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ramblings |
South of the Border
2002.04.15
Warning: This Rambling is not for the squeemish. If you don't like needles or electrolysis or descriptions of body parts then this isn't for you. 7:15a
Alarm going off. Mechanically I reach over and slap it silly until it shuts up. Slap. The quietude lasts for about another thirty seconds or so before my other alarm goes off.
Argh.
I grimace and slide out from under the comfort of my bed.
Slap.
OK, that's alarm Number Two. (Yes I have two alarm clocks and they are strategically placed on opposite sides of the room.)
I make my way back to bed and try to get back to sleep, but at the same time knowing all too well that I only have nine minutes of snooze left before both alarms are going to go off again. I'm trying to be calm but there's this building anxiety---sleep would not be possible. Nine minutes pass in what seems like a blink of the eye and the alarm clocks begin calling out to me again.
Stupid clocks. Slap. Slap.
I lay in bed again trying to procrastinate. You see, I don't want to leave the comfort of my bed or my home because today I'm going to get genital electrolysis.
Yeah, just
those two little words strike fear into even the heartiest of trans-people.
It's like the Knights Who Say Ni in "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" where our
heroes cringe everytime the Knights say "ni!":"Genital electrolysis!"(You get the point.)
"Aayeeee!!!"
"Genital electrolysis!"
"Nooo!!! My ears are bleeding!!!"
So I dreaded getting out of bed. But I know I have to. I see transition as a very high likelihood at this point so I know that I might as well get cleared.down there. And I already made my appointments with both my electrologist and my endicrinologist (for an injection of local anesthetic) and I can't back out of them now without penalty. So I finally cast off my sheets with a good kick and I'm out of bed.
7:40a
Dance Dance Revolution (DDR) on the 15-minute workout setting. There's nothing like a good sweat to wake you up in the morning. I have been exercising regularly in the mornings for about half an hour to an hour. I usually go out for a run/walk or do DDR, depending on how cold it is outside, I had to cut today's workout a little short.
8:05a
Shower. I like long, hot showers. In general this is the most leisurely time of the day before I get stuck in three-hour meetings and stare at my monitor for hours on end. So, I consider prune fingers to be a good thing.
9:00a
All clean and time for breakfast. We're going to be in for the long haul today so I had better get sustenance. Besides I need something to help buffer the two 50mg spironolactone tablets. A cheese-only quesadilla does the trick quite nicely.
10:00a
I'm pacing around the lobby of the endocrinologist's office holding a magazine---something for the GLBT community entitled Out and About I think. I'm not even really reading it. I'm thinking about what my electrologist had told me about these injectible anesthetics:
There's no other way to tell you this: it's going to hurt. ... The needles used for injections are going to do far more damage than my probe will do. ... She (the doctor) does this cartwheel-like pattern where she's going out in multiple directions from each site. ... You'll feel the prick as the needle goes in and as the anesthetic spreads out you'll feel pain as the nerve endings are being hit. ...I hate needles with a passion. This talk really didn't help my anxiety levels at all. No, I was actually dreading this morning all weekend. Then a door opposite the reception desk swings open.
"Amber, I'll be with you in a minute," says the Good Doctor.
"Sure," I reply, sort of with a half-smile.
The Doctor's white lab coat disappears back behind the door. I pace some more still clutching the gay mag. I aimlessly flip it open and my eyes are flowing down the page. I'm looking at words and pictures but I don't see any sentences. My mind is elsewhere. The door swings open again.
"Come on in," she chirps.
I follow the white lab coat before the door closes this time. Down the hallway to the last room we go where a table awaits me. I undress and fold my jeans onto a chair, placing my purse next to them. I climb up onto the table and scoot down the tissue-like paper into the waiting stirrups at the end of the table. The Doctor adjusts me happy bits around to survey the area. She pops her head up after the look-see and agrees with my electrologist: we're going to numb the whole site.
I lay back and cover my eyes shut with my forearm. I'm not looking at what she's doing---I sooo don't want to look. I hear the unwrapping of plastic and the faint squeek of her chair as she's moving about the room.
"I hate needles," I mutter as I feel her rubbing me down with alcohol or something.
She pauses wiping. "You picked the wrong treatment, you know. You're going to be in for knives, IVs, needles. And if you go through with surgery then when the pain medication wears off you're going to be hurting for six, seven days."
