school, he wrestles with belief in God, a disintegrating conservative family, and transgender feelings that won’t go away. It explores themes of belief in God, LGBTQ identity, rebellion, and coming of age. Additionally, its setting provides a serving of Nineties nostalgia and a realistic look at growing up queer in the evangelical community.</span></span></div><br />Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-69877288076271155152020-01-24T09:08:00.001-08:002020-02-05T11:10:04.917-08:00Burn Out and Checking Out Are Also Parts of Transition<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So, I am about to turn 40. Not only is that a major milestone, it also means that my official transition started five years ago. And, back in 2015 when I started this process, I dove right into it head first. Not only did I start updating this blog twice a week, I also started doing weekly <a href="https://genderrebels.podbean.com/" target="_blank">Gender Rebels</a> episodes with my partner Kath. Then we started our Patreon page which meant generating patron-only content and we also launched the Gender Rebels YouTube channel. With all that going on, I was starting to grow my hair out, deal with hormones, and get laser hair removal on my face. Beyond that I was also writing novels and, oh yeah, working my normal 40 hour a week day job.<br />
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For three years, I think I just rode on this new transition high. Everything was so new and exciting. It was an adventure, eagerly waiting for hormone effects, coming out at work, starting full time, getting rid of all my boy clothes, changing my name, changing my gender marker, getting new paperwork on everything. It was wonderful. It was heady and something full of endless possibilities.<br />
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Then, as I reached my two years on HRT, I decided to go in for the surgeries. And I think this is where that excitement hit a big wall. Thud. First there was bureaucratic gathering of letters and paperwork, making consultation appointments, figuring things out. It was starting to sap my energy a little, but I soldiered on.<br />
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But then came the emotional roller coaster that was my fight against my health insurance company. They had denied my FFS and I was determined to fight them on it. My FFS surgery date got pushed back and back multiple times as I dealt with endless paperwork, denials, appeals, a deposition, accepting that I was going to lose, and...then finally I won. I won eleven days before my FFS date.<br />
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Then I spent time recovering from my FFS. For a month I looked like an absolute ghoul; covered forehead to chin in dark, black bruises, one eye droopy, a head so swollen it looked like a bowling ball full of surgical staples. My numb mouth that meant I couldn't drink from a cup from a normal person and had to use a straw for a couple months (it's still not quite there). Plus my ear-to-ear head wound scabbed over like crazy until the scabs got intermingled with my hair and decided to just stick around permanently. Thankfully, a couple dermatologist visits and some creams got that normal again.<br />
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Just as I was nearing the end of the healing on my FFS, it was time for my breast augmentation! Thanks to the legal battle pushing the date back, my FFS and breast augmentation ended up being about 90 days apart. That's about as close as you can get surgeries. I mean, the doctor signed off on it. But it still felt super quick. Then, there was the recovery from that, which I'm still dealing with as of this writing.<br />
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Needless to say, it's been a lot. And I found myself with no energy at all for creative endeavors. My blog fell fallow, and I Kath and I had to stop doing weekly Gender Rebels episodes. I just didn't, as they say, have enough spoons. Two surgeries and a legal battle wore me down and left me exhausted.<br />
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And that is something that I never really realized was a part of transition. It's been five years and so many changes. It burns you out. That is where I am right now...kind of burned out on the whole thing. and yet, there's still miles to go before I sleep because my next surgery is coming up in about 100 days.<br />
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When I first dipped my toe in the trans community over twenty years ago, I remember feeling for the first time that I really wasn't alone. I absorbed it all like a sponge. I talked to everyone I could and met so many cool, amazing people. Many of them I've lost touch with over the years, but at least once a month I get an email from someone who happens upon the podcast and tells me that they remember me from some old forum or another. I needed the community. I need to read other people's stories, their successes, their advice.<br />
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One odd thing I do remember from that old online community was that there existing something of a hierarchy. Crossdressers were right at the bottom, part time trans-women were only a little higher, full timers were higher still, people who had actually started hormones were higher than the HRT-less full timers, out trans-women were higher up than them, and post-operative trans-women were the true queens. Back then I was kind of at the bottom and looking up.<br />
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In about 100 days, I will reach my queendom, at the top of the heap. Not that anyone really cares about that hierarchy anymore. In about 100 days, my transition will be "complete." There will always be some more electrolysis, but I will, for all intents and purposes, be done. I will have transitioned. Ages ago, I would sit on the subway, young 22 year old me, and write out these plans, these transition checklists. Well, my checklist is almost done. What does that really mean?<br />
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For the past few months, I have found myself needing to check out from all of it. I unsubscribed from all the trans subreddits I used to read. I've found myself unsubscribing to trans YouTubers I've enjoyed for years. I honestly don't know why. But I don't think that it's because I'm "done" with my transition. I think that checking out of it all, taking a break from it all, is something that you need to do some times.<br />
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Five years. For five years I have been living and breathing and drinking and eating transition. Transition has been the central part of my life. And it seems like I will be doing that for at least another year. I think the reason I've kind of checked out of the transgender community is because not only do a need a break, but I just want to be "normal." After five years, I'm over transitioning and just want to live my life.<br />
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So that's where I am right now. I'm checking out and burning out and I'm not sure I like either. I do want to be part of the community that has brought me so much strength and encouragement, and to which it turn, I can provide strength and encouragement to the next generation. And I want to be be burned out! have the energy, all that lovely restless energy, for weekly podcasts and blog posts, and writing, and trying to get published. I still want to write and direct my own <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y9YKHRQkf7k" target="_blank">Frances Ha </a></i>style <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mumblecore" target="_blank">mumblecore</a> movie. It's something I've always wanted to do.<br />
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But, I think that burn out and checking out are parts of transition. There's no escaping them. Transition is hard! It takes over your life for years! It's an energy and attention vampire. At some point burn out and checking out will catch up with you. I'm not sure if anyone ever told me that, but I think that it's something unavoidable. Well, let me get through this next year. And then, I think in 2021, I'll have all my spoons back and be ready to hit the ground running creatively and community-wise too.<br />
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And don't worry, I'll have plenty to post this year too. Wishing you all the best. </div>
Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-4023911765651492292020-01-16T13:07:00.001-08:002020-01-16T13:07:45.741-08:00Trans Love: A New Book<span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">New book featuring not one but two pieces by me! Be sure and check it out and also buy a copy too!</span><br />
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<a href="https://www.amazon.com/s?k=trans+love+an+anthology+of+transgender+and+non-binary+voices&fbclid=IwAR0AQRTaornHLwfSUSGD3FPv4CMUou0_M9rMYkXgU4m6w2vV5Aom2EuOR8w&sprefix=trans+love&ref=nb_sb_ss_i_1_10" target="_blank">Trans-Love on Amazon. </a></div>
Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-13222889179747225092019-11-19T08:27:00.001-08:002021-06-29T06:32:34.413-07:00 The Story of My Breast Augmentation Surgery <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My surgery was scheduled for a Friday. It would be at NYU Langone here in NYC. On Thursday, I got a call at 11am from them stating that they still needed more paperwork from the cardiologist. If they didn't get it within the hour then my surgery was going to be cancelled. Egads! For FFS, it had taken me weeks of phone calls, faxes and pleading for the cardiologist to send exactly the right info to the surgeon.<br />
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A sinking feeling came over me. Were they really gonna cancel? This surgery had been scheduled for a year! Why wait until one hour before the deadline, one day before the surgery to request more paperwork?! I'd stopped taking my HRT two weeks prior. I hadn't had any alcohol for two weeks. I had submitted insane amounts of paperwork. I was ready for my surgery!<br />
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Well, thankfully, I got a good person at the cardiologists and they were able to quickly send over exactly what the surgeon needed. Then not half an hour later I got another call. My surgery was scheduled for 3pm the following day. Three seemed a weird time for a surgery. It was my understanding that they always did them as early as possible. But ah well, I'd take it.<br />
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There was a long wait before surgery. Kath and I sat there in the little pre-surgical area for hours. I was wearing my hospital gown. I did get a little freaked out when I put my hospital gown on. There was a sort of plastic lining on the inside and I thought "Oh my god, that's so the blood won't soak in. That'll be my blood!" But in general I was pretty calm. Having gone through surgery before with my FFS made me far less nervous or scared. I knew what was happening and breast augmentation is a minor surgery compared to FFS.<br />
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It was so weird to once again have to walk into the operating room full of all the equipment and actually climb up on the little bed myself. This time I managed to not get a clear look at the blades, scalpels, and other tools. But I was a little weirded out by how small the table/bed was. It clearly had not been designed for the comfort of the patient. The staff was nice and they got me hooked up to an IV. It went in my hand which hurt. I like the arm better. I cracked some nervous jokes with the staff, tried to think about other girls I knew who had been through this and been fine, and then the drugs kicked in. I was out. </div>
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After the surgery, I was wheeled back into the curtained off area with Kath. Unlike with my FFS, I wasn't out of it as badly. My chest definitely felt tight, like there were two foreign objects shoved in between my skin and muscle. I was wearing a thick, gigantic, medical bra. They had me lying down on a stretcher. After a while I got really uncomfortable and tried to sit up. That was painful. Later Kath would comment how I'm normally quite good with pain but from my reaction she could tell I was in serious pain. Thankfully, some staff helped me into a chair.<br />
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My chest was tight but it was only painful if I moved. Staying still was a little uncomfortable but pain free. Then the moment I shifted or tried to use my arms pain shot through my chest. So, I tried to stay still, joke around with Kath, and sip on my apple juice. At least the chair was more comfortable than the the bed.<br />
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It took forever for them to release me. Though it was only about two hours it felt like an eternity. We grabbed a cab home. Walking wasn't too difficult. But when we got home, I collapsed down on the couch and laid there for about fifteen minutes resting. Then I thought I might get up to get a drink. Except I couldn't get up! Any way I moved was painful. I was afraid of ripping something out or damaging my body. I had to sheepishly call Kath over to come help me off the couch. The same thing happened lying in bed the first night. I had to pee at like 3am. So I woke up poor Kath to help me get out of bed.<br />
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It was really interesting seeing them on my chest for the first time. They were big! I knew I was getting pretty big boobs. But I was like "wow!" These are ginormous. Um, I'm not complaining. It made me super happy to realize I was going to one day have amazing breasts. I wanted to go run to sixteen year old me who was so distraught with dysphoria and be like "Little me, it's gonna be okay! It's gonna be awesome one day. Just hang in there."<br />
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Over the next few days the pain slowly, slowly subsided. I was given opiates, but elected not to use them beyond the first day for fear of becoming addicted. Instead I just used some regular over the counter Tylenol and Motrin. I think it worked. On day three I started weening myself off the painkillers. By day four or five I was completely off.<br />
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Recovery has been much easier than for FFS. For one thing, I can shower. For another I don't look hideous. Plus there was no icing down my face for a week. Oddly though, I would say that breast augmentation has been way more painful than FFS was. Sure, FFS was uncomfortable and demoralizing, but it really wasn't painful. Breast augmentation has been painful.<br />
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The pain has been really surprising too. You never quite know what is going to set it off. Turning the dial on the toaster oven caused me serious pain. Trying to open push doors in stores hurt. Getting up from a seated or a prone position was especially hard.<br />
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There was one night, maybe at day six or so. Again, I got up to use the bathroom late at night and then crawled back into bed. Once I was back in bed I realized that I hadn't even thought about getting up. I had managed to get up out of bed without any real pain. That was a nice feeling.<br />
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So now it's just patience. It seems to be a running theme in my transition. HRT effects take a long time. Growing out my hair took a long time. Healing from FFS took a long time. And healing from breast augmentation is going to take a long time. Right now I'm still waiting for the girls to settle into position. They install them high up knowing that gravity will do it's work in the weeks and months following surgery. So they're still up around my collar bones.<br />
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But, you know, even though they're not done settling yet, it's hard to avoid the temptation of taking pictures, isn't it? Ah well.<br />
