Pronoun Hell. It awaits me.

Well, I can't deny it anymore.

More and more strangers out there are starting to see my love as a male being.

I don't know when the big switcheroo came, because like I've said before, I'm much too close to Papi to see drastic changes.  The changes all come too slow in this male transformation.

Well, except for The Great Breast Disappearance in Florida

That was a bit too fast for my liking.

Anyway, this story is set when mi esposo went to visit someone in the psych ward.

Now, before you start thinking those thoughts about people in psych wards, I do want to tell you, that you never know who's been there.

It's not all drooling lunatics on anti-psychotic meds.

Sometimes, it's people who just can't swallow the meals life is putting on their plates.  There are a lot of people suffering in this life, and some get to a breaking point where their mind wants to quit.

I know what it's like.

I should have been in the psych ward a few times from various break downs I've had from life's peddlings.

You never know if the sweet person you work with, who has that heart that everyone wants to warm up to, has been there.

We are all sensitive people and some of us reach meltdown faster than others.

Ok.

So now that I've gotten my mental health advocacy out of the way, I'll get back to my love's story.

Actually, the story happens after Papi left the ward.

The woman that my love had gone to visit told Papi that she had a thing for one of the other clients there.

After my love left, this woman wanted to talk to the hunk of burnin' love about perhaps a phone number exchange and a date outside of the ward.

The man was horrified!

He thought that this woman's boyfriend had just left and already she's going on about dating someone else.

This guy thought Papi was her boyfriend.

Her boyfriend!!

Male.

Boy.

I dunno.

I just don't see it.  But will I ever?  Or will I continue to see my love as my love?  Or will I eventually see him as a male?

Here's a funny one for ya.

So, there I was spending so much time, trying desperately to get the pronouns down and guess what's happened?

To me now, everyone has the male pronoun.

I'm not kidding.

I now slip up with women and call them he, him, his or whatever male pronoun seems to fit the sentence.

How fucked up is that?!?!

My pendulum has swung to the other side and you're all male.

Every last one of ya.

This is a bit ridiculous, but hey, I've got it down now, don't I?

i have compassion for myself and the way my life has developed

not by the hair of my chinny chin chin.

Here's something Papi sprung on me this morning.  "Do you know what happened a year ago today?!"

I thought about it and freaked out.

What have I missed?!?!

What important day have I forgotten?!?!?

My love enlightened me with a proud face, "One year ago today you were sobbing your eyes out because I had my top surgery."

Oh god, yes.

Now I remember.  The Great Breast Disappearance in Florida.

I have selective memory.  That, and I've concluded my 5 stages of grief and moved on to acceptance.

I do look back at that time and realized that I may have been a little more dramatic about the whole thing, but hindsight truly is 20/20.

I wish I knew then what I know now.

But isn't that the story of our lives?

It's why we're here in this beautiful life.

To learn.

My love's scars on his chest are calming down now.  They seem to be less angry.

So do I.

Everything seems back to normal now.

I guess.

Here's something funny.

I think Papi's chin hair is kinda cute.

Yes.  I said cute.

It used to freak me out, even just to think about the fact that there would be hair there.

It's no longer just face fuzz.  It's more bristly now, but it's sweet looking.

Maybe, it's because it's on my love.

I suppose it's because I love mi esposo so much that it just doesn't matter that there's fur there.

People see my love's changes so much more than I.

That's because I see him every day.  The changes are too slow for it to be drastic.

However, I realized that I'm seeing my love a little differently.

Still, it's hard for me to consciously think of my love as a male.

I'm not sure when that will happen, if ever.

I just see Papi as Papi.

I still can't say 'my husband'.

It's always 'my spouse'.  Other people will just jump to 'your husband' immediately in conversation.

They automatically assume that it's a male, because to this world, I'm just a straight girl.

Even as a lesbian in gay relationships, the world still sees me as straight.

It's hard to be a femme in the gay community.  We are completely invisible.

And disrespected.

And adored.

We are who we are.

Anyway, this femme is no longer searching for peace around Papi's male transformation.

I have found it.

It's called unconditional love.

we look forward to the time when the power of love replaces the love of power.  then our world will know the blessings of peace. ~ William Ewert Gladstone

Papi's reality show

Ya know?

I think Papi enjoys being the Tranny Terrorist a bit too much.

When Papi dropped me off at work, and I was harassing my love in regards to the leg hair, "Farewell hairy monster," my love revealed a new area that was growing man hair that I never even thought about.

Stomach.

Not impressed.

I guess if I'm going to irk my love with cheeky words, there will always be a comeback that doesn't even require words now.

Later on, while Papi was changing massive bandaids on still raw looking nipples, I was yet again awarded another look at them.

"Look!  The nipple is going to look like this when the scab falls off!"

Nice.

That's lovely my dear.

I tried so hard to look and have actual interest, but my face unfortunately, cannot lie.

