Deposit paid. Preparations underway. It’s happening.
Month: March 2019
ninshubur faithful in waiting
It worked.
My Ninshubur, sukkal of Inanna, messenger and proxy and right hand, she did it. When a date for SRS with Dr Bank, successor and disciple of Dr Suporn, opened up, that very same minute she requested it and I now have it provisionally reserved.
Ninshubur here is a virtual Ubuntu 18 server running in the Google Cloud, with a fake cron script running in a screen; it scraped the calendar once a minute, parsed it, prioritized available dates, then sent a message on my behalf directly to the clinic using the google mail API. Tech I needed to learn or brush up on for this: VMs, cloud services, python, PIP, google API, CSS, HTML tables, Android notifications, robot.txt, and I would have kept going as needed. I feel this means I’ve done my part in propagating the trans girl hacker stereotype, though I’ll happily continue that so long as I draw breath.
So.
I’ll have vaginoplasty on December 6, 2019.
That’s in eight months. Exactly as long as I would have from my first missed period if pregnant. Time to prepare for what may be the hardest and scariest thing I’ve done so far in my life.
I’ve never had surgery. I am needlephobic.
I need to tell my mother.
I need to get in shape: lose enough weight (but stay stable for the month before), exercise to get cardio and circulation maximal, reduce any tendency to insulin resistance, reduce stress levels. I need to start sleeping properly and rush less. I need to make sure I am (and stay) HIV negative. I need to look into everything else – skin spots, teeth, breast exams. I must become as healthy as I can.
I need to get all other transition components to a state I am OK to wake up in with my new anatomy – carry out voice training, electrolyze the remaining facial hair (which is all white), decide on my new initials and change my name to its final form, then get a new passport.
I need to prepare my life: My apartment must be ready to recover in, unless I do so in my ancestral homeland. If so I must ensure it can be rented out in the meantime somehow. Renovations e.g. elevator and bathroom need to be ready so I can stay there. I need to prepare my team so they can handle it when I am gone. I need all projects to be in a stage where my absence entirely for at least a month does not break them. I need to prepare my friends for my silence and following weakness. I need to ensure I have support in place – prepare therapist in case of post-op depression, work out and establish contact with gynecologist, pact with friends who can help me during the helpless period. Set up time off – vacation, holidays, then sick leave, and last more vacation if needed. Prepare my habits to make time for years of dilation and wound aftercare.
I need to prepare my mind and heart. I need to learn to endure pain and fear and confusion and hunger and chaos. I need to finally learn to set boundaries and guard my time. I need to make myself ready for something scarier than I’ve ever been through. It’s on the level of traumatic childbirth and I really will think of it so. I must gain control of my life for the sake of she-I who will be born.
Certainly all of these things have value of their own, and it is true I use this now necessity as an excuse for my higher self to take priority. I let my greater fear defeat my lesser fears. I’ll take a major step forward in transitioning, not only my body, but all of me so as to be able to accommodate that. I welcome those side effects.
But most of all, I want my post-op body healed up by my 40th birthday.
And it now looks more likely than not that I will.
Praise be Ninshubur, sukkal of Inanna! Praise be Inanna, Queen of Heaven and Earth! Hail Eris! Hail Discordia!
the battle belongs to the strong
So, read another (second in total) case of Chettawut handling poorly one of his rare poor outcomes. So going there in case I cannot get a Suporn date is no longer an option.
That then makes it more bothersome that I still am not sure how that will go – yesterday ninshubur signalled and emailed for a December date, but they have not gotten back to me, so maybe it was caught in a spam filter and I have to somehow email manually.
So now I learned about gmail filters and set all other notifications to silent, but keeping these ones on, and set this as my custom ring tone for SRS date notifications:
It can ring in meetings or at night and I will hopefully catch it. It’s several minutes long.
Fear of complications will always be there. But so would it for a cis woman giving birth.
In other news I have a terrible headache that will not relent. I wonder why.
luna reverse
Pitfall of morning twitter to wake; trans friends reposting TERF material to laugh at. Exposes me to it, sometimes rabbit holes me to identity threat dysphorically deconstruct and analyze. In this case, came to a clearer phrasing of what may be a useful insight, and which I had also pre-transition.