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Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-43639427449451638092019-11-07T07:33:00.003-08:002021-06-29T06:32:48.311-07:00My Facial Feminizaion Surgery - Three Months Later <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So, the other day, someone commented on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/faithdabrooke/?hl=en" target="_blank">my Instagram photo </a>and said "Your FFS was totally worth it!" Though I didn't respond, my first thought was bitch, you don't know what I went through. I'm the one who spent months putting together paperwork and building a legal case against my insurance company. I'm the one who looked like a bruised, swollen freak for a month. I'm the one who can't whistle as well as once I could! How do you know whether all that was worth it?<br /><br />Was it all worth it? That's the question. Now that I'm out of the woods on paperwork, and mostly out of the woods on healing, I think I can say it was worth it. When I look at some of my new pics, I have trouble even believing that they're me. It makes me super happy. I think I find myself passing more easily in public and that makes me super happy too. </div>
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Sure, I won't be entering any big whistling competitions any time soon. And while it makes me sad to lose that coveted crimson sash to Bertha "Whistlee" Butler, I am going to have sit out Salzburg this year. But I'm comin' for you next year, Bertha! Still, I'm happy. So I guess maybe it was worth it. </div>
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If you came for thoughtful content and not just a bunch of photos, I'm sorry. I can't help you. This is just gonna be a bunch of photos. I'll be more thoughtful soon.<br /><br />In the meantime, here are some more pictures that I can't believe are of me!</div>
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<br />Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-22542423987717131402019-10-29T14:32:00.001-07:002021-06-29T06:32:58.159-07:00Top Surgery <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Here we go again. It seems like my facial feminization surgery was yesterday. In fact I'm still healing from that surgery. Yet here I am about to go under the knife again. In less than two weeks I'll be getting my top surgery.<br />
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This surgery is a lot less scary than FFS was. For one, I've now been through a pretty involved surgery. So nothing is going to be a surprise this time around. Top surgery is actually a much, much simpler procedure in terms of surgical complexity and in terms of recovery. I should be able to go back to work in less than a week. And though I won't be able to do heavy lifting or jogging for a while, it shouldn't be too bad a recovery.<br /><br />Heck, my biggest worry is that I'll give into the temptation to post pics before I'm fully healed. Breast implants take a while (two weeks to three months) to drop into place. And I will be super tempted to post lots of pics before they settle and look normal. We'll see how it goes.<br /><br />The biggest thing that my top surgery will impact is whether or not I choose to go ahead with GRS as scheduled. As is I've planned three surgeries in the span of only nine months. Now, medically it's probably fine. My doctors have signed off on it after all. But I worry that I might be taxing my body and my spirit a bit too much.<br /><br />The FFS recovery, while not painful or gross really, was harder than I expected. And I know GRS is going to be even harder than that. A part of me is like, great, let's get it all over in one nine month period. But another part of me is like, maybe my body shouldn't be put through all this so quickly. I don't know.<br /><br />My breast augmentation surgery will help determine my future course. Maybe it'll be a breeze and I'll have six good months of recovery before GRS. Or maybe it'll be hard and I'll be so sick of doctors and hospitals that I'll want to push GRS back another year. We'll see. I sure as heck don't know right now.<br /><br />Well, either way, I'm excited for top surgery. I think it'll go a long way toward helping with dysphoria and body image. Wish me luck.<br />
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Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-27725430137538708012019-10-08T08:04:00.003-07:002021-06-29T06:34:03.644-07:00Facial Feminization Surgery - Part 4: Results <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been six weeks now since I went under the knife and I can whistle. Sure I'm not as strong a whistler as I once was. Certainly I won't be entering into an competitions any time soon. But there's been some serious progress in healing. But parts of my chin and lower lip are still numb. I'm assured by my doctor that this is normal. But it's troubling. I still sort of need straws to prevent dribbling when I drink. Though that is getting better.<br />
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My bruising is almost completely gone. In fact, I no longer need to use color correction, concealer, and two types of foundation to cover them up. Foundation alone will work fine. The swelling is also almost completely gone. There's a small spot under my chin that's still a little swollen. Though it used to be gigantic. Now it's there but more minor.<br />
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My hairline goes through periods of being fine and periods of being sensitive. As of this writing it's gotten to be somewhat itchy. My doctor of course warned me of this. My biggest issue with this area is that I've developed an area of thin, sparse hair around the incision. When I brought this up with my doctor, she said it may be permanent, but that we wouldn't know for a year or so. So I just have to be patient. But those of you who have followed up my journey know that I had hair transplants a couple years ago to fix a terrible hairline. So I'm quite sensitive to my hair and its thickness. Hopefully it'll heal and get better. </div>
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Okay, so now the million dollar question - how do I feel about how I look? I am definitely much more confident about my face. It's funny though because the changes are quite subtle. Of course subtle is what I wanted. But when I look in the mirror I sort of see the same face. But I'm happy with how my face looks. I think I do look more naturally feminine, so that's good. And look at that profile! That's a nice profile! Though I think my new nose is my favorite part. </div>
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On the whole it's been a positive. Though when I was at my grossest and most uncomfortable during my recovery I began to wonder if I really want to deal with everything that comes from GRS. Obviously I want the final results, but compared to GRS, FFS is nothing. GRS scares me. I worry about complications and a protracted recovery. Having had surgery for real has left me terrified of GRS. But we'll see. It's scheduled for eight months from now.<br />
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Well, my plan is to get through my top surgery in November. Once that's done and I've recovered a bit more I'll see how I feel about GRS. I have time to push it back if I realize that three surgeries in ten months is too many for a fragile human body. Or maybe by January I'll be so sick of doctors that I won't even want to think about another surgery. Perhaps I'll be all healed and ready to go. We'll see.</div>
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Another part of me worries that with the political situation in the US maybe I shouldn't wait. As I'm writing this SCOTUS is hearing some potentially disastrous cases that could end legal protections for LGBTQ Americans and legalize discrimination against us. Maybe my health insurance company will decide it doesn't want to pay for GRS after all. I don't know.<br /><br />Well, as with anything transition related...patience is the key. Healing continues and transition continues too. </div>
Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-85186998461326745892019-10-04T09:07:00.005-07:002021-06-29T06:34:13.744-07:00RĂĽckkehr Nach Berlin. Kapitel Zwei (Return to Berlin, Part Two). <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Saturday was going to be the biggest day of our trip to Deutschland. It was the entire reason we chose to go in June rather than in a slightly more temperate month. Saturday was going to be Wave Gotik Treffen! It's the largest goth festival in the world and it features bands, stores, and most importantly the opportunities to get dressed up all goth and get loads of pictures. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br />We planned our travel so meticulously that an observer would have assumed we were German. At 6am we got out of bed and started getting ready. The first snag occurred when I went to put on my gothy foundation. During the early part of the trip I had gotten too much sun. So instead of being maybe a shade lighter than my normal skin tone, the foundation looked like clown makeup! I had to wash it off which wasn't easy because it was quite fancy foundation that really didn't want to wash away. Then I had to redo my makeup entirely.<br /><br />Still, we got to the Berlin Hauptbahnhof (central train station) with plenty of time to spare. We got some euro from a geldautomat, grabbed a beverage, and located our track. But then I got a text on my phone from Deutsche Bahn. Our train was going to be 15 minutes late. No biggie. That would give us time for one more quick bathroom break. We got back to our platform and suddenly the displays now showed an entirely different time. We were quite confused. Eventually we were able to ask someone and discovered that our train had come and gone!<br /><br />Next we tried to see if we could at least get a refund on the return trip ticket. But my the German transit employees were disinterested in us. Slowly we began to learn that our train hadn't been 15 minutes late. It had been 3 minutes late. And there had been announcements about it moving to another track. So we were on the platform but thought it was a different train. More frustrating conversations where German transit transit acted like we were morons who didn't understand trains got us nowhere. So </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">we decided to cut our losses and just spend the day in Berlin. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">After a quick trip back to the hotel to switch to less gothy but more comfortable shoes, we decided to head to the Carnival of Cultures. It was a large street fair that turned out to be within walking distance of our hotel. We got some rather good food. Kath ate pelmeni (dumpling soup) and potato pancakes with apples from a Polish booth. I ordered a fried pirogi from the Polish booth and it turned out to be massive. I also got a pork burrito from a Mexican booth. Mexican food is my favorite cuisine and I love the idea of eating Mexican food as prepared by Germans. This was one actually turned out to be a tiny, tiny bit spicy. Not bad considering Germans tend to think of milk as too spicy for their Northern European palettes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">There were also tons of booths selling shirts, dresses, handicrafts, jewelry, and other stuff. Kath got a paper crane necklace. I bought a witchy black skirt that ended up being really, really cheaply made. The first time I wore it it immediately started coming apart. There was also a booth that sold these amazing feather collars. They were like the ones Sansa Stark had in the 4th season of <i>Game of Thrones</i>. I really, really liked them and would have bought one if it hadn't been €120.00. It was a good decision as they're also on Etsy for like $60.00. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">Across the river (or maybe it was a canal) from the carnival was a large building that Kath wanted to explore after spotting it from the train. It had a real airplane perched atop it. Walking toward it, we also noticed that they had a windmill blade out in front. I had known windmill blades to be tall, but I didn't realize just how tall until I was standing next to one.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">The building turned out to be the Deutsche Techniker Museum. It's like the German version of the Smithsonian Air & Space Museum. Except that it's more like the Air, Space, and Suitcase Manufacturing Museum. It turned out to be utterly astounding. Apparently the Germans know a thing or two about science and engineering.</span></div>
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The first section of the museum was all about early computers and televisions. Their collection features some of the earliest computers. Gigantic and shiny, they were entirely mechanical. There were also some of the earliest television sets. My favorite was the "Televisor" unit from the 1920s. </div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;">And there were trains too. So many trains. It was almost hilarious. There were multiple warehouse sized rooms, each one with more trains. And they keep going on and on. The first ones are prototypes made of wood and eventually you get giant steam locomotives, and eventually electric East German train engines. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; line-height: 107%;">It was fun. And then it almost got tiring. No matter how far you walked there were more trains! There were also trains outside. Also there were outdoor exhibits of different types of windmills, watermills, and water towers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">We tired of windmills after the normal amount of time (roughly ten minutes) and decided to head back inside. Yes, there was indeed a rather large, detailed exhibit about suitcase manufacturing. It definitely felt like a East German exhibit. Surprisingly, it turned out to be quite interesting. I mean I never really thought about how suitcases are made.<br /><br />Upstairs were hundreds or possibly thousands of ship models. There was an entire floor of the museum dedicated to them. As you continued up flights of stairs the transportation technology grew more complex as you rose. It went from wooden sailing ships to steam ships, then eventually to balloons, bi-planes, and eventually WWII planes, and jets. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I really liked this conceptual model of an 18th Century air city.</td></tr>
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It was surprising how many WWII German planes there were. I would have thought that the Germans wouldn't really want those out on display. But they didn't shy away from it. They even had V1 missiles out on display. Although it was interesting that the swastikas were only allowed in the historical photographs. All the other displays used a red flag with a white circle in it - a Nazi flag without the swastika.<br />
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Out on the rooftop, Kath found her airplane. IT was a real American DC3. It was neat but the view of Berlin from the top of the museum was the real star. But, just as we reached the roof, they announced the museum would be closing. We felt like we had gotten a good gander of the industrial history of German though.<br />
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After a day being out walking around we took it fairly easy that night. We walked back to our hotel and found a nearby bar with outdoor seating. It was actually steakhouse but all we cared about were the tall glasses of hefeweizen and kristalweizen beer. </div>
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The best part about the restaurant though was the bathroom. The toilets were quite complex and featured a rotating toilet seat washer. So when you flushed the toilet the round toilet seat would rotate through a sanitizing machine. Okay, great, you're thinking. That's cleaner right? More sanitary? Sort of. They also had one of those old timey cloth hand drying systems. You know the ones? It's where there's a nasty old loop of rag hanging from a paper towel machine. And you can kind of cycle through the rag but none of it feels really clean. They're gross. </div>