"The look on your face is hilarious!"

Is this why Papi torments me?

Could it be that this is mi esposo's entertainment every day?  The object of the game is to see just how puckered my lips can get, how many wrinkles I can extend on my forehead and how much I can raise my nostrils as I crimp the skin between my eyes.

Maybe my love is enjoying being the star of the blog show.  Really, I say it's my healing journey, but most of the time, it's all about Papi and the ridiculous antics I have to endure.  This is possibly like a reality show you read and mi esposo is addicted to the attention!

Or, perhaps this is my love's way of giving me something to write?  Yesterday I received a review of my blog from Papi, "Your blog was boring today."

Well, damn!

I better get something better to write about then.

the moral of the story is, if my blog is boring, then so is papi, no?

Enter stage left: the nipples.

The doctor appointment Papi had yesterday was great for Papi.  My love came bounding out of the office, "She said they looked incredible!"

I'll have to have a word with my doctor. 

please don't feed the animals

I guess to a doctor who's having one of a very few F-M patients, she has probably seen worse.

I mean, this is really why we flew all the way to Florida; to get the very best surgeon.

There are some that are really awful.

We have seen some really bad jobs where people have gotten tired of the top surgery wait list, and gone to someone they could afford.

Goddam!  You don't want to be mucking about with top surgery!

Anyway.

Just got my paycheck from that unpaid time off from said surgery.

No cash and a kick in the teeth.

There ya go.  Papi gave me something to write.

how many stars will i receive today i wonder

Gravity

Well, it was a good few days of smiles and strength.

On this journey, you never know when the demons are going to come out to play.

They gave me a visit last night.  Through every tear, they stole my breath.

Papi had to keep reminding me to breathe.

It probably didn't help that my back had seized again.

when will this fucking injury be over and done?!?!

My love needed to express some feelings, and it just didn't sit well with me.

no shit ... my, what lovely swollen eyes you have this morning

Before The Great Breast Disappearance, mi esposo kept asking, "You're going to be able to take care of me, right?"

I really took this as being the caretaker.  I really didn't know Papi needed someone to be strong.

I was far from fierce during the week of my love's top surgery.  I was a mess in fetal position.  I couldn't even communicate to my love how hard it was, so I just continued to clean the hotel room, replace ginger ale, prepare snacks, administer drugs, fluff and arrange the pillows and drain the tubes that needed to be monitored.

I kept busy so my mind wouldn't be.

However, Papi needed someone there to be the one to be strong, but my love chose the wrong person, and also chose the wrong wording around 'taking care'.

I am feeling like a failure.  I am feeling like the wife that let down the other half of the relationship.  I am feeling embarrassed.

i am feeling like vanishing

I honestly tried with every inch of my being to be there for mi esposo.  I worked very hard at 'taking care' of my love.  Yet, there had to be time for me as well.

I learned a long time ago that I need to be there for myself just as much as other people.

Being a people pleaser, I had to learn the hard way that you can only do so much for others, then you have to save some time and space for yourself.

Nobody's going to do it for you.

So when all was taken care of for my love, I would ask, "Is there anything else you need, baby?"

My love would look at me with those dopey eyes and just squeak out, "No."

I took that as: it's my time to think.

We all know what happens when I think to much.  Demons ring my doorbell.  I usually answer, because it's a knee jerk reaction.

Tears would fall, I would record my feelings into the video camera and be true to my emotions.

Unfortunately, there was no where else to go in Fort Lauderdale where I felt safe to be a mess.

So, the hotel balcony and bathroom would be my solitude to cry, but being such a small space, it wasn't hidden from Papi.  I exposed my pain to mi esposo.

I didn't know Papi would simmer in those emotions, until the pot would begin to burn.

Communication happened and I crumbled with the weight of words.

It didn't help that the physical pain was searing through me.  Sometimes, when we have bodily pain, the mind will follow suit.

FALL IN SOLDIERS!!

So there I was.  Revisiting every piece of the pain from the Pit of Doom in that hotel room.

How can two people who are so joined in spirit have opposing feelings about the same experience?

Papi has no way of understanding how much pain I'm in, and I am utterly incapable of being the Rah-Rah-Tranny my love so needs in a wife.

We are on opposite ends of the pendulum, but I suppose even a pendulum has to swing both ways until gravity allows it to pause in the middle.

This is where my love and I will finally meet.

It's been 7 months of a journey.  Not a very long time in the scope of things.  We have a long way to go until gravity is our friend.

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.

mmmm ... clonazepam ...

I thought I was doing ok.

But I started cleaning.

Now, cleaning isn't all that bad you'd think, but I'm not the kind of person who just cleans for fun.  I'm a slob.  I'm not dirty, but I'm a 'drop everything where it is' kinda person.

I'm also a 'let's just leave that until tomorrow' gal.  Why do today what you could put off til tomorrow if it feels like there's something better to do.