As noted, I use sex and gender interchangeably to reference human relating to (in action, perception, emotion, organizing…) people based on sexed characteristics, including biological and social ones, the latter including self-identification, overriding others via opt-out, opt-in. It is a social construct (so are chromosomes, says molecular biologist Sofia, but it is even clearer for “sex” as a whole). As culture and language shifts so does its meaning. To me and most people in the societies where I am at home, my sex is female, I am a woman. This is what matters most. To those with a more narrow definition (same-label contruct “sex” but referencing only some or a single bodily sexed properties like karyotype or position in a reproduction tree), I may not be.
The culture change is a shift towards the use I favor. Trans-exclusionary radical feminists (TERFs) centrally reject this shift, and demand the labels be narrowly defined to reference specific sexed bodily properties as essences of male/man, female/woman. In so doing they also deny the legitimacy of trans or cis modality (the latter by default) as they consider these properties unchangeable. This is a conflict which resolves eventually, and I think the presence of trans people in public spaces is how it is resolved, by anchoring our existence as fact in the eyes of the majority.
My hypothesis now is that a subset of assigned-female-at-birth (AFAB) TERFs (aside from conservatives, etc.) reject the label shift because in principle they are trans in denial. Specifically, AFAB agender nonbinary trans. This may sound arrogant and projecting. My view comes from having occupied an analogous space for long and recognizing the emotional tone of the rhetorics used. During my two decades identifying as agender, I would have subscribed largely to the TERF talking points of “gender is irrelevant” and “sex is solely specific biology and external oppression, otherwise empty of content”.
I would have subscribed to these as such a gender nihilism and sex minimalism made it possible for me to push away my discomfort with being seen (also by myself) as having male sex. My central dysphoria coping mechanism was the frantic denial of gender and the minimizing of the importance of sex (except an obstacle to be overcome by feminism). So long as I could do that I could function, though not happily. Any ascribing of any content to the gender/sex labels beyond that – unimportant biology, external oppression – felt terribly dysphoric, like being drowned or transformed into a non-being, like being forced into an identity that othered myself to myself.
Isn’t this exactly what drives a large segment of TERFs? Trans people (and I remember the very same fear and reaction myself) are terrible implications of a scenario of sex/gender being something more than that, an intrinsic rather than extrinsic identity. They like I cannot endure that idea because it is (socially, existentially) dysphoric.
What then is the solution? What this subset of TERFs need – freedom from a misaligned female/woman gender/sex assignment – is achievable by opt-out under the wider construct model: by considering themselves AFAB agender, the labels no longer will apply to them (and they will face the same challenges all other nonbinary trans people do, but this is already the case in their lives as they live in patriarchy with the rest of us). The oppressions many/most women face (externally by the actions of others, internally by our limited choice of role models, internally by properties such as having a uterus and an estrotypical body) are faced also by non-woman AFAB people, and we need to become better at recognizing and verbalizing this fact as part of the trans agenda. That is to say, AFAB nonwomen not passing as cis men experience misplaced misogyny (and AMAB women experience rightly placed misogyny variably depending on what we pass as).
So in the best of resolutions, the trans community should highlight and welcome agender people (AFAB and AMAB alike), recognize how a more complex (i.e. respecting opt-out, opt-in) sex/gender construct lets also those trans people reduce their dysphoria, and at the same time, not fail to highlight how under patriarchy, misogyny is directed both at women and at non-women being read as women. The fight against misogyny is ours to fight as feminists, all of us. We must also not fail to recognize specific challenges faced by uterus-bearing people (including many trans men). We do these things already, but we can get better at them. And in so doing, we are also creating a better home for those wayward agender siblings of ours currently shoring up the TERF ranks.
The issue thus, said TERFs demand to keep the sex/gender woman/man, male/female labels for their minimalist/nihilist project. But really their need is not as great – they need it only to negate it, and can accomplish the same by transitioning agender. Whereas for binary trans people as myself, we really cannot flourish at all without access to that label. So the only end point of this culture shift I can be OK with is the one I work towards. However, our opponents can, as outlined above, in many cases find equal flourishing there.