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We found a German food restaurant near our hotel and ate there for dinner. It had a real old man bar type vibe. It was cool because there was real German style seating where they'll just seat you at a random table where there's room, even if other people are already sitting there. We didn't talk our neighbors, but there were some really loud Americans behind us who apparently felt the need to talk to the people at their table. </div>
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It was funny because I was endeavoring to use only German when speaking to waiters or ordering food. I wanted to blend in and not be an obnoxious American tourist. And here were Americans right by us doing their best to stick out like sore American thumbs. </div>
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Since we had been running around all day, we made it an early night. Even though it was a Saturday night. </div>
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One of the things I love most about Berlin is Sundays in Maurpark. Once a gash in the city where the Berlin Wall stood (Maur is the German word for an outdoor wall or barrier), the collapse of Communism left a wide open space that was transformed into a large public park. It's customary to grab a big bottle of beer or a Radler (a lemon soda and beer combo) and come down to Maurpark on a Sunday afternoon. There are bands, acrobats, and other performers. Plus there are two giant flea markets selling crafts, food, and all manner of used goods. </div>
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So Sunday we biked over from our hotel near Potsdammer Platz over to Maur Park. Berlin is a great biking city. It's flat and there are divided bike lanes everywhere. Plus it's not that crazy large. The main part of the city is about six to eight miles across so you can get anywhere in less than hour on a bike. </div>
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We found some cool stuff in the Flohmarkt. Kath got a black military style cap and a bracelet made from a bent spoon. It was the same vendor she had gotten a bent fork ring from on our last trip to Berlin. Meanwhile I dove into a giant area full of vinyl records. I ended up finding a German imprint Cure single for a friend of mine and a copy of the soundtrack to <i>Christine F. Wir Kinder Vom Zoo Banhauf</i>, which was basically a Bowie live album. Then I found an old Deutsch language Game of Life from the early 80s. I really wanted to get it but there was no way I could get it home on the plane. </div>
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Then we got some bratwursts and beers and settled in to watch a fairly okay acrobat/fire eater from Australia. I saw he was okay because we watched for a half hour and he only did like three tricks/stunts. The rest of it was all padded out. But it was fun because I could understand his German. </div>
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Later that day I checked Instagram and saw that Lauren Mayberry from CHVRCHES was actually in Maurpark at the same time we were. But even if I saw her, I didn't recognize her. Also it's a large park so it's unlikely we were even in the same area. </div>
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After Maurpark we headed over to Prenzlaur Berg to meet an old friend of mine from high school. We went to Prater Beer Garden, a large open beer garden that's nice and shady with lots of trees. We had a few more beers but didn't get food. All they had were bratwursts, pretzels, and pickles. Well, I did try one bite of a pickle. But it turned out to be super sweet. Gross! I like my pickles sour, thank you. Still, it's a lovely place and I adore it. The Germans really understand relaxation. </div>
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That night our plan was to head into Kruezberg for a night at the SO36 club. We had learned that there was a bus right outside our hotel that got us there in about ten minutes. At about nine or so, we went out to wait for the bus. It did not appear to be coming. A German person told us that because it was Sunday the bus was running on a slightly different route. We didn't feel like risking it though.<br />
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Instead of Kreuzberg, we wandered around our hotel's neighborhood and found a good spot to sit and drink more beers. Okay, Kath and I were on vacation! We don't normally drink this much. But we do love German beer. I love Kristallweiss, which is nearly impossible to find in the US. Kath loves her Hefeweizen, which is easier to find in the US but still not exactly abundant. After drinks we wandered a little bit and then grabbed some Halloumi at a doner kebab place. I don't know why I never tried Halloumi before. It's like delicious grilled cheese in a pita with fun sauces and veggies on top. It was perfect. </div>
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<w:sdt sdttag="goog_rdk_31"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Monday was our last full day in Berlin. Since we had tried (and failed) to explore Charlottenberg on our last trip, we thought it would be good to give that West Berlin neighborhood another go. After a hearty breakfast, we set out west via bicycle.<br /><br />Near Ernst-Ruter-Platz we saw a van from the Church of Scientology. For those of you who don't know, Scientology really doesn't like psychiatry or psychology. Actually they kind of lump those two together. Scientology considers them both evil. And they operate museums about how evil psychiatry is. They call them "Psychiatry: An Industry of Death." Well, we found the van that apparently drives around Berlin advertising for this. Kath has worked in this field for twenty years so she is an SP (a supressive person) and she also finds the entire thing hilarious.<br /><br />We also found the Berlin Scientology Kirche. While we were getting photos out in front, an actual German Scientologist came out and offered to take a pic of us. We declined. Kath wouldn't let me go into the Kirche though. She fears that the Scientologists will convert me. I keep telling her that I grew up Evanglical and got out of that so Scientology is nothing. She seriously underestimates my dislike of joining groups. </span></w:sdt><br />
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<w:sdt sdttag="goog_rdk_31"><span style="line-height: 107%;">After a while we decided to stop for a coffee. Now, in the US there is this beverage called "iced coffee." It is made of coffee with ice in it. But in German ice or eis, means ice cream. So if you order an eiskaffee, you don't get iced coffee. Instead you get a sundae with coffee added. So instead of a late morning pick me up, Kath and I ended up in a cafe eating giant coffee flavored ice cream sundaes. They even came in those tall, thin sundae glasses and those super long sundae spoons. They were delicious, so who are we to complain? </span></w:sdt><br />
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<w:sdt sdttag="goog_rdk_31"><span style="line-height: 107%;">After that we explored the Schloss Charlottenburg, a giant palace that was the home of the Elector of Brandenburg. See, there used to be a Holy Roman Emperor who was elected by various nobles and many of those those Elector states eventually became political divisions within modern Germany. Okay, that's enough history. The palace has enormous, ornate grounds. We walked and biked all around them, including around a canal that runs behind the palace. </span></w:sdt><br />
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For lunch we had our second meal of German pizza. After all, Germany is just one Switzerland away from Italy. Actually pizza is pizza. It's hard to screw up. Both the pizzas we ate in Germany were good. Maybe it's because pizza isn't usually spicy. Germans mostly end up in culinary trouble when they try to do food from spicy cultures like those of Thailand or Mexico.<br />
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Remember when I said we screwed up our last visit to Charlottenberg? Well, we screwed that up by trying to walk there from the East Berlin neighborhood of Prenzlaur Berg. It's too far to walk. But this time we screwed up by going on Whit Monday. What's Whit Monday you ask? I have no idea. Something Catholic. Maybe it's Cathol's birthday. But it does mean that quite a bunch of stuff was closed. So we sort of screwed up our second visit to Charlottenberg as well. Though we still had fun. We just didn't shop.<br />
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We rode back through the Tiergarten, Berlin's giant park. There's a wide road that cuts through it. It's essentially Unter der Linden, but when it's in the park it's called Bundestrasse 2. We stopped to look at a statue of Otto von Bismark. As we walked up to it I saw something scurry over a fence. It looked like a cat but not a cat. It definitely wasn't a dog either. It was a dog cat of some sort. Actually it came out again and turned out to be a fox. It was rather cool.<br />
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That evening we got bottles of beer at a tabac and wondered around Prenzlaur Berg. It's a beautiful neighborhood with tree lined streets and lots of outdoor dining. It also has an old water tower as a central landmark. Since we hadn't explored the water tower before, we decided to take a look. It's in the middle of a large park.<br />
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We climbed up an artificial hill in the park and found a bench overlooking the neighborhood. The sun was starting to set. So we sat there drinking our bottled beers and watching the city. The view was amazing and the moment was perfect. </div>
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We rode back West through Alexanderplatz. We paused by the Spree though, by the Berlin cathedral. The sun was setting and I couldn't have asked for a more beautiful view for our last night in the city. </div>
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It was a really fun trip, although after the first day or so I stopped taking selfies or asking Kath to snap pics of me. My face was bright red and my body was covered with what I eventually learned were hives. I'm still not sure what I was allergic to. But once I got back I went to a dermatologist who suggested I take some Benadril. Thankfully that cleared it right up. Wish I had known that on day two of the trip! </div>
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Our next trip abroad will probably not be Germany. There's just too much world out there. I need to see other stuff. So 2020 will hopefully be Dublin, Edinburgh, and London and some combination of at least two of those. We still have to figure out the details. And hopefully on that trip I can avoid hives and get lots of cute pictures. </div>
Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-34451881925879212162019-08-31T15:32:00.004-07:002021-06-29T06:34:42.555-07:00Facial Feminization Surgery - Part 2: Surgery <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out celebrating the legal win that made my FFS possible.</td></tr>
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The procedure was set for Tuesday, August 20th at 7:30am. Starting at midnight the night before I was not suppose to eat or drink anything at all. But I was supposed to shower with Ivory soap. It had to specifically be Ivory soap. I'm not sure why. That night I wasn't too frightened or nervous. I knew I would be, but I wasn't that night. I figured that when it came time I would do the same thing I did when I got my name legally changed. I would ignore the fear and just put one foot in front of the other.<br />
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On that morning, I woke up at 4am. While Kath walked our two little dogs, I got dressed in yoga pants and tank top. I figured the tank top would be easier to put on and take off with a face full of bandages. We took a car to the hospital in Manhattan. My surgery would be with Dr. Bella Avanessian of Mt. Sinai.<br />
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For a little bit we waited in the lobby (which featured some lovely 1970s-esque furniture and an ear, nose, and throat mural-) before getting called over to a little cubicle. There I filled out some insurance paperwork and gave Mt. Sinai my address for what must have been the 38th time since I first called about a consultation. I also got my hospital ID bracelet. Once it was around my wrist the whole thing felt that much more official.<br />
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As we headed up to the surgical waiting room/prep room, I wasn't quite afraid yet. Sure, I was relaxed, but I knew the real fear would come. The surgical prep room was like a giant ER. There were little curtained off beds lining the walls and plenty of nurses, doctors, and medical equipment. We were shown to a rather spacious corner to suite to wait.<br />
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There were folded up hospital gowns and a disposable hospital hat that was like a paper shower cap. I didn't put anything on yet. I figured they would tell me when. Of course, not long after I made that decision, the Physician's Assistant came in to countermand it. So I took off my comfy pajamas and donned my nervous making hospital gown. Though I didn't bother with the hat. They were going to be cutting my head anyway. No point in a hat.<br />
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At that moment I was a little nervous. I kept asking Kath if she was going to be okay with me having FFS. Of course she was. She had been since the moment I first mentioned it. She was even excited about it because she finds medical procedures fascinating. But she had met me and fell in love with me eight years ago with one face. And now I was going to alter it. Maybe I needed her to reassure me.<br />
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This was something I wanted and something I fought for. I kept reminding myself of that fact. And I also kept reminding myself that I could literally say no and walk away at any point. Well, at least until they knocked me out. Once that had started there would be no going back.<br />
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Our second visitor was the anesthesiologist. They got my height and weight (also about the 25th time Sinai had gotten that specific information). Then they talked me through the general anesthesia process and asked if I had any questions. Of course I did!<br />
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So she explained that yes, redheads do need more anesthetic than other people. My natural hair color is reddish and not fully red, so I'm good. Also, I asked her about <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anesthesia_awareness#targetText=Anesthesia%20awareness%2C%20also%20referred%20to,maintained%20throughout%20the%20whole%20procedure." target="_blank">anesthesia awareness</a>. It's the horrible thing where you "wake up" during surgery and are entirely aware yet unable to communicate or move a muscle. So you just endure the pain of the operation. It's a real 'I have no mouth yet I must scream' type situation. She assured me that it's rare and getting more rare. It's only really an issue in ER's when they have to do a rush anesthesia job and often have to guess at a patient's weight.<br />
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After that my surgeon came in and ran through the procedure with me. First she asked me what I wanted done and compared it to the notes she had put together during our consultation. One thing she hadn't mentioned before was that my X-rays showed that one brow bone was too thin to be shaved down. It would have to be broke and re-set. "Do what'll look best," was my response. That had me a little more worried. What if this didn't come out good? Plus she just seemed so casual about the whole thing. To me this was one of the biggest milestones in my life but to her it was a Tuesday. Kath tried to reassure me by reminding me that it was good to have a casual doctor. You want someone experienced for whom doing FFS is nothing.<br />