So, cleaning really only happens when I'm either p.m.s.ing or I'm disturbed.  Crazy enough to need the distraction of dish soap and recycling organization.

Papi asked me, "What are you doing with all the cleaning and running around?!"

I had to lie.  "I'm just cleaning up because you can't do anything and I'd like to stay on top of it."

Papi is pretty much incapacitated and I'm needing to really take care of my love.  But I fear I'm not doing a good enough job.

i'll never be good enough for me

This is so hard to do.  I'm torn between just wanting to help Papi and just crumble because it's happened.

I want to just hold my love, but thre's pain there and I can't disturb mi esposo.  Just bumping the bed is creating pain for my beloved.

I have to sit in a different chair, nowhere near my love.  It's like I'm completely banished from Papi's space.

This is hard.  I just want to hold my love and make Papi feel better.  The only thing I can do is bring liquids, tidbits of food, check to see if the drainage is working and help my love sit up.

I feel that I need a little bit of love from mi esposo, but that's completely unrealistic, because Papi needs me to be there 100%.

it's not about me

I just want to be held.  I want my tears to be acknowledged.  I want someone to tell me it's going to be ok.

So, I stuff those feelings down with organic treats I searched for and found in this beautiful beach area of Fort Lauderdale.

The only problem is, I'm feeling so horrible about myself.  The demons of eating disorder are rearing their ugly scum sucking heads.

The mirror is being cruel again.  It's showing me some awful images and I know what it's about.  I have no control over this situation.  I feel helpless.  I feel out of control.

The only thing I can control is my weight.

There's a problem however; I no longer damage myself with starvation.  I allow the mirror to spew those vicious images at me and accept that it's all in the eye of the beholder.

I ate my healthy lunch and dinner.  I ate my desert of Dominican chocolate.

But the feelings I have about myself get worse.  Those words fill my head, "Why do you do this to yourself?!  You're only going to look more obese if you eat this food!!!"

I try my hardest to shut them up, but they echo.  They rebound off the walls of my brain to be revisited over and over again.

They have a gym here in the hotel.  That will help.  Exercise in the morning will lift my spirits and hold off the Pit of Doom of my eating disorder.

control.

No way for me to deal with this other than to just accept that this has happened.  It's all over.

My butch is 2/3 of the way gone.

My F-M is leading the way.  The majority is ruling. 

control.

My love said, "You look so sad and so fucked up."

"I am so sad and so fucked up.  My emotions are on turbo freak and I can't even handle simple things.  I also feel like I"m not doing a good enough job taking care of you."

Papi decided to share drugs with me.  A clonazepam with happy little anxiety ridding chemicals.

Meds do have a place in this world.  It allowed me to stop feeling like I was going to implode.

I wish I could do it on my own.  Alas, I can't.

But thank gawd meds are in this world.

48 hours

D Day.

The Countdown.

48 hours.

All I can say is thank gawd for work.  I'm so exhausted working 11 hour days of non-stop work that I really don't have time to cry.

My eyes will well, but then I find myself pressing buttons on the screen that tell me where to go for my next jaunt, or I'm getting up and out to help someone who has less mobility than I.

I did get to watch my love's plane leave right from underneath the take off path.  I did get to film it.  It was heartbreaking waiting for it to go, but when Papi passed over me, I felt mi esposo's love and happiness filled my heart.

The next day, I was able to start my taping of this experience.  That was really hard.

I was a blubbering mess when I really started to talk about the experience on the whole.  I really put 6 months of pain into a 10 minute monologue of story telling.

I suppose it's ok, because the video really does show how I can go from normal speaking to blubbering in a matter of seconds when it comes to my love's male transformation.

I got through the hormones with some acceptance that turned into healing from that neck of the journey.

However, The Countdown to top surgery is the next hurdle.

My stomach turns.

My mind wants to rush me to another thought.

denial ain't a river in egypt

Like I said, I'm grateful to be working to give my mind a break.

I got to speak to Papi on Facebook last night.  It was 3 a.m. in Florida and I'd just come back from work, still donning my uniform.

We were both so tired, but it was necessary just to have a connection for a moment, even if it was virtual.

Well, today I pack, do another 11 hour shift, then come home to prepare.

I leave at about 4 a.m. tonight.

my stomach ... it just keeps turning.

I put a call out to some Trust List friends who had been through this, and requested some talk time with them when I get to Florida.

Of course, I was greeted with love and a bunch of "Of course!  Anytime!!"

Yet I'm so afraid that when the time comes that I need to actually get words out of my head, I won't use my safety net of this circle of love.

don't speak ...

The flip side is, I may just talk about something else.  You know?  Denial?

I'm terrified.

I'm nauseated.

One sweet soul reminded me to eat to stay strong.  Good advice.

I will go eat my breakfast now, even if my stomach is telling me to do otherwise.

This hurts.

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.