I nod. I don't think she can see the nod so I pipe up: "Yeah... But the way I look at it is that physical pain is something that I can control. So either I'm going to have physical pain or emotional pain. I'd rather have physical pain."
She nods too.
"Do me a favor?" I ask. "Could you please keep talking?"
"Sure." I hear her shuffling something around. "Prick," she says.
A sharp pinch somewhere in my left groin and in the needle goes. I'm bracing for the blinding white-hot burst of pain, but the pinch remains just a pinch. The needle quivers slightly as she's depressing the plunger and I can feel the area getting thicker, heavier. A ball of liquid feels like it's forming and there's a growing sphere of tingling as the anesthetic spreads out in all directions.
Hm, that wasn't too bad, I'm thinking. Prick. Pinch. Pinch. I can stand this!
This goes on for about five or ten minutes or so. Poke. The Doctor and I are rambling about when she got her SRS, about how long the anesthetic will last, and about cycling. Pinch. In fact, I'm starting to relax a little. Prick. Then she halts just long enough to announce: "OK, this is the big one."
BAM! I begin to see the white-hot pain exploding as she plunges the needle somewhere in the center really far down there. I grit my teeth a little and I can't help the reflex of arching my back a little. But, moments pass and the numb-ball starts to spread out. The white-hot light dulls into reddish grayness beneath my eyelids.
"Are we almost done yet?" I grumble.
"We are done," she says with a half-smile in her voice.
I prop myself up slowly and touch the limp flesh. No sensation of touch. Good. I slide back on my jeans and thank her. Out of the office I go packing an extra 70cc of anesthetic.
10:55a
I pop open my laptop and log in and pull up the filename:
r-genelect1.html I notice that my laptop is really on my lap
and I pick it up for but a second. I feel around in my groin. What a weird
feeling it is to feel that you have this lump of flesh down there and yet
not feel it. It's about as deadly as a block of cheese, I tell ya.I'm starting to write out this web page when my electrologist drives up. So I suspend the laptop and amble into her office. Minutes later I'm sitting on her table in "makeshift stirrups" as she puts it. (Really, it's just a pair of plastic white lawn chairs put at the end of the table which I've propped myself on.) I put a few books next to me and my laptop on my right thigh. It becomes plainly obvious to us that she can't work with my laptop in the way. So, she suggests wheeling over this metal rolling stand with a silver tray on top. I set my laptop down on it and she goes to work.
I'm one-handing the keyboard---thank goodness for Windows StickyKeys!---when she halts and says, "um, you have to stop moving." Apparently I was moving around too much even though it's just my one arm. So, I readjust the stand a little and I start slowing down. It is mighty painful trying to type with one hand and do it real slowly as not to jostle my abdomen. I was wondering if I would even get to this part of the web page because I was keying letters in so slowly! But she zapped away while Fleetwood Mac played in the background. I guess the local anesthetic is really working because I'm not really feeling a thing...
3:05p
I'm bored. Really I am. I've gone through one manga* already and I'm halfway through another. We've gone about 4 hours straight with only a short bathroom break. Most things are still numb but I can feel a bit more pressure now. The biggest thing I can feel are these couple of stick-on patches she's using to connect me to the grounding line. They sort of itch when current flows through them. Anyhow I think I'll try to nap for a while.
3:40p
Okay, sleeping didn't work. I guess there's just something about lying spread-eagle half-naked with medical tape pulling your bits in unnatural directions. We're only about 80% clear by her estimation; it looks like we can't clear it all in one session.
The electrologist is still zapping away. She's got lots of stamina but
not lightning fast Jackie Chan-like moves. Her method requires patience
and thus time.Maybe I'll try to break the boredom by finishing up the song that I was writing. Note that neither of us have stopped for a lunch break yet.
4:40p
It looks like I've outlasted my electrologist. She needs to stop right now even though the anesthetic is still going strong. According to her I'm about 95% done at this point---pretty much everything in the "zone" except for some stray stuff at the base of the scrotum. I guess we'll pick up the remainder when I come back for Round Two. That'll be about 4-6 weeks from now.
an ending...?
Hopefully I won't have to spend too many more hours on this area because I think it's going to get rather expensive rather quick. Plus, I took a quick look at the site and it's pretty beat up. Somehow, I don't feel it was much of a sacrifice.
Oh the things we trans-folk do... and just to become non-trans-folk... which is actually impossible because once a trannie always a tranny. And endless cycle this is. But that's another Rambling...
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