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Then it was time. This was when the fear really hit me. This was happening. My facial feminization surgery was really going to happen. I was in fact going to get my face cut off, my bones ground down, and then my face stapled back on. Okay, it was more complex than that, but that's the basic idea.<br />
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So, I followed the physician's assistant and a nurse over to the door to the operating rooms. At the doors I stopped to kiss Kath goodbye and to tell her how much I loved her. Just in case I died. Although Kath had assured me that I wouldn't die on the table. After probably too sappy a goodbye, I went through the door and followed the nurses down the hall to a far too nondescript door. That was my operating room.<br />
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Okay, this is where the fear really got to me. That operating room had a lot of equipment in it. There were silver medical looking machines lining all the walls. Gigantic And the table in the middle seemed so small. I looked over and saw some scalpels and other tools on a table. Those were about to be used to cut up my flesh. What oddly got me was that I had walked into the room myself. I had always pictured being prone on the table and wheeled into the room. But no, I had walked in. I would actually have to get on the table and lie down myself. My stomach was tied in knots that I tried not to think about.<br />
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"I could get up and walk away right now," I thought to myself. I could leave and I wouldn't have to endure weeks of pain and recovery. I wouldn't have to risk anything going wrong. But I pushed those thoughts away. This is something I had wanted for years. This is something that I fought for. This is something that was truly life changing. I wanted this. So I got up on the table.<br />
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"Michelle Hendley did this," I thought to myself. "Contrapoints did this. I can do this." The anesthesiologist hooked up the drip to my arm. I felt a sharp pain for the briefest of moments. First the drip was going to give me some Valium to calm me down. Then the knock out drugs would follow. I don't know if it was just me or if it was the Valium, but I started joking with the nurses. "This is like that scene in <i>Captain America</i>," I said. "I'll go into the machine and come out stronger on the other side." Then they put the oxygen mask on. I remembered that Kath had said something about it smelling like plastic. Then I was out.Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-79472291306758646362019-08-31T15:32:00.003-07:002021-06-29T06:34:34.929-07:00Facial Feminization Surgery - Part 3: Recovery <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QCZCEqjbXjU/XWvcDqf-fdI/AAAAAAAAHFE/jld8T-1pjecLTNEtr7owJg3_XI5t2S8ywCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_7057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QCZCEqjbXjU/XWvcDqf-fdI/AAAAAAAAHFE/jld8T-1pjecLTNEtr7owJg3_XI5t2S8ywCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_7057.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice hospital room view.</td></tr>
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It's been almost two weeks and I still can't whistle. And I still look terrible. I'm all bruised up and swollen. Part of my chin and lower lip are still numb. One of my eyelids remains droopy. And I'm bloody well sick of trying and failing to sleep with my head elevated. But hey, at least my facial feminization surgery is done. One more check mark on the ol' transition to do list.<br />
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When I work up after the surgery, it was like waking up mid-dream only I couldn't remember the dream at all. I do remember muttering something about my job. It was likely that someone asked me what my job was, making conversation to gauge my responsiveness. As I was wheeled out to the recovery area, all I remember feeling was extreme thirst. My mouth was bone dry. In my post-anesthesia haze I asked for water and ice chips, which were soon brought to me.<br />
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As I laid there sucking down ice, I started to feel the tightness in my head. It felt heavy like a bowling ball and my skin felt like it was stretched to the point of breaking. I had loads of bandages I didn't dare touch. My legs were strapped into a blood-clot preventing massage aparatus, and I still had the IV hooked up to the stint in my arm.<br />
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After a few minutes or possibly an hour or two (I have no idea), they wheeled me up to my hospital room on the 7th floor. I remember asking about Kath and being told she was waiting for me upstairs, but I have no real memory of being wheeled up to 7.<br />
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In fact, the next few hours are fairly hazy. Upstairs, Kath was indeed there waiting for me. While it was wonderful to see her and to have here there, I continued to have fairly bad memories of that time. I remember sipping ice water through a straw and her saying something about walking our dogs. There were also flowers that a departing FFS patient had gifted to me. Though I was kind of out of it, apparently I kept apologizing for being boring and not entertaining enough.<br />
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Every few minutes or so another nurse, or nurse's assistant, or physician's assistant would come by with drugs, questions, or drink and ice refills. From one of them I learned that I had been both catheterized during the procedure so it might take me a while to pee. Also, I'd been intubated during the procedure as well, i.e. a big ol' plastic tube had been shoved down my tracheae. That had left my tracheae inflamed and swollen which is not too great for your breathing. But they gave me a breathing game to play with!<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9noaraRYPvA/XWvcFnt8ptI/AAAAAAAAHFQ/XnE7aHWeGuYoPn7p20xb_Bamlvi4lH4EQCEwYBhgL/s1600/IMG_7083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9noaraRYPvA/XWvcFnt8ptI/AAAAAAAAHFQ/XnE7aHWeGuYoPn7p20xb_Bamlvi4lH4EQCEwYBhgL/s320/IMG_7083.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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The way you win the breathing game is by getting a high score on the plastic breathy-tube thing they gave me. You have to breath in while keeping a little indicator between two arrows. Actually it felt good to practice. My lungs reminded me of my smoker days. Though I've never been asthmatic, I felt like I imagined an asthma attack would. I was breathing shallow. And because my nose was packed with so much medical stuff, I could only breath through my mouth.<br />
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Breathing was really the hardest part. A few times I even had slight panic attacks because I felt like I wasn't breathing, even though I was. My blood oxygen levels were good, but it felt like I couldn't get breath. It was also tricky to try to explain this to a nurse because they hear "I can't breathe" and consider a rather serious thing. But practicing on the game was good for me. I even got a few 3000+ scores.<br />
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Mostly Kath read to me from my latest manuscript. She had been marking it up for me and had made notes of the parts that she found particularly entertaining, dramatic, or funny. I kept apologizing for being boring. Sucking on ice was about all I was doing. The nice thing at least was that there was almost no pain. There was however a lot of discomfort.<br />
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Kath was willing to spend the night, but I tried to convince her not to. It wouldn't be comfortable for her and I kind of figured I would be out it. She eventually left after dusk and I was in fact mostly out of it. Though I was kind of sad when she left. Having her there had made a rather weird, uncomfortable, and unfamiliar situation feel a little more normal and ordinary.</div>
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The night went fairly quickly, despite my sleeping for only an hour or so at a time. Because I had to breathe through my mouth, I would wake up suddenly form either dry mouth or feeling like I were gasping for air. My phone was out of my reach so I couldn't see what time it was. But at some point I had to call the nurses to turn the light out and close the door (it was surprisingly loud for a hospital late at night).<br />
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Even later than that I had to call a nurse because I had to pee. You see I couldn't get up because I was hooked into the leg messagers and the IV line. A nice nurse helped me up and walked me to the bathroom. My legs felt surprisingly weak even though I'd only been in a bed for a few hours. Due to the catheter, peeing took a while.That was something that I hadn't expected.<br />
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At some point during the night a nurse brought me a try of wet gauze squares for eyes. It was to reduce swelling. So I slept with those on my eyes. Though I was interrupted a few times for drugs and vitals checks, the night went by surprisingly quickly for a weird, unfamiliar, and uncomfortable place. I guess my body really wanted the sleep. .<br />
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Morning brought visits from every single hospital employee and their mother. There were more drugs, vitals checks, the staffer who took menu orders, a social worker who was there to set up at home nurse visits, and a few others I don't remember. They brought breakfast pretty early. It was pancakes, a hard boiled egg, apple juice, and yogurt. Though I didn't think I was hungry, I still tore off some pieces of the pancakes and ate them. Pretty soon the pancakes were gone. Turns out I was quite hungry, having not eaten in a day and a half. I skipped the egg as eggs are gross and smell like flatulence. But I did eat the yogurt after a nurse reminded me that antibiotics can wipe out your gut flora.<br />
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The discharge process started with a physician's assistant coming in and removing my IV line. Then he started taking off my bandages. The next thing was the removal of the packing from my nose. That was one hell of a weird and squirmy sensation. It wasn't pain but it wasn't pleasant either. It was so nails up the chalk board. The packing just kept coming and coming and coming. It was like my nose was a clown car. Finally I got the two drains removed from my head incision. Getting those two out hurt like hell!<br />
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I asked the physician's assistant if I could put on my own clothes and he said it was fine. It felt so nice to be wearing actual clothes again, especially underwear. This may be TMI but I am way more comfortable when I can tuck. It feels weird to not.<br />
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Kath came to pick me up around lunch time. Lunch was a rather bland kale, mozzarella and chicken pasta. I ate it all, including the slice of bread on the side. Finally came a visit from a doctor who ran through all the questions we had and provided us with after care instructions. Kath had been compiling questions for the past couple of weeks. The nurses gave me a couple eye masks for filling with ice and also gave me a handful of straws. Drinking from a cup was proving a challenge. Then Kath helped me gather up all my stuff so we could leave. I was going home!<br />
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We grabbed a cab right outside the hospital. Unfortunately the driver was an ass. He kept asking personal questions about the surgery, including how much it cost. Even though I was giving one word answers he kept pressing on. He was also a terrible driver and the ride home was jerky and bumpy. But at least we were on the way home.<br />
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Kath had prepared for my return. She had gotten all seven of my prescriptions along with two over the counter pain killers on the list. Plus she'd gotten boxes of Jello, Popsicles, soup and broth just in case I couldn't have solid food. She was amazing.<br />
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The next week was kind of a blur. I looked like a monster and so spent most of time indoors. Though I did go on a few walks because they'd been recommended for preventing blood clots and strengthening my lungs. That first week I tried to ice my face as much as possible. Usually I would listen to stand up while I did that, although Jen Kirkman and Kumail Nanjiani both mad me laugh so hard I nearly busted a stitch.<br />
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In fact I had to be extra careful around my face and not just with laughing. I was afraid to touch anything because my discharge instructions had included an admonition to just not bother with anything above my neck. So I didn't except for ice.<br />
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Bruising and swelling peaked around day three. That's when I looked my worst. It was terrible to see myself in the mirror all bruised up and swollen. Plus one eye was droopy and the white of that eye was bloody. The hardest thing though was sleeping sitting up. That's an unnatural position for me and doing it for a week is hell on one's tail bone. Sponge baths did improve my morale. But mostly that week was spent on TV (<i>Fringe</i> and<i> Community</i>), playing <i>Civilization VI, </i>and waiting for the check up that was scheduled for day eight.<br />
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I grew desperate for that check-up. It would be my chance to learn if everything was going well. My swelling and bruising looked so bad. Were my numb chin and lower lip normal or signs of nerve damage? What about my droopy/bloody eye? Was that normal? Was any of this going to be permanent?! I really wanted reassurance from medical professionals.<br />
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On day eight I ventured out into real society for the first time in a week. Sure I had been on walks but this meant going on the subway and into Manhattan. Thankfully my doctor said that I was healing well. That was a huge relief. She assured me that my droopy eye was swelling, that my bloody sclera was related to the bruising, and that my numbness was normal and would subside in a few months. I got my nose splint off, my stitches taken out of my nose (ouch!), and the staples taken out of my head (no pain). Plus I was told that I could shower, wash my hair, and shave my face in a couple days. That was the best news! </div>
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You have no idea how nice that first shower was. I had gotten so grimy over that week! And being able to finally shave my face was wonderful and made me feel normal. Although shaving is actually quite difficult when you can't feel your face.<br />
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My chin and lip have, I think, been improving. My chin is still numb but the feeling is coming back in weird ways. It's like a mix of half remembered and confused sensations. There's pressure and pain. My lower lip feels chapped even though it isn't. And sometimes my chin itches but I can't scratch it because it's numb! How does that work?! It's frustrating because I still have to use straws to drink and food is hard to eat unless it's cut into small pieces. Sandwiches are off the menu for a little bit.<br />
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My eye is still droopy and a little bloody, but both have improved. My swelling has gone way, way down, as has my bruising. Week two has really been about waiting to heal. I've been going on longer walks although I do run out of gas after only a little while. So I've been trying to stay rested. My lungs are much, much better. And I can start the see what the final results will look like. And that's exciting.<br />
