The Wrath of Dr. Scissorhands.

I guess I'm a mess from the stress.

Yup.

I'm sick.

I overtaxed my still healing body.

3 fucking years already ... let's get this over with!

I'm still learning that I need to slow down with this new bod I've been blessed with.

The biggest source of stress is Papi's illness.

We went to our lovely doc yesterday to find out just what it is that my love is now taking a 4th round of antibiotics for.

Papi has an infection from taking too many antibiotics.

If I didn't hear it from my doc, I wouldn't believe this could happen.

Honestly though?

Why did mi esposo have to start taking them in the first place?

2 other friends of my love had hysterectomies at the same hospital, with the same surgeon, within the same month.

One of them had to have a 10 day visit after the operation, and the other wasn't put back together properly, so she needs to go back and have it redone.

WTF?!?!?!

I demanded yesterday that my love get X-rays and an ultrasound to see if Dr. Scissorhands left anything in there.

A friend told me her buddy had gauze left in after the hysterectomy.  The woman received infection after infection because the source of the problem was still in her body.

Her system wanted the foreign object out, so it surrounded it with pus.  When they pulled it out, they couldn't even identify that it was gauze at first glance.

It doesn't happen very often, but damn!  What the hell is going on with our docs in our city's lower mainland?!?!

It may not even be this worst case scenario, but still, I want all possibilities off the table before they pump my love up with the next step of intravenous antibiotics, all the while blindly telling us is another 'infection'.

Enough of the 'infections' already.

Let's start asking why they keep coming and treat the fucking issue, not the symptom!

My poor sweet love will have to start fresh at immune boosting after all this is finally rectified.

His body has been wiped out with antibiotics.

These are some of the fears I had, when I found out a year ago that my love would be going under the knife.

There's a reason why we don't get our bodies hacked into very often.

IT'S NOT GOOD FOR US!!!!!

However, what's done is done, so I need to focus on the now.

Right now, I'm going to finish this rant-o-rama, settle in with some ginger tea, gobble a gazillion Zinc and Vit. C tablets, and drink as much water as this body can handle.

It's time for a pee-fest!

Get that virus gone bitches!!!

I suppose today is a good day to catch up on back ups of this here cranky laptop.

I already feel bored just thinking about it.

Wait!

I've got a novel to write!

There's my silver lining!

Butterflies

So, these last few days that I was without 'you', my imaginary friend, were quite the blur.  There was so much work, joy, stress and blah blah blah ...

Do you ever just look at ...

... ahem ...

... life's lessons and you get figure out the moral of the story right away?

It's always nice when that happens.

Maybe I'm speaking cryptically, but it's because my brain has not quite opened up to what day it is right now.  I really pushed my injured noodle to the limit with this fucked up adventure I just went on.

I will get there and tell you a little bit more about my whirlwind of the film score mania week, but let's just say, one of the lessons learned is that we should always take time for our lovely friends.

In the meantime, I will talk to you about my love.

i mean, that's why you're here anyway, isn't it?! it's not really about me ...

Papi is healing very well, and it's been nice getting to have my love awake and laughing, even if it does hurt.  I mean really, laughter heals, doesn't it?

So anyway, I'm a hypochondriac, and Papi teases at me about it.

seriously ... i'm positive i have my mother's cancer even though it hasn't shown on any tests ...

Well, Papi was also convinced that there would have been cancer in my love's woman bits.  It's not really too far off the cuff to think that, considering my love did have pre-cancerous cells.

I do believe this is part of the reason why I'm doing so much better with this most recent surgery.  I, too, was also afraid that Papi would have had something going on there.  Plus, I didn't have to experience the gore of changing dressings on this round.  It's all hidden away, tickity-boo.

phew ...

And besides, Papi's fear is warranted, not only because my love lost his mother at the impressionable age of 10, but also because my love has a horrid pop addiction, and probably the worst diet second to The Beast.

oh ... don't bother asking about the beast ... that's way too long of an epic life lesson to share ...

So, when they did indeed remove that last portion of woman bits from mi esposo, I was probably just as relieved as my love to get that bitch gone!

Something that I'm really learning about my life with a transgender person, is what being in love really means.  Papi really is that same person I married, minus a few less 'bits'.

So, when people commented on Papi's 'changing' voice this weekend, I had to look at them like they just might be imagining things, because I just don't see it.

You see, in the beginning, when I was all fucked up about this transformation, I was thinking I wouldn't be very appreciative of the Helium Voice.

The Helium Voice is a rite of passage that every bio-male and transguy must venture through.  The cracking of the voice is definitely not music to my ears.  However, there is a lesson in this.

When people say my love's voice has changed, I just don't see it.

It's possible that if I wasn't so adept in Papi-land, I would hear it as well, but when you live with someone day in and out, some of the changes aren't as apparent.  I really don't notice my love's voice being any different than it was before.

Oh, here's another one!  A week after Dr. Scissorhands had his way with my love's uterus ...

and ovaries ... fallopian tubes ... and cervix ...

... I was looking at my love's side angle face and I noticed side burns.

Yes.  Sideburns.