So you whose involuntary womanhood really does not define you other than as having XX karyotype and a uterus and experience of misogyny, and for whom any other labeling feels oppressive and painful, come be my agender trans sibling. Let’s fight patriarchy together.
grip
It really feels like my life is on hold until I have a surgery date. I can’t force myself to eat healthily because it’s like I feel I’m holding my breath and my spoon supply is low as a result. Like I’m waiting for a test result for something dangerous and crucial.
ninshubur and the hidden moon
So, I couldn’t let it go and I walked the rest of the way and coded up a virtual machine that polls the Suporn surgery calendar every two minutes. If parsing doesn’t break when they update next it will automatically select an available date based on my preferences and mail to request it.
Having a date feels very very major a need now. It’s the thing I turn to when I feel tired or sad. I long for it. I feel like a girl whose pregnancy test turned up negative, and who will keep trying until it is not. It’s a painful uncertainty, by contrast of the certainty of my longing to leap headfirst into the whole of the procedure and use the momentum, the gravity, as a tool and excuse to make other changes to my life and habits.
Just as I wrote this, got other communication from them on another question (re: hair removal being OK), and they say new dates will soon come. Curious on whether the parser will break (worried that it will ruin my chances if it sends them an embarrassing email). Excited to see. Really centering on this now.
Otherwise tired and headachy, next steps will be coffee and regular work-y programming. Need to stay strong so my life can be prepared for what comes. I.e. need to be ahead of my plans so I can rest from them later.
craze
Had a bit of a breakdown. Of course being overworked and underslept is part, makes me less containment-capable. But I think this is more interesting.
Having started to schedule SRS I run into the problem that the surgeon I decided on has no waiting list. Meaning my only option is to watch the calendar to request dates as they come online. Twice now other people were before me when that happened, in a matter of hours.
This freaks me the everliving fuck out. I panic-worry that I’ll just wait and wait and never get a date and that uncertainty is intolerable. Basically it’s tolerable only if I know I’ve done everything.
This is dysphoria. This is a deep need to finally fix my genitals. It’s desperate now because only now when I decided, do I let myself actually want it, dare believe it can happen. So I’m fully and extremely on edge for it.
What I need is to be able to send the clinic an email from my gmail the minute a suitable date appears. This means I need to poll the site every few minutes. It would have worked from my office workstation but that has no internet connectivity and won’t until at least Monday. Too long. My old lab servers would work but there I can’t install the libraries needed for pip needed for the google mail API, because I can’t sudo. So now I’m reading up on Google’s VM services. If I can access a virtual linux where I am root, then I can set this up.
I then need a cron job calling the Suporn calendar web scraper I wrote earlier this week, some surrounding logic, and the python gmail API to send the email. I’ll probably end up setting this up rather than waiting. I need to know I have done all I can to secure my path to the SRS I need as soon as I can.
I know I’m being overstressed and irrational, but on some level this is still constructive. But I’ll also try to just rest. I’ll be saner tomorrow. And hopefully in possession of a tool that will let me secure a surgery date as soon as possible, having learned several new tech platforms to do it.
Feeling envy, jealousy – cis women get to have anatomy like I need to without going through all this. Cried a lot earlier tonight once I got home. But one way or another I proceed. Nothing will ever stop me for long. I’ll prove that.
gauntlet on ground
So now twice good Suporn dates were announced and I was too late for them. Apparently just a notice app doesn’t cut it, I really need to go full on hacker girl for this.
What’s relevant is how strongly it impacts me. I desperately need this surgery date to be set now. It feels very heavy, very impactful.
Very well. This is who I am. I’ll do whatever I need to get what I want.
staggra
Epiphanies come quickly these days one after another. Experience is so intensive and it shifts. My life has weird dynamic ranges. I go from the very detailed or the very obscure to the very high level. In the past weeks I hung out in squats and witnessed the Babylon arch-Chancellor inaugurate something. I hang out with drifters and philanthropists and teenagers and medical bosses, and am at once a patient and part of the treatment infrastructure. I really am spanning systems at this point, in one way of witchery.