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On day 14, two weeks after surgery, I finally decided to get pretty. I showered, washed my hair, shaved all over, did my makeup and put on a new dress. Though my foundation isn't opaque enough to hide bruises and though I'm still fairly swollen, it felt amazing to go out on a nice day being pretty. I really can see the results. I'm still healing. There's tons of more healing to do. But of what I can see of future me, I'm happy with. This is going to be so amazingly life changing.<br />
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Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-10843319635152043082019-08-27T12:38:00.002-07:002021-06-29T06:36:33.316-07:00Facial Feminization Surgery - Part 1: Legal Win!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The last few months have been a fight. My insurance initially denied my claim, meaning they refused to pay for my FFS. They said, despite letters from my doctors and therapists, that it was an entirely cosmetic procedure. Luckily, I had gone to a "Getting Insurance to Cover Your FFS" talk at last year's Philadelphia Transgender Wellness Conference. Otherwise I would have never even know that I could fight them. And fight them I did. It's been exhausting but I kept fighting. </div>
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First there was a peer to peer review wherein doctors from the surgical team would meet with doctors from the insurance company to go over everything. That happened and the insurance company still said no. So next up was a formal appeal from my surgeon. The health insurance company said no to that one as well. Meanwhile I'm on my third surgery date and my 3,000th form. </div>
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With that, my only option was to launch an external appeal through New York State. Thankfully my surgeon was able to provide an attorney to reach out. That attorney referred me to a second attorney. They were able to help me. Firstly though, there was a retainer agreement. I mean, you can't do anything with a lawyer without having something in writing, right? It also felt really grown up to say things like "let me talk to my attorney" or "I have a legal counsel on retainer." </div>
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My legal counsel then put together an affidavit based on my doctor and therapist letter. The idea was to show that this procedure was legitimate. Again, I had to bear my soul and tell about how I am sometimes literally frightened that being clocked might lead to ridicule and violence, that I didn't feel comfortable with my own bones, and that FFS could make me feel normal. Thankfully I had a co-worker who's a notary as the affidavit needed to be good and official.<br /><br />"It's unlikely that the decision will be overturned," my attorney cautioned me. They told me all about what was established protocol for transgender care. They said that maybe in the future FFS would be covered, but right now the Empire State wasn't really considering it vital. Top and bottom surgery and HRT are covered, but FFS generally isn't. </div>
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So I braced myself for a loss. I was basically certain that I was going to lose. I have top and bottom surgery scheduled over the next year so I figured that any action on FFS was going to have to wait until at least autumn of 2020 at the earliest. Maybe the state would change its mind by then and demand that insurance cover FFS. Maybe I would win the lottery in that time or inherit some money from a long lost wealthy uncle. Either way, the decision on FFS was probably going to be addressed in late 2020. </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c8gyhEFLIG8/XVHEYLkIVXI/AAAAAAAAHEE/GwVh4js2IOI_pRXmP_OLqDJPZcYXqRk3ACPcBGAYYCw/s1600/VDBY2013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-c8gyhEFLIG8/XVHEYLkIVXI/AAAAAAAAHEE/GwVh4js2IOI_pRXmP_OLqDJPZcYXqRk3ACPcBGAYYCw/s640/VDBY2013.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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It was a Friday and I was at work. It was about 11am and I got a random call from a 212 number. For those who don't know that's the Manhattan area code. Since I live in Brooklyn (718) and since everyone has cell phones, 212 numbers are primarily used by businesses. So, when you get a call from one it's usually something official. This one was someone official. It was my lawyer!</div>
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My lawyer called to tell me that we had won! I had won my external appeal! My health insurance company's denial was "overturned in full!" My facial feminization surgery was being covered by my health insurance company! The legal fight I had been engaged in since April was over. And I had emerged triumphant!<br />
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For the rest of Friday I could barely work. I just had this surge of nervous energy. It was actually happening! This was actually happening! It was so overwhelming. I was so excited, nervous, and also relieved. As soon as I got the news I texted my partner Kath but she wasn't responding. I figured she was in a meeting. So I went and got a large iced tea and took a walk. It was really happening. And it was happening in about a week! About an hour later, I did get a series of excited texts back from Kath. This was really happening! </div>
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That night Kath had plans to hang out with a co-worker. I had tickets to a Regrettes show. But I had to run home and walk the dogs. It was fine since my show didn't start till late. Of course, you introverts out there know what happened. Once I was in my own home and in comfy clothes I barely wanted to move much less go up to Williamsburg for a show. So I ordered a pizza and set out to binge watch some <i>Buffy the Vampire Slayer</i>. I was tired. I was burned out. I had won a legal fight and figured that a night of me time would be what I needed to let go of all the stress, worry, and exhaustion. But that was not to be. </div>
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After a couple slices of pizza and an episode of <i>Buffy</i>, it was only 8:45pm. The show didn't start till 9pm. So I thought, I could grab a Lyft and be up there by time the opening band goes on. After throwing on a punkier outfit and smearing on some heavier eyeliner (it was a punk show after all), I grabbed a car and headed up to the show. </div>
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Oh my god, the Regrettes show turned out to be exactly what I needed. For those of you who don't know who the Regrettes are (you philistines), they're a fun, feminist, pop punk/power pop band with a touch of surf and rockabilly. They put on a fantastic live show. And this was actually their album release show. Their second album was out that day. Plus it was a small venue - only 250 capacity. And all 250 of those fans turned out to be crazy Regrettes fans like me. </div>
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<br />The band played mostly old favorites and the crowd (myself included) went crazy. We were all singing along and bouncing. There was a mosh pit and I threw myself into the thick of it. I hadn't moshed in probably 20 years. I let the crowd shove me around had a gigantic smile on my face. It was like a Pentecostal church. I let go of myself and I let go of all the frustration and anger and exhaustion of the past few months. That concert healed me.<br /><br />When I was growing up Evangelical, I never once felt the Spirit, what the Apostle Paul called "the peace that passes all understanding." Never experienced it once. I prayed for it, begged God to let me feel the Holy Spirit, to let the Spirit come to me so I could shake and tremble and roll on the floor and speak in tongues like the other people in my church. But it never happened for me. But I did feel something like that at punk shows. It's funny. But I guess my Rock & Roll is my religion.<br />
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I had a week to go until my surgery. It was funny but when I looked in the mirror I didn't feel like I needed to say goodbye to my old face or anything. I don't like a few parts of it after all. And I was going to get those fixed. I wasn't nostalgic. Instead I was hopeful. I'd have a year of surgeries and then I'd be done. I'd be finished with my transition. That was a nice feeling. It felt a bit like that first tall hill on the roller coaster. You go up inch by inch, click by click, the apex of that hill looming closer and closer, a wild ride in your near future. But for now it's just click, click, click. <br />
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I was feeling scared, excited, and hopeful all at once. One week to go. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other and just keep going. Because the ride is about to start.<br />
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Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-87969435874719558522019-08-01T14:28:00.002-07:002021-06-29T06:34:53.385-07:00RĂĽckkehr Nach Berlin. Kapitel Eins (Return to Berlin, Part One). <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So, I make no secret of the fact that I love the city of Berlin. A year and a half ago Kath and I first visited the city and immediately fell in love with it. <a href="http://www.faithdabrooke.com/2017/10/deutschland-tag-eins-germany-day-one.html" target="_blank">That trip</a> was in fact my first time travelling abroad as my true self, a feat which was quite exhilarating. And I learned that German security is much cooler with silicon breast forms than the TSA.<br />
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But we fell hard for Berlin. The city is ultra-modern but also has some old Soviet grit too. It's pleasant in many ways that US cities are not. It's wonderful. Or wunderbar, if you will. As soon as we got back to New York, we vowed to return to Berlin again soon.</div>
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<b>Tag Eins </b></h2>
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Since our first trip had mostly focused on East Berlin, this time we wanted to explore more of the West. We started out in <span style="text-align: center;">Schöneberg which has something of a reputation as Berlin's "gayborhood." It's where David Bowie lived when he wrote and recorded his Berlin Trilogy. It's also where Bowie's one time girlfriend, transwoman <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Romy_Haag" target="_blank">Romy Haag</a>, ran her cafe. It was a spot frequented not only by Bowie, but by Iggy Pop, Nick Cave, Freddy Mercury, Lou Reed, and Mick Jagger.<br /><br />These days the neighborhood feels less rock and roll and more like a basic residential neighborhood. The only noticeably gay thing about it that we noticed were a couple of fetish wear and sex shops. I did manage to find a record by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=knUDV_ppSyE" target="_blank">Einstürzende Neubauten</a>, generally considered the first industrial band. It was third record, one where they started to have actual songs instead of avant garde records full of construction noises. We actually spent most of our time exploring KaDeWe, which is a ginormous and beautiful West Berlin department store. </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Sadly, Kath would end up coming down with a bit of a cold on our first day! So, we went back to the hotel so she could rest. Okay, at that point I was seriously determined to go out and explore Berlin. Even if Kath were going to spend the trip sick in bed, I was going out, dang it! It wouldn't be a long first night out for me either though. </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;"><br />For one thing Berlin is further north than NYC and the sun doesn't set till almost 9:45pm! It was insanely hot out too. We had landed a during a freak heat wave and the temperature our first night was almost 100F. Still, I was determined to brave it. </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">I ended up going out and grabbing a doner kebab, Berlin's specialty. The place I stopped in was around the corner from our hotel so it was full of Americans. I was determined to be better than the average American tourist though! Unlike the others, I ordered in German! </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">Now, my German is okay. It's like D- level. I know about 300 nouns and maybe 35 verbs. From those I can construct enough to get by in most situations. When a German person speaks however, I can understand a couple of words a sentence. Usually that's enough that I can get the gist of what they're saying. Sometimes though, the German comes at me way too fast and all I can do is say 'ja.' That's how I ended up with mayonnaise on my fries. </span><span style="text-align: center;">Unfortunately</span><span style="text-align: center;">, my doner wasn't very good either.<br /><br />I ended up exploring a little bit around the hotel. But I ended up frustrated. Not only was it super hot out, there didn't seem to be much around the hotel. That left me a little frustrated. My ideal hotel is right smack in the middle of a walk-able area full of amazing bars, shops, and restaurants. We were next to a the remains of a bombed out train station and that seemed to be about it. So I ended up grabbing a couple beers and some Haribo at a tabac and turning in a little early. </span></div>
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<b>Tag Zwei</b></h2>
The next day we got up fairly early because Kath had gotten us tickets to a history tour for my birthday. I started my vacation a little unhappy with my appearance. The first thing was that I had dyed my hair right before the trip. I thought it would be a lovely red but it turned out to be a kinda gross orange. It was too late to change it. On top of that, my whole body was itchy and red. I thought it might be because I wasn't drinking as much water as I was used to. So I tried copious amounts of lotion. It didn't fix it. So I was stuck with orange hair and reddish skin. It was a combination I didn't like on me.<br />
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As the trip went on, my skin got worse. It even started breaking out in little red bumps. I searched online but nothing was helpful. Apparently every single skin issue in the world can cause little red bumps and itchiness. I figured it wasn't scabies or bed bugs since Kath was immune. I started to suspect that it was an allergic reaction to my hair dye. On top of that my first day's exploration had left me seriously sun burnt. The only foundation I had brought was my super pale gothy one. On my darker skin it looked like clown makeup. So, I ended up not really taking too many photos on this trip. Mostly because I looked terrible and wasn't confident in my apperance.<br />
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<span style="line-height: 107%;">Our tour was a walking tour about Third Reich history. A part of me felt really embarrassed by this. I imagined Germans overhearing the tour guide talk to us Americans, and looking down on for being obsessed with Hitler and the Nazis. I thought they would judge us for being interested in that. So I was a bit apprehensive at first. </span></div>
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But one fun thing about the tour was that it started at the Zoo Bahnhof. I knew a little bit about this station because of the West German book and movie <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kgAfjw3Op5Q" target="_blank"><i>Christiane: Wir Kinder Vom Zoo Bahnhof</i>.</a> Sometimes called "The German Trainspotting," it's the semi-true story of a young teenage girl who is involved in drugs and prostitution in 1970s West Berlin. </div>
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The tour turned out to be really interesting. We saw the spot where the July 20 conspirators of the Schwarze Kapelle (the Black Orchestra) were killed after launching an unsuccessful coup to oust Hitler. We saw several memorials to the victims of the Nazis as well as the apartment complex parking lot which was the site of Hitler's bunker. We saw the exact spot where Hitler ended up in a ditch covered in petrol on fire. </div>
