Ex-father's Day

There's this thing about transsexualism, you know, being your "true self", not living in denial anymore, the "real you" and all that. . . it's crap. Oh, don't get me wrong, there's no getting out of it, you will have to transition at some point or another if you don't kill yourself first, that is if you are indeed a true transsexual. At least these days there is enough acceptance and medical support that the transitions are happening at a much, much younger age, well before a person goes through several lifetimes of trying to be "normal" and leaving a trail of broken hearts, betrayed loves and enough baggage to fill the holds of a jumbo jet.
For the "old ones", like myself, the holidays are the harshest reminders of that lost life, even if it was a life in denial. At least there were Hallmark cards and presents. I miss it. I liked being a father on Father's Day. There was acknowledgement and affection for just being who I was to someone. Although my children are still close to me I am no longer a father in the iconic holiday sense and it was way too late in their lives for them to ever consider me an alternate "Mother". So I'm left without a parental holiday . . . Transparent Day? . . . no, I think they'd easily see through that, pun intended.
What am I getting at here and yes, I'm asking myself this, . . . what? Am I questioning whether it was worth it? . . . being yourself knowing you could lose family and everything you've worked for up to then? Most of the time I say yes to myself, the pain is the price for being real . . . but on holidays that come with too many memories I think maybe not, it's taking more bourbon to get through each one.

So, here's to transitioning young, and the younger the better. As for me, if I could jump back in time to the inevitable crossroads of "be who you really are, or don't be" . .. . knowing what I know now . . . I wouldn't.

Long time gone . . . Is Liberty rising from the ashes?

Well, I've been quiet for awhile now, taking in what's happening in the Middle-East and Wisconsin these last weeks, reading and listening to everything I can to get a grasp of what it really means. I may just be overwhelmed by my own elation as I witness the mass rejection of corrupt power by the people. Tunisia's regime change by popular demand was quickly overshadowed by Egypt, whose peaceful protesters, even when attacked by government thugs, held their ground and their resolve until (a very reluctant to leave) Mubarak was pressured to abdicate his supposedly elected throne. Sadly, some people were killed as are now being killed in Libya, Yemen and other Arab nations that are willing to stop the public cry for liberty by any means possible. Still, the people march on knowing full well of their sacrifice.
In the midst of this Donald Rumsfeld hits the media with a book tour touting his accomplishments? Would that be regime change by illegal war? And no one calls him on it? That may be because the United States has been on the wrong side of this issue since the first oil well was struck in Saudi Arabia not so long ago. As long as we had full access to all the oil we needed for military-industrial expansionism we didn't care how oppressive the king, dictator or president was. In fact, the more repressive the government was, the more brutal their methods of torture, the easier it was for our C.I.A. to conduct out of sight their brand of "intelligence gathering" making sure the despots stayed in power and the oil kept flowing our way. All the while we, the USA, could keep up our facade of "Spreading Peace Throughout the World".
The current pro-union, pro-worker peaceful protest at the State House in Wisconsin makes us ask . . . "Is it really going to happen here?" Are we Americans, (no offense, Canada) going to get off our fat, lazy asses and finally say NO to the decades old systematic takeover of our government by corporate industry and the banks that enable them? Be still my heart, I think I can muster the energy for one more "Takin' It To The Streets" if it means bringing humanity and respect for the common good back into our collective national soul. But I warn you, this better be for real and not just the echo of the 2008 election where progressives, old and young rallied in support of real change after two questionably legal terms of the worst president in our history. We beat a rigged voting system to elect Obama, the Voice of Change, who quite openly, albeit underneath all the rhetoric, told us . . . "If you really want change, make me do it." . . . but instead we went back to our couches and got all pissy when he wasn't able to do it all for us. How long have you lived in this country and how many elections have you participated in? When was the last time a politician, president or otherwise, ever came through on all their campaign promises? A politician's goal is above all else, get elected, then stay in power long enough to make the business connections that will insure a lucrative life after the people get wise and throw your ass out. There are exceptions and Bernie and Dennis know who they are. We must participate in our own governance. We must initiate the change for the common good because greed is a powerful force to overcome. Don't like the term "socialized medicine"? then call it Health Care for the Common Good. Education for the Common Good. Infrastructure, police and emergency protections for the Common Good. Privatization is what you need when you go to the bathroom or get intimate with your loved ones.
As usual, this ends up as a rant against the Corporatocracy of America which I suppose is every bit as oppressive as the tyrants and dictators being overthrown in the Middle-East. I hope with my very being that this is a world-wide monumental movement toward a more humanitarian world and the best part is that it is a movement based on the power of peaceful protest. Who saw That coming?