I thought I just wasn't paying attention before, and they just popped up to flaunt their tentacles at me.  However, my love said, "Have you noticed how all of a sudden my side burns have come in since the surgery?"

No.  I just don't accept that removing that womanly body part would change mi esposo into the male my love sees in the mirror, but there is evidence, and you know what?  It's kinda cool in a fucked up reality kinda way.

We, who are in love with the transgender person, really have a world to exist in that not many others get to experience.

Through the tears, fears and anger, we get to watch our morphing butterflies reach for freedom.

I guess that caterpillar fuzz on my love's upper lip is no longer going to be a fledgling.

The Fine Art of Distraction

I'm having a really hard time writing today.

I'm feeling very disjointed.

Yesterday, Papi asked me, "Are you nervous about Friday?"

Of course I answered honestly, "Yes."

"Because you seem like you are," he added flippantly.

Huh?

I didn't know I was giving off heebie, jeebie vibes.

But then, it is me we're talking about.  I'm not really good at hiding my feelings.

We had good news from the benefits.  Papi gets a private room.

this is good, because nobody will see me force feeding papi vegetables.

I figure I can feed my love anything I want, because he won't be able to do anything about it.

There will be a mini Papi cleanse going on!

I'm on a mission to force feed my love different things that normally he would turn his nose up at.

I have the power.

**enter eeeevil laugh here**

The other good part, is mi esposo is having a positive experience using medicinal cannabis for anxiety.

Well, the inevitable will happen and you will get the munchies.  Then we reach for carbs, sugar and salt.

But honestly, when you have the munchies, anything will taste good.

So, in my evilness of health food persuasion, I'll be making sure Papi gets to try new things when those munchies kick in.

See how I did that?

I can distract myself in an instant.

I forgot that tomorrow is the day that mi esposo keeps speaking about as bum-fuck-nowhere doomsday with Dr. Scissorhands.

The only reason I can't completely forget is because Papi keeps talking death talk.

Now that I'm remembering, it's time to distract myself again.

I'm gong to go work on the film score and cook.

healthy yummy treats mwahahahahaha!!!!!!!

Anyway.

I'm nervous.

And I just donned on me that I'll be in the throws of dressings and a stubborn patient.

Yeah.

Stubborn patient doesn't really even come close to what I'll be dealing with.

So, tomorrow is another change.

But that's what life's about anyway, isn't it?

The Last Piece of the Puzzle.

2 more days until Papi changes again.

I get stomach flips and heart flutters.

I'm so lucky that I have friends out in bum-fuck-nowhere who will be keeping me company and keeping me distracted.

sorry if i've offended thee with my opinions of drunks, zealots 'n pedophiles out in your area ... i'm sure your area is lovely in your world ...

My love is no longer having panic attacks from the fear.  A little Clonazepam and medicinal cannabis has Papi in a very relaxed state.

I'm not used to it.  Normally Papi is a 'Frantic Go-Getter', as one of his clients puts it.

The only thing I am not appreciating is my love's talk of death.  "Well, what if I die on the operating table?!  Then you'll need to know stuff and I have to have everything in order!"

This is the part that I hate the most.

No matter how many times I ask, "Why are you talking like this?!" I get the same reaction.

In some ways, I just want Dr. Scissorhands to get in there and get out so I don't have to hear anymore doomsday talk.

papi, i swear to your god, if you die, i will kill you ...

People have hysterectomies all the time, so this one will be just another routine surgery and it will all be ok.

It will all be ok, because everything works out.  All the time.  Every single thing.

If Papi were to leave this planet, I have a La-Z-Boy that I'll just dwell in and the Fuzzy Family can just fend for themselves.

I'm sure the last one to be standing will be Sir Bark-A-Lot.

Mind you, The Bastard Prince can get up into cupboards where there are other treasures to find for food.

The Golden would probably peter out.  He's not too good at being bad and finding food on his own.  So, The Mrs. will feast on The Golden.

G'ma and Psycho Kitty will be fine upstairs.  Psycho Kitty will just eat G'ma.

See!  It will all work out just fine.

I will reside in the Pit of Doom in my La-Z-Boy.  I've been catatonic before.  I'm a pro.

What I've done recently is completely distract myself so that I don't even have to think about all this.

You know how it is, right?  I'm so good at denial.

Last night, my sister asked me if I'm nervous about my Discovery for the motorcycle accident coming up this month.

I had to remind her that because of the brain injury, I don't remember very well, and that I'd forgotten about it, so there's no point in worrying.

However, ever since she asked that, I've remembered.

argh that sucks ... my denial has been stripped!!

Mind you, I'm probably not worried, because I have nothing to hide.

It's pretty cut and dry.  I got hit on my motorcycle, flew 15 feet through the air after tumbling over the hood of her car, and landed on my head.

There's nothing really to discuss.  I deserve to be taken care of by my insurance, which is why we pay through the nose every year.

Oh right!

Back to the denial about the surgery!

I can officially say, I'm out of denial about it.

2 more days.

All I can say is, I'm happy it's the last piece of the puzzle that we have to go through to making my spouse the person he's always felt like inside.