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After the tour ended at 2pm, we found a small cafe to eat lunch. We had pork schnitzel. It was the first of our many "brown food" meals. Kath, you see, loves German food. But, most German food is nothing more than meat and potatoes. It can be a little boring. Thankfully though, good beer is plentiful. And everywhere in Germany has kristalweiss, which is my favorite beer.<br />
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Right as we started on our lunch a huge thunderstorm erupted. We ended up sitting out under the awning and drinking beer after beer waiting for the storm to subside. It took a couple hours, but thankfully the staff didn't mind.<br /><br />With a tiny bit of rain still drizzling down, we went around the corner to the Mall of Berlin so I could buy some toiletries. Personally I hate the 3oz rule when it comes to air travel. It means that right after arrival I always need to find a spot to get some basics including some new foundation.<br /><br />We ended the night at Lardons, a little restaurant in Prenzlaur Berg. A friend of mine from high school lives in the neighborhood and is always able to recommend the best restaurants and bars. Kath got some summer asparagus. It's big in Berlin. Seriously. Seemingly every restaurant in the city was advertising their asparagus meals. Ham, hollandaise, and asparagus is apparently a summer favorite for Germans. I ended up having the best food I'd ever eaten in Berlin. It was a simple pasta was garlic pesto. But it had some serious garlic. It was super good! Dinner also involved far too much Riesling and of course naturally we went to cool bar nearby for more drinks. It's Berlin after all.<br />
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<b>Tag Drei </b></h2>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Friday we decided to rent bikes from the hotel. It would turn out to be a great decision! Berlin is nice and flat and there are bike lanes on every last street. Riding around the city is wonderful. We were technically staying in Kruezberg, but it was on the border of Potsdamer Platz, Mitte, and <span style="text-align: center;">Schöneberg</span>. Okay, remember how I said that our hotel wasn't near anything? I was wrong. It turns out that when I explored the first night I went the one single way that led to nothing. Had I gone any other direction I would have run into some of Berlin's busiest neighborhoods. Ah well. It was good to learn. </span></span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">We went back to Prenzlaurberg, this time to explore on our own. Mostly we just bounced around from shop to shop looking for interesting things. In one little store we found a great print of a cat in an astronaut suit. Since we already had one picture of a cat-stronaut up in our bathroom, we figured we had to have the second one. Who doesn't want a cat astronaut themed bathroom right? For lunch we were weird and got pizza. It felt like we were cheating on New York a little. But the pizza was pretty good. </span></span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">While in Prenzlaur Berg, we also stopped in Kulturbrewery. It was a spot we had visited on our last trip but it's really cool. It's a giant former brewery which has been turned into a concert venue and office park. Wanting to escape the heat, we decided to check out the Kulturebrewery Museum. We figured it would be a small museum about the history of the building. We couldn't have been more wrong. </span></span><br />
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><br />Instead, it turned out to be an amazing museum all about life in communist East Germany (DDR). It was huge and its many exhibits were all about the day to day life of average people in the DDR. It was a quasi-Soviet state so everyone was assigned to collectives. Basically your collective would be made up of your company. So if you worked in the brewery, you would be in a collective with all your co-workers. You were expected to socialize with your co-workers and even go on vacations with them! An introverts nightmare! </span></span><br />
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Good workers, those who met quotos and went to the collective's knitting circle or bowling nights, would be allow to go on vacation. And the only vacation available was a ticket to your collective's lodge on the Baltic. There was also stuff about how information got smuggled into the DDR from the West, how East German supermarkets worked (not well), and how the government encouraged everyone to spy on each other. </div>
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<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">Late in the afternoon, we biked all the way across the city. It was about 8 miles to get home and it took us through some pretty hairy areas in Alexanderplatz and Mitte. But, we wanted to drop the bikes off back in the hotel before we went out. That night we had tickets to go see Ex Hex in Kruezberg. Unfortunately, once we got back to the hotel we fell asleep! After our nap I was feeling sluggish and I not really up for a show. But Kath convinced me to go. Luckily there was a bus that ran by our hotel and shot straight over to Kreuzberg. </span></span><br />
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By the time had gotten over there, the show had already started. But I didn't mind. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2AxIA4042WA" target="_blank">Ex Hex</a> is a fantastic band and its front woman Mary Timony is a legend in female-fronted music circles having founded Autoclave, Helium, and Wild Flag among other projects. It was a fantastic show and the German audience seemed really into it. They demanded encore after encore until the band literally gave up and said "We don't have any more songs!" </div>
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After the show, we had find our bus stop, which was not easy as that area of Kreuzberg has a lot of diagonally criss-crossing streets and a couple of different train tracks running down the middle. It was late, after midnight, and for the first time in Germany I didn't really feel that safe. Because of my weird rash thing and weird foundation mismatch, I wasn't feeling comfortable about my appearance. </div>
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Lacking confidence is not a great thing for a transwoman who's in a foreign city late at night. Plus there were lots of groups of young men sort of standing around. That always makes my transie-sense tingle. Groups of men not doing anything feel super threatening to me. All I need is one person to decide to call me out and a situation can go south pretty quickly. So I was super nervous. Being lost and having my phone's map app up as we wandered around only made me more nervous. Here I was broadcasting "tranny" and "American tourist." </div>
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<br />Thankfully though, we found our bus stop and made it home safely. We were exhausted and there was so much more Germany to be had! Saturday was going to be our big day. That was the day we were going to head to Leipzig for Wave Gothic Treffen, the world's largest goth festival!<br /><br />Oh, and speaking of goth. I saw this dress in a window in Prenzlaur Berg. How beautiful is that? I only wish they had it in black. </div>
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Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-53469572734431070832019-06-17T11:15:00.001-07:002021-06-29T06:36:53.726-07:00Milestones and Frustrations <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Today's a big day for me! Today I cross the threshold. You see, as of today I have been working at my job as me (the real feminine me) longer than I have worked as my old (more masculine) self! Exciting.<br /><br />Back in September of 2016 I had <a href="http://www.faithdabrooke.com/2016/09/a-friendly-little-chat-with-hr.html" target="_blank">my first, nerve wracked conversation with Human Resources</a>. And I still need to get my Lorde "Bravado" tattoo that I had promised myself. In November of that year I<a href="http://www.faithdabrooke.com/2016/11/a-transgender-girl-comes-out-at-work.html" target="_blank"> started working as the real me</a>. It was a decision that required a lot of courage and a huge leap of faith. But I'm so glad I did it. In retrospect it seems like it has been no big deal. But the anticipation of it was scary to say the least. It's been really fantastic though.<br />
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And today marks that point where I have officially been working here longer as me than as old boy me. Exciting! A real reason to celebrate.<br /><br />In other news, my fight to get my insurance company to pay for facial feminization surgery continues without an end in sight. I've moved my potential surgery date back to late summer. From what I understand they have denied my second appeal. That means that I will be pursuing an external appeal with the help of legal counsel.<br /><br />Of course doing that requires getting a written notice of the appeal denial. Five or six calls and I'm still trying to get my hands on that written notice. It's frustrating to say the least, especially with a surgery date looming. And people wonder why I'm a socialist. Ah well. We keep up the good fight because there's nothing else to do.<br /><br />Except to stop sometimes to celebrate big milestones. :)Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-18232504058911566952019-04-26T12:20:00.003-07:002021-06-29T06:36:41.470-07:00Transition Isn't Sad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My last post was something of a downer. And it got me thinking. I remember years ago (thinking mid-90s) I watched a documentary on Discovery Channel. It was a British made documentary that followed two or three transgender women as they went about their transition. Of course it was fascinating to watch. The whole time I was enthralled, but at the same time afraid someone might walk in and see what I was watching. Thankfully no one did. </div>
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But something struck me about the documentary. Its tone was decidedly a mournful one. One transwoman was working as an exotic dancer to pay for her surgery and another was an older woman who was having trouble finding work in the field where she had been employed for twenty years or more. Transition was presented as sad.<br />
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And I think this is an idea that pervades our culture in a lot of ways. It's a carryover from that whole stupid idea of trans-people, especially trans-women as "freaks" at the fringes of society. In this view trans-people are to be pitied for the painful lives they endure. A lot of media focuses on homelessness, poverty, sex work, or violence against trans-people. The whole thing presents this ever present idea that transition is sad, that trans people are to be pitied.<br />
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While there are legitimate issues that trans people face, including all of the above and a heaping helping of discrimination, I don't think transition is sad. And I don't think transgender people are, on the whole, a sad group.<br />
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Transition is a wonderful thing. It's the moment when you truly accept yourself. It's an adventure. It's fun. Oh my gosh, it is so much to just be myself every single day. I get to do that! I wish I could go back in time and tell a sixteen or twenty-five year old me how great this is, how much fun their life turns out to be. Transition is so much fun. I'm just me now. There's no more hiding, no more secret to be kept. I'm out, I'm proud, I'm me. And I'm having fun.<br />
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But like anyone I will have my down times. Transition does mean dealing with stupid stuff too. But on the whole it's amazing. I'm glad I did it and it is not at all sad. Pity me not! But also speak up when you encounter transphobia.<br />
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Hope you're having fun with your transition too.<br />
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<br />Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-18598279512646569992019-04-23T08:13:00.003-07:002021-06-29T06:34:23.542-07:00Facial Femization Surgery: The Insurance Blues <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It started last Wednesday. Upon coming home from work I checked the mail and saw a letter from my insurance company. Before I even walked my dogs, I tore it open. And though I kinda knew what it was going to say, I still shook my head in annoyance and disbelief. The insurance company had denied coverage for my facial feminizaiton surgery. They had decided that this was purely cosmetic and thus not covered by my policy.<br />
<br />Though I knew intellectually that this sucked, I was numb. This numbness had been building for a good month or so. It had been a non stop back and forth between my surgeon, my general practitioner, mental health professionals, and my cardiologist. First I had to get three letters, then they needed to be updated. Then the insurance requested a fourth letter. Then I ended up playing a frustrating game of telephone where my surgeon and my cardiologist were talking through their receptionists, then me, then other receptionists, then practitioners and surgical coordinators. Getting any single document was a completely frustrating experience. Once I had finally gotten everything I was left utterly drained.<br />
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At home that night, I was by myself. Kath was out with coworkers and I was alone. I wanted to cry. But I couldn't. Finally I resorted to watching especially emotional video clips on YouTube. The power speech from the series finale of <i>Buffy the Vampire Slayer</i>, the <i>Whip It</i> trailer, and what finally got me was Jennifer Garner's speech in <i>Love Simon</i>, the one where she first talks to her son about his coming out.<br />
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Once the tears came I started to sob and I kept sobbing, just letting it all out.<br />
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<br />And I took a picture. And I<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BwVbdFDHq1A/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link" target="_blank"> shared it on Instagram</a>. Why? Because I always share my best. That's what everyone on the internet does right? That's social media. We all share our happy vacation pics, our best photos with our best makeup, us having great fun and us being fancy. Well, I didn't want to show that. I wanted to, for once, not show the polished me, but rather the real emotion. No filters.<br /><br />Transition isn't always perfect. Sometimes you will break down. Sometimes you will be so overwhelmed with emotion that you feel numb and have to force yourself to break down. Sometimes you'll have to submit tons of letters with embarrassing, super personal details about your life and emotions to faceless insurance company bureaucrats only to be told that your pain is about nothing but superficial vanity.<br /><br />There's something I always say, on Gender Rebels or to the listeners who write up. Transition is the time when you discover how strong you really are and how strong you always have been. And it is. I really think that is true.<br /><br />At this point in my transition, I'm discovering just how utterly true that really is. Though a part of me was relieved to get denied. It meant that the frustration might end. But, I'm going to keep going. Already I've reached out to a lawyer who specializes in this sort of case. So I'm going to do a formal written appeal as well as an external appeal through the state.<br />
<br />My new date is in July. So, let's see. I'm drained, I'm exhausted, I'm super frustrated with the endless bureaucracy, but I'm going to keep fighting. Wish me luck.<br />Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-56003517510177680992019-02-26T11:48:00.003-08:002021-06-29T06:37:04.993-07:00Facial Feminizaiton Surgery <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Well, it's official. In 64 days I'll be going under the knife. Or is it 63 days already? Either way it is happening way sooner than I had anticipated. Needless to say I am nervous as heck, excited as well, and slightly terrified.<br />
