Unexpected HRT Side-effect #10

Dose two: addendum

I feel like I might have spoken too soon on my COVID vaccine side effects dying down; I’m now four days post-hoc and it feels like I still have some issues (muscle aches and swollen glands on the injection side; feverishness if I overexert myself).

It’s physically irritating, mentally debilitating, and it only fuels my anger more towards the sum group of people inflamed this situation for their own selfish reasons.

(I will also add: a couple of years ago, the spouse and I caught a very strange, persistent cold virus; the lymph nodes in my upper torso and neck flared up like nobody’s business and remained that way for almost eight to ten weeks.

It scared the hell out of me, as that kind of persistent swelling is generally associated with far worse ailments; and I was still in my passive ideation phase at the time and was pretty convinced that This Was It. Thankfully it went away on its own; but in retrospect, I’m realizing that this episode might be another unprocessed issue I now have to unpack and deal with.)

Presentation

Last year my employer embarked on an initiative to improve presentation skills company-wide. We broke into groups of ten or so; ran through some training courses; and culminated things by each preparing a ten minute presentation on a topic of our choosing, to be delivered to our colleagues via video conference.

I was already out with half of the people in my group; so I figured this was as good a time as any to out myself to the remainder and to that effect prepared a presentation on the subject of transgenderism.

(It’s probably worth stressing at this point that I had been on HRT for a while at this point; and while the outward effects were minimal, internally it had realigned my brain and I was now all about being out; consequences be damned.)

Come presentation time, there were three people ahead of me. The first was the head of the customer service team, who delivered an excellent sermon on the subject of climate change. She was followed by a sales executive, who covered the importance of giving back to one’s community. The third was an intern from a musical family and sharing their passion.

(Impressively, he transitioned between his slides in such a way as to give the impression that he was flipping through pages of sheet music.)

Then it was my turn.

Alas, due to time constraints, I had neither prepared an accompanying PowerPoint, or practiced my presentation, or even put together anything bar the scantest notes taped around my monitor.

I launched right in with: “Today, I’ll be talking on the subject of transgenderism. This is a topic that is near and dear to my heart, because - as some people here already know and the others have most likely surmised - I am in fact transgender myself.”

(This brings me to two interesting asides:

First, I was dead wrong: nobody had deduced that I was trans.

Second, that human beings commit certain facts to memory in relation to their acquaintances - such as gender - and unless explicitly given reason to, will not update this information. I had bangs, pink streaks in my hair, and I was wearing a mint green top imprinted with a delicate floral pattern; and yet it was apparently still a surprise to some that I was not, in fact, male.

Both of these things were audibly confirmed when one audience member gasped into their microphone.)

I then proceeded to explain the concepts of gender identity and dysphoria; the pain the latter had brought me (having been actively suicidal as a teenager and passively suicidal as an adult); the process of transitioning and the many different parts involved.

Each presenter was given a few minutes afterwards to answer questions and solicit feedback. I opened the floor to my fellow group members, and our West Coast sales exec chimed in to let me know that she admired my bravery, and that she had my back. I was not aware at the time, but I had brought her to tears during my talk.

(This was apparently a common theme; several of my colleagues - including a number that already knew I was trans - had cried during proceeds.)

The course presenter then opted to postpone the next presentation to a later session, wryly noting: “There’s no way anyone tops that”.

In the following days I received emails from each and every person in the group; reiterating their support for me.

This was, for me, one of the highlights of my coming out process; but also, a most surreal event. What I perceived to be an nervous, stumbling exposition (made all the worse by hormone therapy, as I experienced stage fright for the first time in my life) was interpreted by the audience as a courageous baring of the soul.

If there is one takeaway for me, it is this: I had spent the entire duration of my career at this organization - a decade and a half - in utmost fear that were my second side ever discovered, I would most certainly be terminated. When it came time however to reveal my authentic self, I received only unanimous love and support.

There is no joy to be found in the anxious what-ifs; only in what lays beyond those fears.

The boy on the left is from the pictures of my childhood; the girl on the right is from my memories of that time.

New picrew chain idea: yourself vs what you looked like as a kid

Free for anyone to join in

Link

Clothing

It’s fascinating to me how much male and female fashion differ; and how much variety there is in the latter.

It used to be that I would buy shirts; and I would buy pants; and generally speaking, pretty much any shirt would match any set of pants. Getting dressed was limited to randomly picking out one of each.

(To be fair, one can go fairly in-depth with male fashion; and I will be the first to put my hand up and state that I did not do so, as - I now recognize in retrospect - I found the act of shopping for male clothing dysphoric.)

Now I have all these amazing pieces of clothing; but there is so much variety - so much range! - that that any one item will only match a few others (or even none at all)!

I will invariably find myself thinking: “Now I need to buy x to go with this”... And I am loving it!

Sleeping arrangements: addendum 1

This has obviously been on my mind, but it was only very recently that I was able to connect all the pieces.