There will be no death.  There will be healing with 'droopy face' from all the pain meds.

It's my turn to giggle at Papi for being zonked out on pain killers.

Drool away Papi.  Your friends who believe in their higher power are all praying for you.

I'm just going to sit with the energy of 'everything always works out'.

Papi's DIY mojo is back.

It's DIY time again.

Papi will be in for his surgery on Friday.

o god, my heart just skipped a beat ...

After my love's uterus has suffered the art of Dr. Scissorhands, I will be taking care of mi esposo until Papi can care for himself.

So, while we're preparing, we did the obligatory massive shop at Costco, so mi esposo could carry heavy things that we may need.

ah for fucks sakes, we forgot kitty litter!!! aaaaarrrrrgh!!!

Furthermore, there's also a few things around the house that need to be taken care of before Papi is down for the 6 weeks.

One such thing?  Putting up curtains.

It's crazy, but since the sewage flood, we haven't had curtains on our window.

Being no stranger to stalkers, ...

and a few restraining orders required to keep me safe ... yikes there's scary folks out there!

... I figure that because the coocoos have come out to play, it's time to put the curtains up.  You never know, said scary folks may also be homicidal and feel the need to watch us before fighting their way past 6 animals to carry out instructions that the voices told them to do.

... nah ... me paranoid? i can't imagine why you'd think that!

Off we went to the cold room and found all the necessary tools: hammer, leveler, screws, chiprock anchors, and of course, the power drill.

Papi has been certified for medicinal cannabis for anxiety now, because my love has been getting panic attacks from fear of the surgery.  Well, yesterday was my love's first attempt at getting friendly with the little drops.

It was probably not the best time to think about putting up curtains.

The last ones we put up, someone pulled them down while we were in the Dominican.  I thought it was fine, because the curtains were crooked anyway.  It would give us a chance to put them up properly.

I asked if I could help, and of course was granted a, "Yes!" but it didn't work out that way.  I'm pretty sure the happy drops had  something to do with the manner in which Papi went full bore into drilling without measuring.

Well, here's the first attempt:

So I asked, "Are you sure you don't want to measure things baby?"

"Nah, It's gonna be fine."

After putting in the anchors, my love said, "Oh, that didn't work out so well."

At this point, I decided to document the famous Papi DIY project with the full fledged Papirazzi, because it's just so entertaining for you all to feel my pain.  Then I heard, "I thought we were going to do this together?"

"Yeah, so did I," I giggled with a reply, "but then you went all commando and started drilling without my help."

I thought I'd add in this pic just for the full effect.  Notice the cord dangling from Papi's thigh.

my what a big drill you have papi!

Next I heard, "Well I didn't mean for that to happen."

oh, you mean this?

I think there will some new 'rules' in the house:  No power tools while under the influence of medicinal marijuana.

Papi put the anchors in anyway, and as we put the curtains up, Papi said, "Ok.  So just don't pull on the curtains and it will be fine."

Ok, but I'm pretty sure the hole is supposed to be round to hold in the anchor, no?

Well, we have curtains.

But if you ever are invited to come to our house, don't touch them, or look behind them K?  We'll just pretend that they're perfect.

And that concludes Papi's DIY for the day.

There will be more.

We still have 4 days.

oh my stomach ...

Thinking ...

Our day was good.

After the appointment in bum-fuck-nowhere that is.

You know when you know someone so well that there are things about them you learn that nobody else would understand?

One of those things I'm still trying to get wired into my brain.

When my love is anxious, it's hard for him to emotionally deal with anything else.

"Can we have a drive without any talking?" mi esposo asked me, as we were heading for our one and half hour drive.

omg ... no speaking for an hour and a half?!?

That's not so easy for me at the best of time, but when I've had pain killers, I get a little chatty.

to say the least ...

I also like to sing along with the radio on full tilt.  This was not going to work for someone who has cranky pants, so I asked, "Umm, is it ok if I hum?"

I was granted a nod of yes and that kept me happy.

My love is also sick with a flu.  That's not good for the mood either, but after the appointment everything was sunshine and rainbows again.

It took me that long to figure out that Papi was uptight about the surgery.

In the past, mi esposo had a secret stint with my codeine, and that made Papi an asshole.

I didn't figure out that he was dipping into my stash until our conversations turned into processing the bearish attitude that was raging in Papi.

However, there are no more of those horrid pills in the house, so when Papi's bad-humoured, it's for another reason.

I mean really, I should know what it's about.  I should know that I haven't done anything to make the crabby come out.  I get the same way just before a gig.

When I was a kid, you couldn't even be around me for a week prior to a piano recital.

sorry mom 'n sis ...

Anyway, after the appointment my love was happy again, and I realized that it had nothing to do with me.

I then had permission to be loose-lipped and sing along with the radio, which also came with apologies from Papi, who also figured out why he was so miserable.

One thing I do have to say about the hospital out there, is the people in Vancouver hospitals could use a bit of 'customer service' training from these folks.

The nurses were so nice there that I was shocked.  We don't get that kind of treatment here in the big city.

I suppose it's that laid back mentality of being in the sticks.

Whatever it was, I was impressed.

