The Case of the Vagina

So, here's a good day in TransLand for you.

Remember when Papi was so sick for 3, almost 4 months?!?!

Yeah. 

That hysterectomy really did a number on my love. 

This meant many tests to find out just what was going on there.

Off we went to emergency, clinics, our own GP etc.  Every time, my dear sweet love would go through tremendous stress to have to deal with these personal invasions.

Well, we got a bill in the mail from our BC Medical Services Plan.

They wanted to charge us for one of the tests.

We have benefits.

This is Canada.

Yet they wanted us to pay?

There had to be some kind of problem.

As we looked a little closer we found the issue.

When they removed my love's uterus, they left the vaginal wall where it should be.

No surprises.

Point is, my love has a vagina.

The problem for the health system, was that they had a 'male' identified person going in for a test who needed a vaginal culture.

If you look below the 'total' we were expected to pay, you'll see the details.

"Your gender registered at MSP is incorrect."

Can you imagine the person who received the details of the individual for this test?

A male identified person with a vagina?

How utterly confusing for someone who has no idea about the transgender experience.

But how absolutely hilarious for us.

I think Papi and I giggled for a good hour about this one.

Your gender registered at MSP is incorrect?

Interesting.

So nice that one person in our health care system is able to make that judgement without having any idea about medicine whatsoever.

Stick to your day job creep.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, yes, I did indeed write a lovely fuck you email to the skank who thought it was appropriate to laugh at someone in a wheelchair with a brain injury.

Then I blocked her and anyone else who is on my friends list that could allow the scum of the earth to see my Facebook page and laugh at someone for their misfortunes.

i attract good into my life

S/He

The pronoun.  Feminine, masculine.  It tells us what gender category to put someone in.  Society needs to know if someone is a girl or a boy.  We keep our minds organizing people into little boxes to appease the 'norm' that we've been accustomed to.

don't fuck with my order!

For me, I'm trying not to use any label at all.  I just call my love by name.  But, I feel like some high school kid who's got her first relationship and all they ever do is say the name over and over and over.  It's a bit of a tongue twister, and I'm sure people are starting to notice.

It's really hard.  Let me tell you.

Then there's the times when I slip up.  I go on autopilot and forget to concentrate on what I'm saying.  For a person with brain injury, maintaining this much focus is bound to fail in mere minutes.

However, there are times where I'll use it to my advantage.  If I think someone is even remotely homophobic, it's a pleasant relief to say, 'my husband'.

But, it still feels so damn alien.

I flipped back and forth yesterday in a conversation with the road side assistance.  Said 'my wife' on the phone to call for service, and 'my husband' when the vehicle showed up to give me comfort and get me on the road again.

goddam car ... you really only have battery issues when i'm the one driving.  you jerk!

On that back and forth trip to Seattle, on one of the monotonous highway drives of tree after tree, Papi said to me, "You called me 'she'.  I know you're not ready to say 'he', but just saying when you are, I'd like it if you could."

here it comes ... papi is going to start demanding i use the right pronoun ... i'm not ready to let my 'wife' go just yet.

My love cringes if I call us lesbians.

(for the record, i fucking HATE that word.  dyke sounds so much better, but people get all weirded out by it)

I said the 'L' word the other day to friends when they didn't have room on their schedule for our tattoos.  Tongue in cheek, I played the gay card, "Apparently they're too busy to make appointments for lesbians!" and immediately looked to see if Papi heard.

nope.  phew!

When we were at Ikea getting our kitchen island, the man at the self-serve cash lineup called mi esposo 'sir'.  I almost blurted out a correction.  I stopped myself and went along with it, grinning, almost as if I had the world's best kept secret.

It was kinda fun actually.  It felt like I was playing make-believe.  I smiled like the Cheshire Cat.

There are times when people use the feminine pronoun for Papi and I get squirmish as well though.  I wait patiently for my love to correct them, but Papi never does.

The problem is, if my love speaks, people figure out that it's a female voice.  It truly is the clincher in this deal.

Oh, and for the record, my love has told me that it's not a '5 Foot Vagina'.  It's actually a '5 Foot Clitoris'.  I have been corrected.  Apparently, it only grows about an inch as opposed to the centimeters that most of us gals are born with.

