Papi get down from there!

It was tense.

It was really hard to talk Papi off the ceiling once he got up there.

We decided we weren't going to go away until the time came to look for property in the Dominican Republic.

Then it came; The invitation to one of my best friends' wedding in Mexico.

Well, of course we had to go.  He was my best man at my wedding and I love the bride-to-be to pieces.  She is one of the strongest people I have ever encountered in my life.

Then of course, there's my Godson; The Turkey, The Porkchop and the rest of the clan in that positive happy home.

Hell yes!  We're going.

However, this sparked my love to think of more opportunities for us to get a break from G'ma and the Dungeon Syndrome.

My love's aunt and uncle are coming to stay in May, and knowing that we could get out of this place and have a break from the G'ma really sounded like a good idea.

Until this.  "Well, if we're going to that wedding then we can go to the wedding for my half sister!" 

We really can't afford this one though.  It's in the Mayan Riviera.  That would cost way too much, but at first, my love announced, "We're going to both!" then skipped up and down the hall.

I'm not exaggerating.

"This is my happy dance!!" he crooned as he side step skipped up and down our tiny corridor.

The animals didn't quite know what to make of it.

Hell!  I didn't know what to make of it.

All I saw was our pending debt flashing before my eyes.  It a good cardio workout for my love, who has been stagnant since his hysterectomy 5 months ago.

It was so hard to convince my love that we have time to save for the one in October, but we can't possibly do that for the one in May.

His skipping stopped, and he looked like I'd just stolen his ice-cream cone.

"Honey, I've been through bankruptcy once, and I don't want to do it again," I pleaded.

I got myself out of that hole and learned about 'want' vs. 'need' and learned that cash for everything is the only way to stay out of debt.  If you can't afford to pay for it without credit, then you simply can't afford it.

However, I got sucked into a lot of retail therapy over the past few years.  You would too after all the hell we've been through since the accident in 2008, not to mention the hell I've been through personally since 2007.

We got sucked into, "We could die tomorrow!" thinking that allowed us to go into debt to get to our places of warmth every year.

But things are different now.  We have a plan to spend every day in paradise.  We don't need to bring along a looming debt to hinder our dream.

So, I did it.

I convinced my love that only one wedding will suffice.  The one we can afford to save and pay cash for.

But I must admit, knowing that there will be someone here to watch the G'ma in May does make me want to get the hell outta Dodge.

Maybe we can enjoy a Stay-cation perhaps?  It will give us time to get things ready for our massive Garage Sale Gala!

Get rid of crap we can't sell, and get a few bucks for the rest.

Anyway, I managed to keep us out of a further debt and I'm shocked I could do it.

Somehow, I edged one finger at a time out of the Gyprock above me.  His fingers were pretty much holding on for dear life.

I talked him down, but it wasn't without a lot of work.

Phew.  That was too close.

i am deserving of all the good things in my life

Breathe, just breathe ...

I get my jaw surgery tomorrow.

I haven't been too afraid.  People go through it all the time and Papi lived through top surgery, followed by a hysterectomy that was laced with infection from antibiotics.

So, when my love kept asking if I'm stressed out about going under the knife for the past week, I really just shrugged most of the time, "Nah.  Not really."

Until today.

Honestly, it really wasn't until Papi kept reminding me that it's not normal to be so relaxed about surgery.

That's when I said it out loud.

"Only thing I'm afraid of is after the surgery.  I'm afraid I'm going to stop breathing and die."

My love looked at me with big confused eyes, "That's a pretty big fear.  I'd say that's enough to be afraid of."

Yeah, I guess so.

But technically, I'm not afraid of 'the surgery' and I'm not actually afraid to die, because I know dying is peaceful.

I'm afraid of the general anaesthesia.

What if I stop breathing and they don't know?!?!

I guess I would probably listen to the little voice that says, "Hey, Andréa!  If you just drift away now, you could move aimlessly forever, never having to worry about anything ever again!"

I've been thinking about the last time I had a simple anaesthesia, and how my body couldn't remember to breathe on it's own afterward, coupled with my pulse slowing toward a stop.

The voices guaranteeing eternal tranquility were violently smashed by the distant beeping of a machine.

It was so annoying!  I knew that every time the alarm bells went off, the ladies would come in to help me expunge my breath that was stagnant in my lungs.

But I didn't want to breathe!  I wanted to sleep!

I wanted to continue in the bliss of passing away into another realm of reality, with the option of seeing my Dearly Departed Gypsy once more. 

It was harmonious and they just kept fucking up my chill out!

Way to harsh my mellow bitches!!!!!!!

But I suppose they'd be looking at law suits if they just let me toddle off to the great dog park in the sky. 

Plus they were really nice ladies and they probably genuinely wouldn't want me to die.

It was just that I found it quite the nuisance having to continue to breathe and be alive.