By way of the less impressive watch tool, I found Suporn dates in November opened up this morning. I’ve been dazed all day since, but I emailed. I expect someone else requested them before me, but it lets me know I must escalate, accelerate, proceed.
And if I get a November date, that is less than nine months ahead. Almost nothing. I feel like someone who just stopped using contraceptives, still not expecting a pregnancy so soon even though she planned for it, set it in motion. Like the process falls out of your control and it’s time to struggle to get all in place. But I don’t know yet. It’s like I wait for a pregnancy test. It may well be negative still.
Today I didn’t shave and didn’t put on foundation, but still went to another inauguration ceremony and talked to people. I feel individual hairs but don’t see them. Need to let them grow until I see them, to see colour. This is less scary now. As is being out and social.
Core to that is, I believe on an emotional level that I either pass for cis or am read as trans. I don’t expect to be misgendered or parsed as cis male. Surely I am clocked often. But at the same time, I know on some level I have passing privilege now, to some extent. I am treated better than some of my sisters because some of my changes went quicker, some of my starting points were better. Increasingly I have to remember that also. Still really wondering how often I am not clocked. I’m really curious about this.
fvlmina pvella
Things are again so intense stress-wise I have persistent headache but I can’t let any of it down just yet.
Felt deeply lonely during the Friday, and almost didn’t go out Saturday because I expected to be lonely and sad also at the club. Instead I found a queer sex party/disco in a former squat, and going off of the experiment at the concert last week (project “talk to the cute guy/enby named Leo even though you don’t know each other b/c my friends dared me to”), I spoke with some people even though it seemed like that was intruding.
Meaning I ended up talking to strangers, giving several my card, kissing two, and being dressed down by one to my panties in the darkroom and making out. Which was amazing and felt great, and did so despite the person being a man. It helped that both the guys I kissed looked good and projected enough wokeness to fit into that space.
So I felt my touch starvedness decrease, and my self-identification as also interested in men increase, and was sort of euphoric-yet-headached the day after. I may meet these people at the local BDSM munch again and would certainly play with, and go to this party again.
I left quite early still. Did not want to fully lose sleep. Had I stayed, might have gotten spanked, but that’s for next time. It was then at a stage that I could have asked.
I need to keep on practicing these social skills. And I need to keep going out, putting myself out there.
The one I was in the darkroom with, before we kissed I said “you know I’m trans, right?” and he said he was “fine with that” and seemed to find it endearing I asked. The other one said he did not realize I was until I mentioned it. I don’t know if I can believe it but I liked hearing it. With Darkroom Guy, he wanted to go dance off his high quite soon after we started, but I think that was more him than me. More importantly, I couldn’t have been comfortable going further.
I really want a vagina now so cute people can fuck me in it. I want the casualness sex maybe can have then, once I am healed. I want to be able to get fully naked without dysphoria.
And yes, my social life has evolved to a point now where “going out” means “BDSM club” more than anything else. So be it.
*
Today I should have worked, but I was freaking out over the uncertainty of a surgery date, that I don’t know it yet. I worry everyone wanting Suporn SRS have web scrapers that autosend request emails and that my watchlist marker will be too slow. So I’ve spent way too long today writing HTML parsers and trying out the gmail API. Still not there but once my workstation runs, I can finalize it.
The existence of a trans girl rite of passage where we have to write a web scraper to schedule SRS has delightful stereotype power for me and I cherish it even while it irritates me. Met early morning with an architect. It will cost to fix my bathroom once they pull the pipes out during refurbishment, but I think it will work out. I can save enough this year to be able to cover that even going for Suporn SRS early next year.
I need a surgery date now. I need to know it, build up towards it, prepare for it.
Part of this will be to fix the rest. Voice therapy starts next month.
*
Laser today. Hurts very little. Before next time, need to not shave for a week so they can see what hair I actually have left. Will start shaving nipples so I can laser them next.
Going without foundation felt fine. I really do look very smooth now. Not all the way there, but almost. Even going away for laser without makeup felt OK. I feel I can defend my legitimacy even then. May try without foundation more often.
Soon time for sunblock again, and today was the first high-heels day of the year.