They treated Papi with respect and had absolutely no transphobic indications.  They asked curious questions which helped them learn more about transgender people.

There wasn't a creepy person in sight in the hospital, and Dr. Scissorhands was no where to be found.

The whole day went well, and I got to thinking about my own reproductive health.

Now normally, I would never let anyone near my uterus.  I've finally made friend's with that body part, even though it can't bear children.

However, I got to thinking about the risk of cancer in my family, and specifically that my mother and grandmother both had ovarian cancer.

Then I switched to thinking about the bloating and cramps that I could bid adieu if they snagged my uterus out of me.

Putting together the risk of cancer, cramps and inability to bear children got me thinking about whipping that organ out.

Thinking.

That's all.

I am feeling very positive about Papi's hysterectomy now.

It's a far cry from where I was 11 months ago.

I assume that once I see how much pain mi esposo will be in after surgery will stop my thinking about my own uterus.

I'm pretty sure about that one.

Evil Eye

We're taking a drive out to Dr. Scissorhands.

It's the pre-hysterectomy appointment.

My love has PTSD about the evil eye that I hand out occasionally.

You see, when we went in to have an orientation about the top surgery, I really wasn't ready to support my love, and the guy who was talking about the surgery had to feel my wrath.

I am really good at dirty looks.

Not something to really be proud of, but I've had it down since I was a kid.

Once, someone, somewhere, pissed me off at the ripe age of 4, and they made the mistake of coming to my house to ask me if I could play.

I was busy playing with my toys at the front door, so when she came up the stairs, I was ready.

After she knocked, I peeked through the mail slot and spat out, "Whadda you want?" with obvious disdain.

She asked me if I wanted to play and I let the mail slot with close with an echoing, "No."

That was when my first evil eye was noted by my parents.

From that day forward, it was my secret weapon.

And ohhhhhhh how I used it on the dude at the top surgery office.

Yeah.

I wasn't ready.

And I was pissed off.

Papi never let me forget it.

Every appointment we've been to that has to do with the male transformation, my love asks about a million times before we go, "Ok.  You're not going to give the evil eye right?"

Of course not Papi.

Where on earth would you get that idea?

I mean really, last time we went to see Dr. Scissorhands, I didn't give the evil eye.

I sat quietly and listened to doc explain how they're going to take my love apart.

I had my 'pretend' face on.

The one where you just turn the outer edges of your lips up, and smile with your eyes.

It was hard to hold the whole time, but I did it.

I'm a proud executioner of 'Fake it until you Make it".

Today I don't feel as rancid as I did back then.

Yes, I've opened my mind a lot more.

I'd rather that my love has this operation anyway, because there were pre-cancerous cells brewing there in the past.

Get rid of them.

I want to spend a long life with mi esposo.

Mind you, what the cancer can't get to, the bad eating will take care of I'm sure.

Did I ever tell you that I have to make food for my love if I want him to eat healthy?

I'm sure I have.

My cookie monster chases his pizza dinner with a chocolate bar.

Mind you I'm pretty psychotic about my health.

My version of junk food is a can of soup, and a cup of coffee.

Anyway, back on track.

Today, we're driving out to bum-fuck-nowhere for the pre-surgery appointment.

I, Andréa Hector-Brown, promise to play nice.

I will not slam the mail slot on his face and give the evil eye.

I will fake it until I make it.

Besides, he was kinda nice, and because of the long drive, I'll be hopped up on pain killers which will put a smile on my face whether I like it or not.

Bum-Fuck-Nowhere.

It dawned on me yesterday that I won't be celebrating Halloween this year.

Not that I'm an avid Halloweener and that it's a ritual every year, but if I had to choose only one yearly celebration to raise hell with, Halloween would be 2nd to my wedding anniversary.

I mean really, I'm never ready with a costume anymore.  I have high hopes every year that I'll be celebrating, but it never seems to happen.

And it's never a big loss, it's just that every year, I always think I'm going to do something.

procrastinators unite! after halloween ...

I know.  Sounds like a no brainer.

If I'm not interested enough to get ready for it, then it's no big deal.

Well, this year, some friends had said they'd have a party and I thought this year we'd go.  So I marked attending! on my Facebook invite.

Then I hear, "Ummmmm, so you're going to their party alone?"

Well obviously not!  Our 'rough around the edges friends' don't just have a 'party'.  It's the kind of party that includes a few whips 'n chains, and maybe a little bit of 'good pain', blood and bruises as souvenirs.

Just the thing Papi and I enjoy doing together.  Alas, Papi continued, "Because that's a day after my surgery."

the pieces of the puzzle all fell into place ...

"Got it!" I replied, marking off another day closer to Dr. Scissorhands.

this brain injury moment brought to you by the letters, d, u, h.

Anyway, I realized I wasn't going, and started reminiscing about a few of the times that I've had some doozy costumes.

Like the bumble bee.

pillows made into puffy balls of bumble bee phat ...

My costume was epic!

Until I had to go pee.

I had drank 'too' much beer.

I couldn't get my arms around the pillows of bumble bee phat to open the crotch of the costume to relieve myself the washroom.