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Yesterday I had my consultation. First off, it was rather interesting to be in a waiting room full of other trans girls. Everyone was minding their own business (as one is want to do in a waiting room) but a part of me wanted to be like "Hey, you! You look great. What are you here for?" But you can't do that, of course. Even if you pick up a transmission you can never act on it because it's just letting the other person know you think they don't pass.<br /><br />After filling out a ton of forms with background information, I was then ushered into an exam room where someone sat down at the computer and asked me all the same information I had just filled out on the forms. Healthcare in America is already shit. Maybe we could improve it a bit by not going through the entire process twice here? Anywho.<br />
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Next my doctor came in. She seemed young and for some reason that always blows my mind. Of course, if I had gone to medical school right after college and residency right after that I would have already been a practicing doctor for at least seven years. It just always blows my mind though.<br /><br />So my doctor walked through what's causing my dysphoria with me. For me it's my brow ridge which makes me feel like my eyes are deep in caves. It's also my nose which is straight but weirdly shaped if you see it from the side. And then there's my chin which juts out. Mostly what bothers me is my profile. I hate, hate, hate seeing myself in profile. It fills me to my depths with the despair of dysphoria. You'll notice neither this blog nor my instagram ever have a photo of me that's not taken from straight on.<br />
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She walked through the procedures with me and helped to set my expectations about what she could or couldn't do. It was funny because she more than once referred to my features as "feminine." And I'm thinking like - do you say that to everyone or are my features just feminine? Well, I mean, I didn't get cursed with Abe Vigoda or Jason Momoa face, but still.<br />
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<br /><br />For the most part my questions were about recovery and complications. The doctor provided me with answers (recovery for a 2-4 weeks. Nerve damage can happen but it's unlikely. It won't affect my hair transplants). Then I asked here how long the waiting list was and she said they're currently booking for May. May? Of 2019? Yes, May of 2019.<br /><br />So next I sat down with the Surgical Coordinator who had more paperwork for me. She also said the next available surgery day was April 18. That was too soon for me. The next was early May. That was a little better. Granted it's only twelve days better, but I wasn't imaging this would all happen so quickly. I mean my top and bottom surgery took them a month to even get back to me. And when they did they gave me dates a year or more away. So I picked a date in early May!<br /><br />Wow. Even typing that makes me nervous. As I was in the room with her I had to ask to borrow a pen because I had so much stuff to do. First I need a cardiologist to sign off, have to move some other appointments, figure out work for perhaps a month, and get some additional insurance paperwork.<br />
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In a few days I should hear back on whether my insurance will cover it. I've got multiple medical letters written by people who are experts on this. But will insurance refuse to pay? That's the real crux here. If they don't then I pay then I'm going to have to fight them on it. Then if I lose that fight I have to cancel the surgery. I sure as hell can't pay for it out of pocket.<br />
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After all of this I had to go up to radiology to get some head x-rays. And that of course involved filling out more paperwork asking me the exact questions that the previous paperwork and interview had already asked. Seriously, American healthcare? What's up? Do we need to have a talk.<br /><br />Anyway, the sad thing is that they made me take off my skull earrings and skull necklace for the x-rays of my skull. How cute an image would that be! A real skull with jewelry skulls! Ah well. They wouldn't even let me take a pic of my image. They claimed it was a HIPAA violation. Sure, but it's my HIPAA. Can't I violate my own medical privacy if I want? Apparently not.<br /><br />So yeah. In a couple months I'm gonna get doctors to cut my face skin, peel it back, and grind off parts of my skull. I've never had surgery. I'm scared. What if I have that thing where you're aware of all the pain but can't move or speak! What if I die on the table? Both are highly unlikely but possible. It's scary.<br />
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And I'm nervous about what the results will look like. Thankfully my doctor said that she likes to make sure people still look like them, but with softer features. That's what I want. I still want to look like me. I don't want to look like I have bad Beverley Hills matron face. And I worry about recovery too. And pain. Sure, I'm good with pain but no one likes pain.<br /><br />And I'm excited because FFS is the tool that allows people to go from maybe passing some times to probably passing most of the time. And while I know passing isn't everyone's goal and it shouldn't have to be a goal, but it's still my goal. I want to be a normal girl. This is a step. And it's a step I'm taking soon.<br />
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9cDcGvxMYE0/XHWSz-FIM6I/AAAAAAAAGzo/pmMtG9-wf7Mj2_c35FLaE2g95QMIuQ5TgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-8466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9cDcGvxMYE0/XHWSz-FIM6I/AAAAAAAAGzo/pmMtG9-wf7Mj2_c35FLaE2g95QMIuQ5TgCLcBGAs/s640/IMG-8466.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Wish me luck.Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-63532544001446264702019-02-08T13:22:00.002-08:002021-06-29T06:36:20.981-07:00Check Me Out in the Latest Metric YouTube Video<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Ac5xyk03ZQ8/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ac5xyk03ZQ8?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-48248579908898951792019-01-25T09:52:00.003-08:002021-06-29T06:37:13.170-07:00Electrolysis Blues <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7fbr8wg1Wqs/XEtJ5-J9nMI/AAAAAAAAGwE/_LVNkP9vImUZ-mUzTmVcLzqnPO7WS4z0gCLcBGAs/s1600/Party1a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="770" height="500" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7fbr8wg1Wqs/XEtJ5-J9nMI/AAAAAAAAGwE/_LVNkP9vImUZ-mUzTmVcLzqnPO7WS4z0gCLcBGAs/s640/Party1a.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Last night I had my sixth electrolysis session. For those who are counting this was my fifth facial electrolysis session. The sixth was somewhere else, an area best left unmentioned. And I gotta say I'm kinda sick of it. When I was getting ready to head out the electrolysis office I almost cancelled. But cancelling at the last moment is not only rude, it would also cost me the full session amount. So I went. Laying down with the bright light in the my face, I braced for the now usual pain, figuring that I could just bite the bullet and get through it.<br />
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Recently I had found a new electrolysis place. This first one I tried was run out of a trans-woman's apartment and I didn't real like it. It just didn't feel professional. I didn't feel entirely comfortable being poked and prodded in someone's living room. I wanted a place that felt like a business. And I found a better spot in Brooklyn. It's in an office and feels much more official and professional. Plus the first time I went the owner kept asking me about my menstrual cycle until I finally had to tell her that I was trans. So I passed! That makes me like the place even more.<br /><br />But this time I when I went to the new place, I had a new practitioner. She had never done my face before and I think she had the machine turned up to high. It hurt like hell. I had put on some lidocaine cream before the appointment but it just didn't help. The electrolysis person made me ice up my face but it still hurt. After my half hour session I was so over it.<br /><br />Honestly, electrolysis is not fun. It's just not. And at this point I'm sick of the constant appointments, the not shaving before hand, the special skin care routine I have to do for days after, the limitations on shaving and makeup after, the pain, all of it. And unlike laser I don't feel like I'm even seeing results.<br /><br />I have to do my pre-GRS electrolysis. But I think it's time for a break on my face. I can go back to it any time. But I have my whole life to do this. Right now I'm finding electrolysis to be far worse than just shaving every day or every other day. I'll jump back in at some point. But to sum it all up, electrolysis is un-fun.<br />Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-32539406997932154282019-01-16T13:12:00.002-08:002021-06-29T06:37:22.321-07:00Golf Romeo Sierra <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ry_OoksY77I/XD9mXfolNOI/AAAAAAAAGvQ/NGILrfihZ0482VSMUvnlfas9_isgLU6HQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG-7705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ry_OoksY77I/XD9mXfolNOI/AAAAAAAAGvQ/NGILrfihZ0482VSMUvnlfas9_isgLU6HQCLcBGAs/s640/IMG-7705.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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The good news is that I got my dates for my surgeries! The bad news is that they're a loooong way away. But at least I finally have the dates. The past month has been spent just waiting for my phone to ring, following up, calling back, leaving messages, and being patient. Every time my phone has rung I've had that deep feeling in my gut just hoping that it was the doctor with the dates. Dates, I thought, would make it real. Well I have my dates. It's real.<br />
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To be honest I was a tiny bit devastated when the dates were given to me. Partly this was because they were at least six months after the rough idea that the doctor had given me. So I sort of let myself start planning it all out in my head. Getting one's expectations up can be a dangerous thing to do. And I did it to myself.<br /><br />But a long time is kind of good (I try to tell myself). Firstly, it gives me some serious time to think about things. There's a lot to consider here; everything from recovery, to potential complications, to life adjustments for myself and others. I've known two people to have GRS scheduled and back out at near the last minute. Maybe I will back out? Maybe I won't. Maybe someone else will back out and I'll get bumped ahead. That's why I've already started on my prep work.<br />
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Yes, there is a lot of prep work to be done in the mean time. I need to get electrolysis on my junk! Yes, I need to pay good money to have a stranger stick needles in my genitals for an hour. I just had my first session this morning. Thankfully the practitioner was super nice and helped me get over my nervousness. I mean, there's both pain to deal with and my own lack of comfort with being nude in front of strangers.<br />
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Thankfully the pain wasn't bad. My doctor prescribed a topic anesthetic cream. Where I had properly applied that I didn't feel a thing. Now there were a few spots where some excruciating hairs were killed. But it was altogether way easier than facial electrolysis. Still not fun, but not as bad as you'd think.<br /><br />The truth is that this whole process has been a little frustrating and slow. But I am also immensely thankful that I have insurance that covers it. And I intend to fight my insurance company and get them to pay for electrolysis as well. Wish me luck.<br />
<br />I've been lucky. I really have. Transition is slow. But ten years ago I was afraid to even start it for fear of loneliness or rejection or not being able to pay for anything. Every problem I'd imagined has always, in the face of reality, faded to nothing. And as I go forward I'll keep being thankful, I'll try to be patient, and I'll hope that all the fears keep amounting to nothing.<br />
<br />Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-75262841146695333622019-01-02T13:50:00.002-08:002021-06-29T06:37:34.764-07:00Waiting...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ndGqqAG_mxY/XCzUcBAdG2I/AAAAAAAAGuQ/7rnzRoNSHUwDozsDMD-5hNdrgviL0852ACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ndGqqAG_mxY/XCzUcBAdG2I/AAAAAAAAGuQ/7rnzRoNSHUwDozsDMD-5hNdrgviL0852ACLcBGAs/s640/IMG_6810.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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2018 was, all things considered, a good year for me. It was my final year wearing wigs thanks to <a href="http://www.faithdabrooke.com/2018/07/hair-transplants-six-months-progress.html" target="_blank">my new hairline</a>. It marked my <a href="http://www.faithdabrooke.com/2018/11/two-years-full-time.html" target="_blank">second year full time </a>and my third year on HRT. I got to meet one of my heroes, <a href="http://www.faithdabrooke.com/2018/11/garbage-you-should-always-meet-your.html" target="_blank">Shirley Manson</a>, and she turned out to be super awesome. I had my first <a href="http://www.faithdabrooke.com/2018/10/first-electrolysis-appointment.html" target="_blank">electrolysis</a> on my face. It got to go to the <a href="http://www.faithdabrooke.com/2018/09/so-i-went-to-philadelphia-transgender.html" target="_blank">Philadelphia Transgender Wellness</a> conference and had an amazing time. My podcast, Gender Rebels, reached its 100th episode where we interviewed <a href="https://genderrebels.podbean.com/e/michelle-hendley-100th-episode/" target="_blank">Michelle Hendley</a> and <a href="https://genderrebels.podbean.com/e/katie-rain-hill/" target="_blank">Katie Rain Hill</a>. I signed a <a href="http://www.faithdabrooke.com/2018/05/modelling-pics.html" target="_blank">modelling</a> contract and got my head shots (though I've yet to be hired - ah well). I went back to my <a href="http://www.faithdabrooke.com/2018/03/my-georgia-trip.html" target="_blank">home town</a> for the first time as the real me. And, as 2018 wound down, I had my consultation for GRS and top surgery. </div>
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So, that's a pretty awesome year. And I find myself buoyed going into 2019, determined that I will kick this years' ass so hard, as I have many others before it. But right now, as 2019 starts, I find myself waiting. Once again I am waiting. Transition involves a lot of waiting. It is not an undertaking for the impatient. The current thing I'm waiting on are my surgery dates. </div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mc8rK9Gu3nQ/XCzUbR_sR4I/AAAAAAAAGuI/hoAZiAavmu0HIdNISXlv-oL5fM4CFoVigCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_6357.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mc8rK9Gu3nQ/XCzUbR_sR4I/AAAAAAAAGuI/hoAZiAavmu0HIdNISXlv-oL5fM4CFoVigCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_6357.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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In mid-December I went to the offices of Dr. Rachel Bluebond-Langer at NYU Langone medical center. I had actually first gotten that appointment back in May. So, after months of waiting for the consultation appointment, I was pretty excited and looking forward to it. I had to get five separate medical letters for her and for my insurance. Plus there was a mountain of paperwork that I had to fill out for NYU, mostly related to medical history and things.<br /><br />Then the day finally came! I made sure to look my absolute best. After all I didn't want the doctor to think that I wasn't taking transition or surgery seriously (See, doc! I'm not a fetishist!). After a brief wait and some more paperwork (why is it that doctors always make you fill out the paperwork twice?) I went back to the little examination room. A nurse was there and asked me some basic background questions (ones that I had already answered on the forms). Then after another wait the doctor came in. </div>