As soon as that electronic beast from hell would croon it's song of agitation, I was like a kid being woken for school.  I laid as quiet and still as I possibly could in hopes that the ladies would just leave me be.

They never did.  "Breathe, Andréa, breathe!  There ya go!"

Please, just 10 more minutes?  Isn't there a snooze button on that fucking beeping monster?

Yeah, that's about the only part I'm afraid of tomorrow.

You may not hear from me for a few days.

It's not that I stopped breathing, it's just that I will probably be in a pain med induced coma.

Or a pain med party.

The latter depends on what candies they give me at the hospital.

Besides, you may be bored reading my blog for the next 2 weeks anyway. 

I'm pretty sure all I'll have to bitch about is the liquid diet I'll be thrown into for 2 weeks, followed by a baby food diet the 2 weeks after that.

But I'm not afraid of the surgery.

the more love i put out, the more i receive

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

Papi withdrawal.

So, I went from amitriptyline withdrawal, to caffeine withdrawal ...

... haven't been able to drink it since the egg disaster day ... will attempt to stay off it until after my jaw surgery next month ... wish me luck on that one!! ...

... and now Papi withdrawal.

I have a question for you.

I'm going to do a poll.

When I am not well, I like to be nurtured, coddled, my back or head stroked, or just plain cuddled.

I like the feeling of being touched, because it over rules my feelings of the illness.

Papi on the other hand?

He doesn't even like to be spoken to.

He says his skin actually hurts to touch.

Hence, since the hysterectomy, there has been no chance for intimacy.

I miss my love so much.

I almost broke down last night, because I just needed to hold mi esposo.

Ok, maybe I'm P.M.S.ing and I'm a little over the top needy.

But dammit I want my mother fucking cuddles!!!!!!

My love explains his sensation to me every single time there's something that has him not well, but still, I just want to hold him.

I remember a flu we shared at the same time.

We had a shower together as our offending odors were permeating the household.

We stood in the shower, so sick that we couldn't do much but hold each other.  It's really all we could do.

But feeling my love's skin upon my skin was so beautiful.  It wasn't about sex, it was about intimacy.

I need it back.

I need Papi to be very well again so I can have my cuddles.

I've been neglected in my cuddles this year.  First, I was a lunatic wife grieving the loss of my butch, and that's just not cuddly.  Next, the top surgery took my love away from me for many many months.

Just as he was starting to allow me to touch him, the hysterectomy came.  There have been no cuddles since.

My love is starting to really feel better, as he attempted the gutter cleaning yesterday.

I'm sorry I have no pictures for you, because we aborted the mission when the ladder started wiggling and it scared us.

Papi made a good choice of allowing me to go across the street to the guy cleaning gutters there and ask to hire him.

Great decision Papi!!!

This DIY attempt made me see that he's feeling much better and I'll get my cuddles back, but not quite yet.  There's still a little more to go.

The amitriptyline withdrawal destroyed my stomach.  The caffeine withdrawal gave me 24 hours of a headache from hell, along with a short fuse for anything remotely bothersome.

The Papi withdrawal is strangling my heart.

I need my love back.

I'll patiently wait until Papi is well, but that doesn't mean it will get any easier.

Oh yeah!  The question!

What do you need when you're sick?  Cuddles or space?

the more grateful i am, the more reasons i have to be grateful

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!

Papi is still sick.

We are now on the 4th 'infection' since the hysterectomy.

The worst part of this, is not the 3 emergency visits.

It's also not the fact that my poor Papi can't stray too far from a toilet.

To me, the worst part is twofold.

My love is now on the 4th round of antibiotics, and nobody is taking this seriously, even though I push for answers.

I have the world's greatest family doc, but even she won't look further into this.

Everyone just keeps stuffing antibiotics into mi esposo's already damaged system.

Today we're going in to see the doc, and we've booked a double appointment.  One for me for documenting my bitch of a back, and the other 15 minutes for Papi.

I'll be making the rest of the 25 minutes about my love.

The hospitals in our lower mainland of Vancouver have been dubbed so dirty, that some surgeons will walk out of a surgery, because the risk is too high.

This is not ok.

We are not living in a 3rd world country.

We are the 'privileged', and yet somehow, our hospitals are dirtier than some countries that you'd expect to be worse off.

I'm not going to be able to write too much today.

I just needed to vent.

I just needed to get it out here, before it comes out of my mouth and I say angry things I shouldn't.

hehe ... bite first, learn later ...

Anyway, I'm going to be leaving in half an hour to start my day of mania.

So much to do and so little time.

And all I can think about is my love being so sick.

Please heal Papi.

I need your cuddles.

Mi esposo es muy guapo.

Yeah, I thought I'd start out this first day of 2012 with sleep deprivation, because I was too lazy to get up to the drug store and refill my nerve pills, hence there was no sleep for this mangled body last night.