Hell!  I could barely fit through the stall door, never mind try to close it once I was in.

Well, I'm pretty sure you can figure out how that one ended.  All I know is that's the only memory I have of that particular Halloween.

yup ... some people should just stay clean 'n sober ...

But, the point of all this was that I finally clued into the time line of Papi's surgery.

The weekend of Halloween, I'll be commuting back and forth to bum-fuck-no-where to have some full on quality Papi time complete with drooling from pain meds.

we'll both be in fine company ...

Wayyyyyyyy out there.

A place where I never venture, for it's where they put all the sex offenders on parole.  You see, nobody squawks about it, because they're too busy restocking beer from the liquor store and ignoring the molesting of their own children.

That and beating the fear of 'god' into their kids.

Bum-

Fuck-

Nowhere.

It's surprising that they would have Trannies come out to this area.  I  mean it's the same kinda 'community' where rednecks would beat the shit out of anyone queer, never mind what they'd do to trannies.

None-the-less, that's where we'll be in less than three weeks.

Well, if you're not a Canuck, you may not know that today is Thanksgiving here in Canada, so tonight we'll be taking the G'ma out to Swiss Chalet.

no, i don't cook anything that can't be done in a frying pan, wok or steamer.

So, in honour of Thanksgiving, I'm thankful that I don't have to be out in bum-fuck-nowhere today, and I'm thankful that I not only have a pain reliever that works, but it also keeps my PTSD down to a manageable level so when I think of the predators out in bum-fuck-nowhere, I don't shake.

and the countdown continues ...

The Final Countdown.

Papi's 2nd surgery is coming up in 3 weeks.

The countdown commences.

All I care about is not allowing my back to spaz out before that day.

It can freak out all it wants until the 27th, but after that, it has to behave for at least 2 weeks.

My love won't be able to even sit up on his own.

I had a laparoscopy that hurt enough, never mind a hysterectomy.

I will behave and not clean the tub any later than a week before Dr. Scissorhands is set to do the deed.

I feel ok about this one, maybe because I know that my love has had pre-cancerous cells in the past.

Maybe it's also because I won't notice the difference.

Ok, that's not completely true.

Apparently my love doesn't need to take as much of the hormones once that uterus is snagged away.

Taking out this organ will cause less estrogen in the body.

I suppose that's why we see old ladies with beards.

Anyway, as the surgery nears closer, it seems to also be taking up more of my thoughts.

This blob/blab is going to be short today.

I get to see one of my dearest friends for lunch.

And a beautiful day it will be, regardless of the overcast skies that threaten us with autumn showers.

I hope your day brings you joy as well.

The Rise of Dr. Scissorhands!

Sometimes, I'm curious about just what it is we do with our faces when we get our picture taken.

You know?

We take bad pics that have our face in some contorted fashion, to be captured on film forever!

We had been to a wedding, and Papi and I had a couple of pictures taken.

There were pics of so many people posted on the newlyweds web site, but none of ours made the cut.

And I know why.

Here's the reason:

Now at first glance I just look a little psychotic.

But what you really need to do is take a closer look at my face:

What the hell is that?!?!

Look at Papi all handsome and then there's me.

It looks like I've just seen another penis hanging in the bathroom.

There was a nice one as well.

I look a little more sane here.

And again, Papi looks handsome.

Upon looking at the pic, my love said, "I look more masculine now."

Mi esposo then strolled over and lifted my glasses so I could see up close, "There's more sideburns coming in!"

I favoured being in denial, "I can't see it.  It's too dark in here," I said, blaming it on the cheerless days that are heading our way for our next 6 months (or more) of our bleak West Coast weather.

Papi chose to get even closer saying, "C'mon, you have to be able to see it!'

I couldn't discount those straggles of hair by Papi's ear, "Ok, maybe."

"Yes!  That means you can!" my love said, while expressing joy with a gyrating Elvis move.

I've seen this move a few times in our relationship.

It comes when we have our plans booked for a holiday, or we acquire money we didn't know we'd be receiving, or the excitement leading up to another of my love's surgeries for the male transformation.

Recently, we were told that Papi's hysterectomy will be in November.

Yet when my love was told this, there wasn't an Elvis Gyrating session, there was only nervousness.

I can't say that I'm proclaiming a sense of allay, even though I'm feeling more durable.

Dr. Scissorhands will be taking care of removing the last of Papi's female identity; my love's uterus.

I was really messed up for the Top Surgery, and my love has asked me, "Are you going to be able to be there for me?"

Mi esposo didn't feel like I was able to be a caregiver, because I was so disturbed about the loss of Papi's breasts.

Yes, I was a disaster for The Great Breast Disappearance.

This time, I may be better, even though I thought I'd be ok for Papi's Top Surgery.

I didn't know I was fucked up until the day I was leaving on a plane to go support my love in Florida.

We'll see, I suppose.

At least I don't have to look at the carnage when this one is over and done.  There will be nothing more than an itty scar on my love's belly button and pubic hair line.

Phew!  No nipples slipping down the drain on this one!

Anxiety du jour

I think if the wind changes I get anxiety.

