Unexpected HRT Side-effect #13

Cold

I've had a cold for what feels like six weeks now; very low-grade symptoms, but annoyingly persistent.

Nominally I would bear this with good grace; but it's both dragging the pitch of my voice down and is effecting my efforts to push my singing range higher.

Very, very inconvenient!

New shoes

Exactly what it says on the tin. I got new shoes!

Purchased from NerdyKeppie (not an affiliate link; I just like to share neat stuff). I did see some comments about the high-tops running small, but I wear a US women’s 10 and they fit me perfectly.

(I will note however that unlike regular Chucks, they don’t have that little canvas loop on the back - so getting them on can be a battle.)

Love me some subtle trans pride!

I did the thing.

I made a post.

Communication

“A European says: 'I can't understand this, what's wrong with me?' An American says: 'I can't understand this, what's wrong with him?'" - Terry Pratchett

I had the privilege of attending a university with an extremely large contingent of foreign students; many of which I counted as friends, and learned a great deal from.

Sometimes their command of the English language would fail them, and they would apologize. Each time I would say the same thing: "You speak English much better than I speak any other language. You have nothing to apologize for".

This trend has continued over to my IT department, which has featured from inception various individuals of international origin. Occasionally these team members would hit a language barrier, and I would do my best to patiently explain and / or listen to them.

Frustratingly, I found that some of my American colleagues were not willing to similarly engage. Like all such generalizations, there are plenty of diverging outliers; but there is most definitely a tendency in American culture to blame communication failures on the other party.

Some years ago we employed a Soviet emigrant; an exceptionally intelligent and knowledgeable individual, but someone for whom English was not a strength. This wasn't an issue until he was moved - against my protests - into a position that required significant communication skills; and ultimately this became his undoing and he was dismissed.

I was saddened to learn today that this same situation has been repeated with another non-native English-speaking colleague. She was assigned new responsibilities that required an extensive amount of communication and coordination (despite being initially hired in on the strength of her technical skills); and now she too has been dismissed.

Perhaps I am oversimplifying; but it is very difficult to see these conflicts as the one-way failure that termination of employment would suggest.

After months of silly overwork, I finally got to see my stylist! I feel so much better now that my hair is both multicolored and a more manageable length. 🙂

Parallel

Recently, there has been a spate of articles in the following format: "Anti-vaccination, anti-mask advocate dies from COVID complications". Sometimes as often as one or two a day.

I don't take pleasure in the passing of others; even those that are ideologically opposed to me. From the perspective of our collective well-being, they are at best dangerously misguided and at worst, sociopathic. However, they also had friends, family, loved ones; and they will be missed.

I do feel it appropriate to note that the net value of humanity has gone up in their absence; which I consider a sufficiently damning indictment.

More so however, an interesting parallel has presented itself:

The onset of the AIDS epidemic claimed the lives of numerous gay men; men that could have gone on to become speakers, organizers, leaders in their community. They were handed a death sentence by a disease they had no forewarning of, no knowledge as to how they might protect themselves; and as a result, an entire generation of the 'G' portion of LGBT advocacy is simply... missing.

President Ronald Reagan's slothful response to the issue, and the general mischaracterization of AIDS by social regressives as a wrathful, immorality-seeking illness are well documented.

There is now an irony to be found: that these same people are seeing their membership chipped away by a virus that they deny is real, is contagious, is dangerous.

There is a key difference, of course: these people have been offered all of the tools necessary to protect themselves; they simply have chosen not to use them.

Again, I don't delight in their suffering. I am, however, interested to see how the landscape of conservative advocacy will be reshaped by the needless loss of these people.

Blue Hair

I popped into the mall today to see if the meat and cheese stall had bacon jam in stock. (They did not). I was deep into the act of perusing the other products when a tiny voice rang out:

“I love your hair!”

I turned to see a little girl of perhaps five years, dragging her parents to a standstill just to impart this critical message. “Well - thank you!”, I replied.

