O gawd.

Here it comes.

I go with my love to an appointment today.  The hysterectomy doctor.

Today may prove to be difficult.  I'm going as support for Papi, but my stomach is not happy.  I need something to support my stomach.

what about me?

This is just a consultation, but it signifies so much more.

Another step towards the abyss.

Another step toward losing my 'wife'.

Yesterday, we went out for brunch with a couple on my Trust List.  I was amazed at how I was able to joke around about 'it'.

Mind you, it was expected of us.  We were at The Elbow Room.  This is a restaurant where you have to have your wits about you, as the staff are instructed to verbally abuse you in any way they see fit.

When I told the fine fag I was allergic to wheat, and could I please have hashbrowns instead of a muffin, he stated, "Well, not having your regular muff must be hard for you!"

I retorted with a sideways thumb point at Papi, "Yeah, well, this one's transgendered, so I don't get it anyway."

I couldn't believe that I joked about 'it'!

damn!  who's that girl?! 

Then we openly spoke with our friends and the flamboyant waiter about the whole process.

It was a rather quiet day at the diner of debasement.  The lovely gentleman got to be himself a little, letting his corrupted character of the show have a well needed break.

He was very sweet.  I gave him a free 'Bitch, Bitch, Bitch' cd :)

Papi forgot that I'm sensitive about the mutilation of that beautiful body I love, and did the 'whoosh' action that kills me so much.  There was a quick reminder and then an apology.

All in all though, I was surprised at myself.  I am getting stronger.

Maybe my Trust List friends are right.

Maybe I am stronger than I think.

Well, here we go ...

I must eat and leave with my love.

I hope my food stays put.