I'm pretty sure I'm starting to see what they've told me since I was a kid.

I remember my aunt and I having a conversation about hippies.  I was saying how I liked the hippy mentality that their generation got to grow up with.  "If I was growing up in that time I think I'd be a hippy too."

My aunt laughed, "You're too stressed out to be a hippy."

I was about 12.

And stressed out.

It's a miracle that I haven't given myself an ulcer.

Today's freak out?

My gig on Friday.

Papi's male transformation, 5 foot clitoris and top surgery are all old news.

I'm shaking about the show.  The CD Release party is going to be fun I'm sure, but while I'm hobbling around like an 80 year old because of my recent back spasm flair up, I'm not feeling like a rockstar.

It hurts just to sit and play my bass.

I know that once I'm up on the stage, the adrenaline will kick in and pain will be so far from my mind that I'll think I've been healed!!!

That is, of course, up until the ado is done with.

I'll then go back to using the handicap sign for parking the car at the store until my fucking back tells me it's ok to act my age again.

Don't get me wrong.  My anxiety about Papi's male transformation is not over with.

Oh no, don't be ridiculous.

Last night my love informed me that one of the nipples is not doing too well and it hurts.  At that point, I had visions of a half nippled flat chest.

You know?

Worst case scenario.

i'm such a spaz!!!

Regardless of how I feel angst over The Great Breast Disappearance, I still want the best for my love.  I still want mi esposo to heal and feel confidence in Papi's body.

There is nothing worse than feeling like you're not right.

I get it practically every time I look in the mirror.

will i ever get the perfection i strive for?

My love had a dream the other night that I was fondling those nipples and one of them fell off.

I laughed so hard at the make believe story, then freaked out because it could happen!!!

Papi was told by Dr. Scissorhands that during the healing my love can't face the water from the shower because the nipples could come off!

Can you imagine being in the shower and watching one of them drop to the tub floor then whirl around in the drain as you scramble to grab it, but you can't because your hands are all soaped up and the nipple is slippery so you watch it slide down the drain with the bubbles it's surrounded in?!?!?

I can.

Worst case scenario.

complete with the impact of a run on sentence and no breathing ...

Anyway, back to the anxiety du jour.

I'm really really really nervous.

It's like it was when I first started performing.  I was so nervous for every show that I'd almost be sick.  Well, I was sick out the back end, but I'm sure you didn't need those details.

After years of performing, I got to the point that it was a small flutter in my stomach and then I would hop on that stage and go to town like I never had an adverse nerve in my life.

Back to square one.

I don't recommend anyone being off performing for a few years.  Don't do it.

Next

Flu?

Stress?

Top surgery dressings?

One, or all, of the above has my stomach feeling like I've gone for a ride on the tilt-a-whirl.

won't stop this avid eater from breakfast and my coffee

Everything hit with a bang yesterday.  The 95 year old g'ma is back with full force, and Papi is back with souvenirs from Dr. Scissorhands.

There came my love, strolling out of the airport gate holding bags!!!  For gawd's sake!  Mi esposo is not supposed to be holding things!!!

Then Papi says, "I'm in a lot of pain."

No fucking shit?!?!?

Apparently I told my love to carry things.  If I did, it was when I said, "If you MUST carry things, make sure you have even weight and don't try using anything other than your forearms to adjust."

Papi came out with a camera bag, a computer bag and a souvenir bag all held in front of mi esposo's chest!

Not good.

Something that was awkward for me though, was witnessing the lack of my love's chest.

Flat.

That men's dress shirt was hanging the way it was intended.

My love looked handsome.

I was so thrilled to see Papi and have a feeling of seeing mi esposo as gorgeous.

When we got home, my love needed to change the dressings.  Papi didn't want me to see, "I don't want you to think I'm ugly."

This broke my heart.

As I was trying to get Papi to calm down, I had to stroke my love's arms and say, "I want to heal you.  I want to be the one to take care of your wounds and be the one to heal them.  Please let me help you."

My love is not very good with pain or blood.  I'm fine with pain, I'm getting used to it now, but blood?

Nope.

Not my thing.

However, because Papi's worse at it, I had to step up to the plate.

Papi was wiggling all over the place in anticipation of me taking off the old dressings.  It was so much work getting mi esposo to sit still, that the terror of seeing what I'm most afraid of wasn't even an issue.

When I saw the healing incisions, I was surprised that I didn't have a moment of tears.  I did have a few mini panic attacks, but nothing I couldn't deal with.

Mami kicked in, and I took control of taking care.

I had nausea and was terrified of hurting my love, but I did it and it felt good to help mi esposo.

It looked very strange.

Foreign.

It's going to take some time to get used to, but I really think that helping my love heal will also heal my heart.

On to the next hurdle of denial.

The teenager today had a few thoughts, "Maybe Papi will just be good with this and it will be enough.  Maybe there doesn't have to be a full male transformation.  Maybe it's all done now.  Maybe I can just have a flat chested butch."

I'm sorry little one.

You're still not getting it are you?

You've married a tranny.

The Epiphany

Miami, Florida airport.

Family from hell.