This morning, while reading my blog, I hear from the living room, "I hate it when you call it the 5 Foot Vagina.  It gives me such a gross vision in my head!"

That's right my love.

That's why I'm scared.

Mother, Mother

I don't know about you, but sometimes I have to wonder just where my insanity stems from.

Figured it out.

My mother.

We tend to take on the traits of our family.

On the drive up to my mother's retiring abode, I had to do my best to keep my mother low on the road rage attitude.  I worked on my anger issues enough that I was able to explain that getting mad about a situation won't change it, all that will happen is you will harm yourself.

Her aggitation started out 2 minutes from my house with a traffic jam because of a police incident.  My mother was getting so frustrated she almost honked at the police.

sounds very familiar

I had to pacify her short fuse throughout the entire 5 hour drive up to the Okanagan.  What really made me giggle however, was the O.C.D. that ruled her existence the moment we stepped in the door.

Dusting, cleaning, busy, busy, busy.  She just wouldn't stop.  She hadn't even taken off her scarf yet!  She cleaned the same spot for about 10 minutes.  A spot that I didn't notice had anything on it.

memories ... mother grabbing my hand and pushing the cleaning rag with rage, as if to pull my arm out of it's socket in an effort to punish me, "THIS IS HOW YOU CLEAN A COUNTER!!!!!"

I'm not a neat freak, but I definitely get obsessed with certain things; numbers, music, exercise and making everything symmetrical.

it must be even dammit!!!

There were also times that we would have the same hand gesture at the same time, and say the same things in the same breath.  Occasionally, I felt like we were two fish in a school, turning our heads with the same look on our face like twins.

The crazy part is, I'm not close with my mother.  I see her maybe 4 times a year.  I forgive her for being the abusive person she has been in the past, but I'm still not close with the less than maternal person.

She also has an overbearing homophobic husband who will demand her every breathing moment, and do his very best to keep my mother away from the sinful dyke.

the feeling of offense is mutual muther-fucker (pun intended)

I tried to ease my way in with talk about Papi's male transformation.  I showed her that I was wearing my love's engagement ring and she was shocked, wanting to know why on earth mi esposo wasn't wearing it?!??!?!?!?

"Mom, do you know much about transgendered people?"

"No, I have never really understood that."

"Well, it's a person who has both gender traits in one body."  I asked her if she ever noticed that my love looks more like a male, and my mother laughed as in, 'duh'!

I helped her understand transgendered people by talking about Papi being a 'masculine woman', and that there are also men who are feminine.  That helped a little.

more memories of growing up with my family's homophobic slander of gay men

I explained that some people will be hermaphrodites.  My mom had never really even heard of this.  I told her of the person having both the organs of a male and a female.  She seemed quite uncomfortable with this, so I was sure to let her know that Papi isn't one of them.

I made clear that Papi has more male attributes and is feeling drawn toward the masculine side.  I disclosed that an engagement ring is something worn by a female, hence I get to wear it until it's time for my jaw surgery.  At that point, we will sell the ring.

She got it.

This was the first day of actually defending Papi.  I felt like my mom was closer to understanding and I was closer to helping one person out of their fear, phobia, and any other feeling that would cause hate or disgust.

Monumental.

I'm really healing.

Next step, the 5 foot vagina.

Bargain.

We've spent the past 2 days driving back and forth from Seattle to start the refilling of our home.

I have done nothing from my 'todo' list, and it's making me very cranky.  I need 'me' time.  I need to feel like I've accomplished something in my day, or I get negative.

But the flip side is, I've spent 2 lovely days with Papi, and that has been wonderful.

And crazy.

When you're driving 3 hours each way, two days in a row, with two opposing thought processes, there's quite the 'spiel' going on.

And the car blasted with chatter.

My love had time to express feelings that were going on in that sweet, emotional mind.

For instance, why I wouldn't touch that fuzzy caterpillar under my love's nose, yet I had the urge to do so with my high school buddy.

Oh, but there was more!

It hurt my love that I didn't stroke this downy fur, but that conversation also turned into communication about my love's bruised ego, since I haven't gone near other body parts.