". . . So, Thank goodness . . ." Part 3, The Hospital Stay

We left our heroine at the emergency admitting desk at Cooley Dickinson Hospital and let me say, mention the word stroke and people just jump into action. First stop was Triage, and lucky for me the nurse had studied with my Endocrinologist so she was already quite familiar with the trans/hormone/risk factor. I'd made the right decision in calling my son to be with me as I realized that he was finishing most of my sentences for me. It was apparent however, that the event was waning and my full vision was returning and my face was no longer numb. The next step was the emergency room proper, where I was put in a bed and hooked up to the vitals machine, relieved of several tubes of blood, (I still can't watch that part) and after awhile got to tell my story to the ER doctor. This time I was able to do all the talking myself at least. Then it was the waiting which is to be expected since, by my understanding, things could get better or worse depending on whether this was a prelude of something imminent or just a glimpse of fun times to come.
Next was the "let's have a look" stage and I was off to x-rays and a cat scan of my brain from which they found nothing abnormal. (Yes, I'm as surprised as you) It was decided that I should spend the night at least and have some ultrasound tests on my heart and major arteries to check for blockages. I got to tell my story to more doctors and after it was mentioned that yes, I am clinically depressed and yes, I do drink, I was set up with a meeting with the staff therapist as well.
In all this story-telling I was acutely aware of the lack of knowledge of transsexuals by everyone here except the original triage nurse so I did not pass up the chance to do some educating. Let me back up first and praise the staff in its entirety for their respectful and totally accepting treatment of a trans-person. In fact, I found the care there to be exceptional. The main point that I wanted to make in this educational window of opportunity was the unavailability of the recommended (by medical professionals including the AMA) corrective surgery (Gender Reassignment Surgery) for those of low income with my medical condition which is having a female brain in a physically male body. Call it Transsexualism, Harry Benjamin Syndrome, Gender Incongruity, whatever you like, it is now proven to be a biological condition that happens to males and females alike and the accepted surgical treatment is standard practice in countries that have medical systems that are more up to date than the biased, for-profit system we have here in the US. What's interesting is that no one disagreed with me which tells me that if the Doctors ran our medical system instead of profiteers it would be a lot more humane.
After a day and a half with the knowledge that I had long ago adopted the recommended habits for a person living with my medical risks, other than quit drinking altogether, I was allowed to resume my sordid life. It was suggested that I stop taking or at least lower the levels of my hormone regiment to which I said I'd rather shoot myself, so that was dropped as an option.

I suppose Part 4 will be . . . "Where do we go from here?"

". . .So, Thank goodness . . . ." Part 2; My First TIA

I really hate having to prove a point this way but . . . only one month after I posted about the hazards of being a pre-op transsexual on hormone therapy long term, I experienced my first TIA, (Transient Ischemic Attack) commonly known as a mini-stroke. It's one of those moments in life where you know without a doubt that "This Is Not A Drill"! While at the computer reading the morning newsgroups a small, out-of-focus circle appeared in my left eye and within minutes began to grow into a large enough circle to block out my entire vision. (think of looking through a portal into an alternate universe that operates on a different frequency) Along with this the left side of my face, from scalp to chin, went numb. Instincts kicked in with a blaring "You are having a stroke!" (I had been through the sequence of this with my Dad years ago who had several mini-strokes and later died of a massive one) There was also the realization that although I knew I had to act, I was no longer in the driver's seat. It wasn't panic but a sense that I had to re-route each thought through different channels to initiate motor functions. (I'm sure my past experiences with LSD came in handy here) Simple directives - put on clothes, call for help, any order . . . this took more than 30 minutes and my vision was reduced to the extreme corners of my eyes. I couldn't see the cell phone in my hand but I did know where the buttons where to auto-dial my son for a ride to the hospital. Having been on the other side of this scenario I can't say whether it's easier being the parent in crisis or the child, just an affirmation of the cycles of life.
During this time-warp I did have the internal conversation that went . . . "You do know that you could be dying here, right?" . . . "Yes, I do." . . . "So how do you feel about that?" . . . "It's ok, I'm not afraid." . .. "What about all the things you never finished?" . . . "Fuck 'em." . . .
Anyone reading this by now has already asked, "Why didn't you call an ambulance?" My answer, and I did think about this at the time and I suppose you'd have to know me to appreciate it, was . . . "That would be too dramatic." A more rational motive was probably that I knew I was losing brain function and I would need someone I trust to speak for me. By the time we got to the hospital the event had peaked and my vision was slowly returning but I was still having trouble being coherent.

Stay tuned for the next blog; "The Hospital Stay - or, How Many Times Do I Have To Tell This Story?"