No matter where I go to escape them, all 9 of them find me.  Yes, they're sitting right across from me at the gate.

I actually chose a seat that they wouldn't be able to sit next to me, and I figured they wouldn't want to occupy only 3 seats with all their bags and a double stroller.

WRONG.

The fucking family from hell are all squeezed into one small area.

I swear to gawd, if there is one, then there is a fucking devil, and he followed me from the hotel just to try to get under my skin for the last few moments of this fucking journey.

I felt as though I had shaken the demons today.

I had no tears and I had some smiles.

It feels so sad leaving Papi alone at the hotel.  The rest of mi esposo's healing has to be done alone.  No help from the over-doting wife.

I'm sure my love will do ok.  It's probably just the tail end of my emotions tugging at me.  I won't get to see mi esposo again for 4 more sleeps.

I'm quite afraid of what I'll see when Friday comes.  By that point, Papi will have all the bandages off and be rid of the draining paraphernalia.

I had a nightmare about it last night.

I dreamed that my love's nipples were really high above where they were supposed to be.  There were also really hideous scars that were jagged and in really bad directions.

So, I suppose that's worst case scenario.  Dr. Scissorhands of Florida is touted as the best in his field.  I'm sure he did a fine job.  I'm sure it's just my demons coming out to play while I sleep.

fuckers will get me wherever they can.

My love put a picture of the wreckage up on Facebook today.  I'm dying!!!  It's so awful for me to see that on the page where I go to communicate with mi esposo.  It's too much.

I want only to see Papi's gorgeous face.

Just like in the calendar of ugly mugs, I personally don't see why anyone would want to expose this as a picture of pride.

But Papi is different than me.

Here's a wonderful moment however!!

I have figured out how to get around using a male pronoun for Papi.  I don't ever have to say 'he'!

EVER!!

If I use my love's first initial, 'E', then it sounds like I'm saying 'he'.

At the tattoo shop yesterday ...

yes ... of course i got a souvenir ... who the hell are we talking about here?!

... they all called Papi a 'he'.  If i had have said 'she', they would have looked at me like I was the one on Vicodin.

So, when Mr. Bare-Beerbelly Tattoo-Man asked, "Now, where has he gone?"

I simply answered, "E's in the washroom."

It struck me then that it really did sound like 'he'!!!

I'm good now!!!

I don't ever, ever have to use that fucking pronoun that to date has made me feel like my skin is crawling with slugs.

ahhhhhhhhhh ... denial is a beautiful thing, no?

It's all good.

speechless

"Ok.  We're back.  So now we have to talk about it.  These are YOU'RE 'rules'."

I guess Papi's right.

While my love was texting, the woman in the phone that automatically corrects mi esposo's spelling was frantically trying to keep up to Papi's maniacal typing.

It blurts out things like, "Capitol I," and other words, that perhaps it finds a more suitable option.  One word stuck out for me, however.

"Denial."

So, I had to ask, "Why are you writing denial?  Who's in denial?"

My love answered, "I'm talking to **a Trust List friend** and telling her how you're in denial about my top surgery."

is that something like, if i ignore it, it will go away?

Maybe I am.  Maybe I'm just trying to stay on vacation, even though when we got off the plane it felt like I could see my breath.

toto, we're not in kansas anymore ...

But seriously, I'm new to the male transformation gig!  I don't know how to deal with this other than to ignore it!

Alright.  I'm in denial.  But that doesn't mean that I'm not going to accept it when it happens in less than a week.

i think i just threw up in my mouth a bit, or maybe that was the eggs telling me i still have a parasite?

The Countdown is increasingly more anxiety driven.

4 days until Dr. Scissorhands #1 gets his game on.

i promise i will play 'nice'. i promise not to give him the stink eye or the death stare.

I watched Papi get the video camera ready for mi esposo's taping of the experience.  My love eagerly charged the batteries, put in a new tape, and made sure everything was running well.

I also watched Papi go nutty getting ready for the flight to Florida.  My love basically came home, did laundry, had 2 sleeps, and then will be off as a frequent flyer.

Mi esposo leaves today.  I'll be at work when Papi is en route to the airport, and at the end of my day, when I park my bus in the lot, mi esposo's plane will be leaving 15 minutes later.

I will stay in the lot and watch my love go, unless I'm off early.  If I'm off in time, I'll go sit under the plane route on a little bench they've made especially for this day.

the narcissist in me is sure that it's just for me. it's all about me.

Either way I will be able to watch Papi's plane take off.  The airport is basically a 5 minute drive from where we park those yellow 'short buses'.

Work will be difficult today, as it will be my first shift alone since doing my last gradual return in November.  You know the one?  Where I was doing my first return, but fell, then have been off for 6 months again?

Anyway, it's going to be tough, but it will probably keep my mind off things to come.

4 days ... it whispers from the pit of doom ... it's breath is hideously rank

I just sat and stared at the screen for 5 minutes, so I suppose I'm done for today.

I don't know what else to say right now other than, thank you, my imaginary friend, for another day of an open ear, and a shoulder.  Things are going to get tough now.

I'm grateful you're here.

Talons are sharp.