Then, in the indomitably declarative fashion that only young children can manage, she responded with: “IT’S BLUE”!

Yes. Yes it was.

It’s been a long and arduous day; but this one interaction was an absolute highlight, and one I will cherish!

Coming out

I have come out to a great many people these past eighteen months; and I have been fortunate in that there have effectively been no negative reactions. (I know too many people that have not had the same experience, and my heart bleeds for them.)

There were two instances where I was genuinely terrified of how the other party might react. The first was my spouse - not because I thought for a second that they would respond poorly, but rather because I felt that I was unilaterally introducing an enormous life change into a relationship that I value beyond estimation.

(Of course, I should not have worried - they accepted this new state of affairs immediately. That’s the kind of amazing person my spouse is.)

The second was my friend and colleague of fifteen years; a fiercely intelligent and analytic man of few words. He is an émigré of the Soviet Union and as such holds very different views from myself in many matters; including, I feared, the subject of transgenderism.

Again, I should not have concerned myself; as he delivered an answer that in one sentence perfectly encapsulated the man’s outlook, brevity, and uniquely blended mode of English and Russian speech.

“Ah, well; that’s just your decision.”

To those unaccustomed to his way of speaking, it might sound harsher than intended; but on the contrary, this was one of the greatest endorsements I could have received and remains a highlight of the coming-out process: “Hey, you do you”.

Self-fulfilling prophecy

I’ve discussed before that I administer my Estradiol via intramuscular injection; and that sometimes this does not go to plan. This is not the only HRT-related mishap that I have experienced.

The first few months of injections were without issue.

Thereafter, I started to experience increasing amounts of pain with each shot; and in turn, I became more and more reluctant to - you know - actually stick the needle in my leg.

On the fifth go-around, I realized that I was breaking one of the (many) cardinal rules my endocrinology clinic had educated me on: don’t tense up! A tense muscle is a dense muscle; and it takes a lot more effort (and subsequently, discomfort) to push a needle through the tissue. My desire to avoid pain was, ironically, the cause of a great deal of pain!

I learned to relax, and not to hesitate when sticking myself (seriously, it’s like ripping off a Band-Aid - quick and forceful is so much more tolerable than slow and steady)!

I’m not going to pretend that popping the needle in is fun by any stretch; but it’s tolerable. If I have to do this twenty-eight times a year, between now and eternity, to attain True Girl Form... That’s a price I can live with!

Oh no

I was doing my progesterone shot last night and the plunger in the syringe got stuck 20% of the way in. I really put some force behind but, but it wasn’t moving and I was terrified that if it did suddenly give way I’d dump the entire contents of the syringe into my thigh in a split-second.

(I’m not sure of the exact ramifications for doing so, but my nurse practitioner was quite clear during instruction that this was an undesirable outcome.)

I really didn’t want to toss the rest of the progesterone (it’s not like I had more on hand), so I withdrew the syringe and switched to a fresh needle. Poked myself again, depressed the plunger, and...

...The syringe got stuck again.

As classic “Well, what the hell do I do now?” scenarios go, sitting there with an immovable syringe sticking out of your thigh has to count pretty highly, I reckon.

I wiggled the plunger a bit and applied more force than sensible, and finally the damn thing overcame whatever the resistance was and immediately dumped half the load (so I guess I will find out why that’s a no-no in short order). Everything proceeded smoothly from there.

I’m still nonplussed as to what the issue was. A manufacturing defect in the syringe itself perhaps? Some kind of sediment in the progesterone blocking the barrel of the needle? I have no idea.

I just really hope that this doesn’t happen again...

Update 1: I talked to my friend about this and her first go-around, the needle disengaged from the syringe while it was in her leg. OMG!

Update 2: I had more soreness than usual but was otherwise okay; so I’m guessing that firehosing half the dose didn’t do too much damage, thankfully.