I believe that I was subjected to some kind of trauma during my early childhood. I have no memory of these events; but evidently they left some kind of impression on me because I experience flashbacks.

Some factors that trigger these episodes include high levels of general stress; moments of emotionally-charged interpersonal conflict; and nighttime. (Also: certain bedroom activities that are probably best skipped here.)

Well: I have a lot of undischarged stress at present; so come nighttime, things get... flashbacky. Generally what happens is that the spouse and I end up falling asleep like this:

Now, I really want to stress that my spouse is awesome; they always makes sure to communicate that I'm safe, and if I want to be closer that's okay, and if not, that's okay too. There's nothing they’re doing in this scenario that's an issue.

For me though... Well, as the diagram indicates, there is a Zone Of Safety at the corner of the bed and moving outside of it induces anxiety.

When the flashback reaches peak criticality, I'll move off the bed entirely and on to the floor. (It used to be that I would relocate to our walk-in closet, but apparently the space between the bed and the wall is now sufficiently protective per my brain.)

So here's the last piece of the puzzle: when trying to explain this situation to a friend last night, it occurred to me that I had things the wrong way around. The problem is not that I have to be on the floor; the problem is that I can't be in bed with another person.

It's not safe.

...And that brings us full circle. As I stated: I don't know what the nature of the initial trauma was that began things. Based on this latest clue however, the implications are clear... and I can't say I like them.

Orikan: *Rewinds time*

Trazyn: "...A single thread of fact within this tapestry of fiction you have woven."

Orikan: "BASTARD, BASTARD, BASTARD!"

"Stop laughing Trazyn, I have a Gf, she's just from another dynasty"

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!

Dose one

Yesterday the wife, daughter and I got our first COVID vaccine doses. We go back in three weeks for the second dose. There haven’t been any real side effects barring the usual sore arm and some very minor feverishness / muscle aches.

(I have been lead to understand that the second dose may result in stronger side effects, which makes sense. An older fellow at the clinic told me in passing conversation that thanks to his second dose, he had experienced hot flashes and was now highly sympathetic to the plight of menopausal women.

This got a giggle from me; when I started HRT, my estradiol injections were spaced too far apart and as a result I would effectively experience menopausal symptoms. I replied with “I know how that goes!” and left it at that...)

Mentally however, I am struggling a bit. I will preface this with two items:

I am pro-science and pro-vaccine. I understand that no vaccine can be 100% safe; however, the odds of something going terribly wrong are far, far lower than if you contract COVID.

I had a very, very bad flashback the other night; one that practically set a new bar in terms of intensity; and I’m still feeling some of the effects from that days later.

So: I get very upset when I perceive my bodily integrity (or that of people I care about) being violated. The key factor is my consent. For instance:

At the end of my visa medical, I received two vaccinations. I took offense at (a) not being informed beforehand that this would happen, (b) the administering provider’s refusal to explain what they were for, and (c) the generally dehumanizing treatment I had been exposed to that day. (I have no problem with receiving vaccines as a prerequisite of entry to the US; it was how the process unfolded that was the issue.)

I have never had chickenpox, and elected to receive the varicella vaccine. Everything went smoothly, and I’m glad I made that choice.

To bring us full-circle:

I want to do my part to get us out of this pandemic; and that means being vaccinated. However, I cannot shake the feeling that this is being forced upon me - not by the nebulous puppet-masters that anti-vaxxer conspiracists like to point to, but by the various government institutions that prioritized partisan politics over protecting people, and the self-same people that prioritized their right to endanger others else instead of covering their stupid fleshy talk circles with a bit of cloth and knocking off the partying for a while.

It doesn’t sit well.

Alas, there’s not a whole lot I can do about this as the requirement to be vaccinated still stands; but it does rather mean that I have yet another reason (and I already had plenty to begin with) to intensely dislike the swathe of selfish misanthropes revealed during the course of this crisis.

Phone

Today I went bra-shopping at the mall. At one point I put my phone down and thought to myself:

"This is just like that one coworker of yours - the one that leaves his phone laying around all the time. Glad I'm not like that!"

It was therefore inevitable that a few minutes later, I realized I no longer had my phone on me. Fortuitously, some kind soul had handed it into security; which I knew the second I walked into the security office as it was sitting right there on their reception desk.

What follows is, verbatim, the conversation that took place between myself and the security officer on duty:

Me: "Hello! I was going to ask if anyone handed in an iPhone 7 in a black case, but that appears to be it right there. Probably you want to verify it's mine; so I think you'll find the unlock code is ████."

Security: "Ah. Well. Can you tell me what the image is" - proceeds to hold phone very close to face, like a hand of poker - "...on the lock screen?"

Me: "Yes; that will be a picture of me and my daughter."

Security: "..."

Me: "...Of course, I look very different now. I don't have a beard, for one thing."

Security: "..."

Me: "..."

Security: "What was that code again?"

Anyway, I got my phone back!

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.