Once upon a time, I had an evil ex that I was trying to get papers served to, so I could sue her for robbing me and making me homeless, amongst other pleasantries.

She was very good at evading the process, but we got her one day when she was trying to terrorize me by flaunting the girl she left me for.  It was while I was having a coffee of support in a café with a Trust List friend.

I called the server and said, "I'm looking at The Beast right now.  Come and get her."

Ah, the art of avoidance.

Not much unlike what I'm trying to do right now.

I don't want to talk about 'it', but I have to.

Papi tried to casually talk about 'it' during the 10 minutes I got to spend with mi esposo yesterday, which happened to be right before my love was to leave for work.  Visions of me crying alone were devastatingly protruding thoughts and I said, "Not now.  You're on your way out.  It's not time."

"But you don't even know what I was going to say!"

"Yes, I do, and you can't just throw it at me then leave."

ah my love, when will you learn that we've become 'one' and your thoughts are mine now **enter evil laugh here** be careful what you think !!  mwahahahaha!!!

I thought today would be yet another day where I wouldn't get to see my love.  It would make it 3 days since we've hung out.

3 days since Dr. Scissorhands said mi esposo needs to go up on the hormones.

I don't want to hear it from Papi.  Hearing those words from mi esposo will make it real.

So today, while my love was going to be sleeping off another graveyard shift, I was going to mooch off Bill Runge's sophisticated skills at a composition workshop, in hopes of learning how to orchestrate horns in an improved fashion.

When I told Papi, I received a panicked text, "But I had plans for us!!"

I canceled my plans for the workshop.

We will get to see each other today.

I miss my love.  I hate it when our schedules don't mesh, but I know that seeing Papi today means I'll have to hear those words during our time together.

I know my love needs to talk to me about the hormone doses going up.

fuck.  here comes the nausea ...

I don't want it to happen, but it's going to.  I don't have any choice in the matter.

I will be served MY papers today, in the form of loving words that Papi will try to make sound like it's a good thing, with a cherry on top.

Well, I suppose for half of this relationship it's a good thing.

Only half.

My wife is leaving.

demons have wrapped their talons around my heart ... it hurts ...

it really really hurts ...

It'll come back and bite you in the ass.

Sometimes, it's hard to measure the success of this journey.

Success:  I kept my breakfast down, and made it to and from the appointment with Dr. Scissorhands without glaring at him and crying afterward.

There were some moments where I felt I could have cried, but I didn't.  I just kept saying, "I can't talk right now."

don't speak

I know I promised my love that wouldn't happen anymore, but damn, there are some times that are really hard.

Yesterday was a wash of emotions that had me interlaced with demons.

It wasn't only hard at the doctor appointment.  As a matter of fact, he was a really good guy.  He made me giggle a few times.  He won my heart and I trust him to take care of Papi, even if I am devasted.

Part of the problem yesterday, was that we were in 'bumfuck nowhere'; Abbotsford, home of the bible thumpers, pedophiles and people who marry their cousins.

They would stare at Papi like I was in company with that alien I speak about.  I would wait for them to finally see me giving the death stare ...

(mama bear is gonna fuck you up if you say ANYTHING!!  THIS i promise you fuckface)

 ... and they would drop their eyes from my love in a moment of, "Damn I've been caught!"

While out for lunch, I tried to find 'food' that would be good for my allergies.  It's hard enough in Vancouver to find this at food courts, but in Abbotsford they even make healthy choices bad for you.

Deep fried, battered everything.

I ate it only because I was feeling so triggered by the people in this town, that I needed to stuff my throat full of food like a tub plug, to keep the fear down in my belly.

I started envisioning every man there in a mug shot after having raped a child or woman.  I was so fucked up by the time we left the mall that I was having panic attacks from fear of people.

We also had one of my love's very best friends with us.  It was two for one day at the hysterectomy office.

Just kidding, but it's a little odd to be sitting with two people who want a hysterectomy for different reasons.  I felt very possessive of my uterus during this time.

what are YOU looking at?!?!  i'll be keeping mine, thank you very much!  back off bitches!

It was really difficult to listen to two people talk about the operation like it was having a wart removed.  I was quite silent for the entire trip.

When I got home, I was fully exhausted from emotions and bad 'food'.  I had a headache from hell.  I jumped on the 'coffee shop' to have giggles of distraction from the terror I'd endured, and what happens?

I get into my first heated debate on the 'coffee shop' about the very people I was provoked by all day long.

My heart was breaking that this one person sounded like he was sticking up for the crud of the world who I think of as less than flea excrement on my dog's back.

My poor injured brain couldn't handle it.  I had to calm myself and really look at what the guy was saying.

focus ... focus ...

He was saying I lived in a fantasy ...

(fair enough ... i like my bubble) 

... if I thought that the world would start to use these creeps for medical testing instead of animals.  I finally got that he wasn't PRO pedophile/rapist, nor was he fighting for their rights.

I'll tell you, it was very hard to get to sleep last night with visions of detached uteri and predators dancing through my head.

I did not like yesterday at all.

Now it's today, and I've promised to speak to Papi about the conversations I deferred.

NOW I feel like crying.