I am healing and learning a lot about my fears during this male transformation, but obviously not fast enough for Papi.

"It hurts that you won't look at my pussy and touch my facial hair."

It breaks my heart when I cause my love pain.

I reached over and stroked that furry little animal...

the one above papi's mouth, get your mind out of the gutter

... that I can't seem to keep my eyes off of.

It really was soft.

It was just like I envisioned how my friend's in high school would feel.

I was successful, and it made my love smile.

I'll have to go exploring my love's changing 5 Foot Vagina another time, as the next 2 days will be spent driving to the Okanagan with my mother.

that will be something to talk about i'm sure!

Anyway, I digress, but there is also that shaggy chin hair that's protruding.  My love needed to talk about that too, however the moustache was where I drew the line.

What we had gone down for was an island for our kitchen.  The first day we visited Seattle, my love went alone while I got pampered with a new tattoo.

When the newest addition of art was almost finished being etched into my skin, Papi stormed in to the tattoo parlour, angry that the island my love wanted was too far in the back of the warehouse for them to pull out in an instant, and that we'd have to come back the next day.

hence, 2 days in the U, S of A.

On this second day, I went with my love and saw the size of the island my love had chosen.

"Hell no!  We don't live in a mansion my dear!  This thing's huge!!!!"

"But it's the one I want."

ah the spoiled brat has spoken ...

"Honey, you're not the one cooking in the kitchen all day.  NO!"

So, then the bargaining came.

We found one that I said would fit, and my love come's out with, "Ok.  We'll get this one, but when we get home and measure it and the one I wanted would fit, you have to touch my chin hair.  If I'm wrong, I'll cook you dinner."

Fair deal.

I don't think I'll be touching that chin hair any time soon.

The woman of the house is always right.

:)

Time for an expedition.

It hurts Papi that I'm scared.

I don't ever want to be the one to hurt my love.

I suppose it's only balanced that if I'm hurting, then my love gets a dose of the poison as well.  We do share the same thoughts, after all.

My love just wants me to explore, and feels crushed that I won't go anywhere near the growing 5 foot vagina.

I know logically it's not going to be like that, but my brain is a funny thing ... even without a brain injury, I have always jumped to worst case scenario.

If you know me personally, I'll do my best to have you believe that most of my reasonings are positive thoughts.  It's a defense mechanism to battle my pessimism.

When I first got clean and sober, I wrote positive affirmations in a little red book all day long.  When a bad thought would come in, I'd write it out as a positive.

Eventually, the words that left my mouth would come out like that too.  I trained myself to switch the negative to the positive.

It worked for many parts of my life, and soon I realized that I don't need to be afraid of the emptiness of the future, because everything works out.

i hate the unknown .. i like order ... i want control dammit!!!!

If I look at every horrible, difficult, heart wrenching time in my life, I can see that they indeed have all worked out.

I do get my fair share of disaster around the twists and turns in this existence.  I get a little more doom than the average person, so I've had lots of practise.

I guess all the adversity is to prove to that scared little girl inside that she doesn't need to worry about what's in store for her, because it will all work out.

ok little one ... stop fretting about the fact that the universe never ends and go to sleep ...

It always does.  One way or another.

However, it's the 'other' that haunts me now.

I can make positive affirmations all I want, but the terror that my 'wife' is leaving me, replacing that wonderful person with a stranger to my eyes, is much too real.

I just keep staring into the smokey blue peepers of mi esposo and the positive comes back.

Those gorgeous windows to my love's true nature are the positive prove that everything is going to be ok.

"Can I just explore without any sex attached to the experience?"

Papi looked surprised, "Yes!  I didn't mean for us to have sex!  I just want you to see how it looks before it gets any different.  It will be too much for you then if you wait too long.  You need to watch the changes."

"But I can only deal with one thing at a time.  I can't take all of it at the same time."

My love understands, yet Papi's tears were being held down in agony, with the realization that the woman mi esposo loves is afraid of one aspect of the body that used to be cherished from head to toe.

I have to go on an expedition.

It's time to rediscover the embodiment that surrounds that beautiful spirit I love so much.

Time to take a step on that path.

Balance, don't fail me now.