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She was quick and casual as she described all the particulars of the procedures. Then she reviewed my paperwork and letters (despite having had like six months with the paperwork), and asked me if I had any questions. There were a few that I had, but I had also done a lot of research. During my waiting period I had looked up different types of procedures, various potential complications, and had read a few first hand accounts of people who had had their surgery with Bluebond-Langer.<br /><br />After that, she handed me a shrink wrapped hospital gown and asked me to strip. While she left the room I put on the gown. It's never a good feeling to be sitting there in a hospital gown. But she did come back in quickly. And she had a measuring tape. She looked at my top first and took some measurements and made some comments. After that she did the same for down below. And then she said I could get dressed because I was done.<br /><br />"Wait!" my brain screamed. "When do I get the surgery? I thought this was going to involve dates." So I asked her when I would know the scheduled dates. She said, and I remember the words clearly, sometime next week. Her office would call "sometime next week" with dates. That was mid-December. This is now early January. Two weeks have past! Granted, those were holiday weeks. But still. She said one week!<br /><br />So after nine days I called. Left a voicemail. No response yet. So I emailed on the patient portal. That they responded to. With a response that basically said "we'll let you know." That was a few days ago. And I'm going mad. Every time my phone rings I get excited, even though the only people who ever call me are random Chinese language recordings and people trying to sell me car insurance for a car I don't own. But I remain hopeful.<br /><br />I just want the dates because that makes it more real. With dates I can start to plan. I can think about the future in concrete terms. Without dates it's all just some nebulous future. I don't want nebulous. I want concrete darn it! And so, for the umpteenth time during my transition- I wait. </div>
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I am thankful that I have access to local surgery and that my healthcare will pay for it. I am thankful I have a partner who will help me navigate my recovery. But I do want to know what 2019 really holds. When will I need to buy new bras? Should I get excited about the beach or not? When should I schedule my vacations? I wish I knew. And so, with no real info, I wait. </div>
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Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-32264722576153576762018-11-30T11:20:00.002-08:002021-06-29T06:37:49.383-07:00Wigs for Fun<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-09lvEZBlKcA/W_wyctYOjkI/AAAAAAAAGpQ/MdnOIpeF_BAPKRl17v0s0EfIlakJ81H5QCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_5716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-09lvEZBlKcA/W_wyctYOjkI/AAAAAAAAGpQ/MdnOIpeF_BAPKRl17v0s0EfIlakJ81H5QCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_5716.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Before I had my hairline surgically fixed I was pretty much forced to use wigs for everyday wear. It's not a fun thing to wear a wig everyday. They're hot, can get itchy, they can get messed up easily, and sometimes can look really unrealistic. Plus wearing wigs all the time kind of made me feel more like a crossdresser. I know plenty of cis women wear wigs and plenty of transwomen do too. There's no shame in it certainly. But I personally felt somehow less natural. I felt like I was still "dressing up" and not a "real girl." Have I mentioned that I tend to be a fairly anxious person anyway? Transition hasn't really changed that. </div>
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Naturally I was super happy when my hair got fixed. It meant no more wigs! And so for the last ten months I've been wig free. It's been nice. My head is cooler. It's less itchy. And my self esteem has gotten much, much better. Plus it's fun to be able to play with your real hair; dye it, put it up in little buns, and just generally play around with it.</div>
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But the other day I had off work and decided that it would be fun to do some wig pictures. I would be going out to an art opening at the Museum of Sex with friends that night so I thought it would be a great opportunity to dress up to the nines. Of course it ended up being a freak blizzard that day so didn't wear heels or the wig after all. But it was still fun to dress up a little, especially since I had new fuzzy coats to show off.<br />
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Here's some pics I took. I took a ton because when you look that good you have to capture it for future generations.<br />
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<br />Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-7706174235076665882018-11-26T09:04:00.003-08:002021-06-29T06:38:39.262-07:00Two Years Full Time <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's been two years. Yes, it's been two years since I took the step of living my life full time. Like any extended period of time there have been good things and bad, but on the whole, I think it's mostly been good. That first, terrifying day I came into work, putting one foot in front of each other and trying not to think about it, seems so long ago. It feels almost like a different lifetime.<br />
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The thing that I think is the most surprising is just how utterly normal everything is. This is just my life. For years I was absolutely terrified of the idea of living my life full time. It was such a terrifying prospect and now it's just life. It's like being utterly terrified of a wolf only to have it come over and cuddle with you.<br />
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But life hasn't all been wolf cuddles. Almost every day I still deal with impostor syndrome. I think that I'm not a "real girl" or that I stand out like a freak. Maybe one day self-doubts go away. Or maybe that's just how my brain works. But while I'm super happy with who I am and with my life, I still sometimes feel like a fake. I still deal with low self-esteem about my looks and about my bone structure, about my voice, or my gestures or my walk. Am I acting too much like a guy? Is my response to a situation too masculine? Am I behaving femininely enough? It never goes away and I doubt it will.<br /><br />But I love my life. The vast majority of my friends (and many of my co-workers) have only ever known me as Faith. I think I'm much more confident and happy. I'm out to basically everyone in my life. I've been on HRT for three years and seriously looking into some surgeries for 2019. My own hair has grown out and I have ditched wigs. I literally am the cool redhead I always wanted to be.<br />
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Here are two pictures of me taken two years apart. The first is about 2pm on my first day at work as a girl. The second is my two year coming out at work anniversary. When I look at these two I can clearly see how much more comfortable and confident I've become as a woman.<br /><br />
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Okay, maybe part of that is my fuzzy coat. I call it my rockstar power coat. It makes me feel cool and confident. But even without magic fuzzy coats, I still feel good. Two years has been surprising easy. It was almost like I made the right choice about transition.<br />
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<br />Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-16934008551995853392018-10-26T07:42:00.001-07:002021-06-29T06:38:57.572-07:00First Electrolysis Appointment <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />After <a href="http://www.faithdabrooke.com/2018/09/pre-electrolysis-blues.html" target="_blank">my previous attempt to start electrolysis</a> failed, I reached out on r/MtF about it. You see, for electrolysis to work you have to grow your hair out for three days. Now imagine trying to present female with three days of beard growth. My gender dysphoria was through the roof. At noon I broke down, went home from work, and shaved. So, on Reddit a few people recommended leaving only a postage stamp sized area unshaved. That way you could still get electrolysis but you wouldn't feel like a lumberjack* at the same time.<br />
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So that is what I did. The eight sessions of laser that I got definitely thinned out my hair quite a bit. There are still two dark patches on either side of my mouth but otherwise it's not too bad. I picked one of those chin to mouth triangles of thick hair and left it unshaved for three days. Honestly it wasn't that bad doing just a tiny section. Makeup mostly covered it up and since it wasn't my whole face I didn't feel too dysphoric.<br />
<br />In choosing an electrologist, I also went out to some other local transgirls for advice. I found one that was local, that was a transgender woman herself, and who had decent yelp reviews and recommendations. I wasn't thrilled about the idea that they were working out of their apartment (that didn't seem too professional to me) but they had come highly recommended so I decided to just go with them. The other place I was considering was a fancier place in Midtown that cost at least three times as much. Now, sometimes you do get what you pay for, but other times you get ripped off by people trying to sell luxury when really you just need a service.<br />
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With a little patch of three days of beard growth, I headed out for my post-work appointment. I was a tab bit perturbed when I sat down. This is because the woman was talking to me and she had the electric wand/applicator in her hand. I feared that she was about to start and I hadn't yet mentally prepared myself. So I asked her to pause and go over what she was going to do.<br /><br />It turns out that I was wrong - she wasn't near starting yet. But, she still took a few minutes to go over the process as well as both short and long term effects. She even had handy illustrated charts. Mostly I knew this but didn't mind the primer again. In electrolysis a probe is inserted in the hair follicle. In this method is uses radio waves to heat up the water molecules in the follicle and kills it. It's kind of like a miniature microwave oven. Then it gets plucked out. There are apparently other methods but my practitioner said those could cause injury. The radio version was safer. Well that's good.<br /><br />We started on my facial patch. This was to be my introductory fifteen minutes. It hurt. Yes, it hurt. It wasn't fun. But I think each kill hurt less than laser, there were more kills overall. So it's like would you rather have 50 hits at pain level 20 or 20 hits at pain level 50? Still it wasn't as bad as threading. Nothing is as bad as threading. The pain level was probably comparable with plucking.<br /><br />She kept talking as she did the procedure. It was tricky because I didn't want to talk and potentially ruin something. So I mostly responded with hmmms and uhmmms. After what only felt like about four minutes, she paused and I took the opportunity to ask how far along we were. We were in fact ten minutes along. That was good. It wasn't fun but it also wasn't that bad. I'm not sure I would want to do an hour of it. But fifteen minutes wasn't that bad.<br /><br />Afterward she had me put an icepack on it for about five minutes. Then she put on some special post-electrolysis cream. I was told to not put anything on it for at least a week; no lotions or soaps. Instead she said that one had to use witch hazel as it's an astringent. Electrolysis can leave the former hair follicles open and if there is too much moisture bacteria will move in. That's why she also recommended a triple antibiotic ointment. So I'm doing both those four times a day.<br /><br />Now I have a quarter sized hairless patch on my face. It's good to know that, while those hairs hurt, they are done. They never need to be removed again! Now, because hairs go through a dormancy cycle, you have to do each area twice. And then often you need to go back one more time to get any stray stragglers. So fifteen minutes down. Fifteen hundred minutes to go. My next appointment will be for twenty minutes. Wish me luck.<br />
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*<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IRwshfVHSpQ" target="_blank">Lumberjack might be a bad example</a>.Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5521813469132348201.post-36601846306032439182018-10-19T11:06:00.002-07:002021-06-29T06:37:58.544-07:00I am Rather Terrified of SRS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My first sex reassignment surgery consultation is scheduled for December. It's just under two months away. I've gotten the five (five!) letters I needed. I've talked to therapists and spilled my guts. And now I have the appointment. It's both exciting and terrifying. So in that sense it's a lot like a roller coaster, only with way more blood. </div>
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For years I've thought about this surgery. I've imagined what it would be like to be complete, to be normal, to "finish" my transition. Since I first got the internet I've researched SRS and learned all I could about it. The lyric from the Velvet Undergound's "Candy Says" resonates in my head; "I've come to hate my body / And all that it requires in this world." And now, I stand at the precipice. This can totally happen. This can happen within a year. This could be my 2019.</div>
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And I'm both excited and terrified by the prospect of that. I've never had surgery before. Sure, I had minor surgery when I was about three but I don't remember it. I've never stayed overnight at a hospital. Heck I've never even been in a hospital other than an emergency room. And this isn't a minor surgery. This is slicing up genitals and rearranging them. It scares me.<br />
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What if the surgery gets botched? What it it doesn't heal properly? How bad is the recovery going to be? I hate the idea of changing bandages and having a catheter. I hate the idea of being cooped up, unable to walk or go out. I hate not being able to shower. How much pain will there be? What it it's so painful that I get addicted to opiates? Will I really need to get electrolysis down there before hand?<br />
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Will my new parts work right? Will all the nerves connect right? Will it change things in my relationship? What if I don't dilate properly? What if I'm a slacker about following the doctor's orders? Will I wreck it and ruin everything? What if it doesn't look right?</div>
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So needless to say, I'm frightened by this. But also excited. Luckily this is a feeling that I've become well acquainted with during my transition. Guess we'll see how it goes. December is just a consult. I don't have to make a decision.<br />
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Well, I should probably make an electrolysis appointment.<br />
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Also what's the best term to use? For years it was sex reassignment surgery (SRS). And then a couple years ago gender reassignment surgery (GRS) started popping up. And now I've started to hear gender confirmation surgery (GCS). Not sure if any of those names really get it right, but I tend to use SRS for a couple reasons. For one it's the first term I ever heard. Secondly I grew up near a nuclear plant called the Savannah River Site, which every called SRS. So it's a fun subversion of that.Faith DaBrookehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18263415486646681873noreply@blogger.com2