Honestly, I'm good with my title of 'Most Crazed Woman of Canada' as long as I get to stay in my pajamas.

Perhaps there is an inkling of a day to be had?  Perhaps it's a double coffee day?




Even if this day doesn't turn into much, I'm pretty grateful I don't have to be anywhere in this condition.

Speaking of gratitude, I received 2 great gifts for my New Year.

One was the gift of more gratitude.

Now, I'm not going to bore you with happy, positive thinking, so don't get your panties in a wad.

It's just that it was a strange phenomenon!  When I wrote the last gratitude entry to My Gratitude Buddy, I felt it was unfinished.  I almost felt like I should keep going for a little while longer, because it has done me good.

Well, what happened was, when I received My Gratitude Buddy's last return, she asked if I was into going on for a few more weeks.

there is still time to join in, oh ye non-believer of gratitude's magic ...
 
But, there is still the best New Year's gift yet.

I had a wild moment in TransLand last night!

My sweet Papi is still not feeling so well.  Who knew that a hysterectomy could wreak such havoc on a body!?!?

After 3 post surgery infections, complete with 3 emergency room visits, and the cherry on top of 3 rounds of antibiotics, my love's system has had to start from scratch and reboot.

So.

Papi is not well, to say the least.

However, the good news is, my love may get on a healthy food regime by no force of my own!

mwahahahaha!!!!!!  my positive thinking of health has made it's way to papiland!!!!!!

Anyway, that has nothing to do with my TransLand moment.  I just thought I'd throw that in there so you could have a lovely mental picture of why there haven't been any Tranny Terrorist exhibitions as of late.

Ok.  I'll get to the point now.

The point is, that even though mi esposo was not feeling so well, he's still handsome.

The moment when I saw the handsome Papi, I couldn't stop staring at my love.

Someone had seen Papi's picture change on Facebook the other day, and almost wrote, "Who's this dude?"

Everyone else gets to see the changes from week to week.  I only get day to day, so Papi doesn't really change for me.

It's too slow and gradual.

Yet still, I saw my handsome husband for a moment.

It wasn't my husbutch.

It was actually a husband.

And as Papi toddled off for another visit to the porcelain gods, my mind reverted back to mi esposo.

I don't really care which way my mind chooses to see Papi.  Point is, mi esposo es muy guapo.

Happy New Year Papi.

2012 is the year of Dominican Republic preparation!!!

Ready, set, GO!!!

Get that shit outta there!

Done.

I did my obligatory schmooze, party, smile it up time.

There was one more we were going to go to today, but Papi is yet again not well.

I haven't really told you about it, but my love has had 2 visits to emergency to deal with post-surgery infections.

The first visit was for an infection in the walls leading to the no longer there uterus, ovaries and cervix.

That one was given antibiotics and we were sent away.

The second one was for a urinary tract infection.

Again, more antibiotics and sent away.

Well, my love is now on number three of 'bad news', only we don't know what it is, because Papi refuses to go in to ER or a walk in clinic.

Enter: the most stubborn spouse on this here planet.

Stubborn doesn't really even scratch the surface.

Cantankerous.

Ornery.

Unreasonable.

These can all be added to the Papi list.

This time, it seems like my love has backup going on and can't get Mr. Hankey the Christmas Poo outta there!

To me, this is an issue.

You gotta get that shit outta there!

Literally.

However, mi esposo is afraid they'll do yet another pelvic exam.  This doesn't sit well with my love, so here I sit, worrying about what's going on in there.

It's times like this that I wish I could drug Papi, then drag his lifeless body by his leg hair to the car.

Ah, the joys of marriage.

"Honey, you have to stop drinking the soda!"

I hear, "I don't want to hear this right now."

So, I reply with, "I don't care.  My love, it's time you started taking care of your body."

I'm bombarded with a stressed face, eyebrows rising higher and closer to his hair line, along with a, "Honey, I don't need to be lectured right now."

Well, now my love is in enough pain that we'll be taking a trip to the clinic.

Phew.

Good gawd.

We're on round number three.

Please heal, Papi.

I want my baby back.

I'm married to a Werewolf

Papi told me my blog was boring yesterday.

It's always important to have a strong critique around our craft, isn't it?

I know that the 'boring' label was given, because my blog for the past 2 days hasn't been about mi esposo.

oh! btw ... i haven't had any more visits from jesus, g'pa, or the devil ... just fyi ... however, the tranny terrorist did stuff 'jesus on a stick' back into my jacket pocket for a giggle ...

The fact that it was probably deemed boring, strictly because Papi wasn't in it, was confirmed when my love asked, "Would you like to take a picture of my ass hair to talk about in your blog?"

No, I don't think you all need to check out the hair that is billowing from my love's ass crack now.

You'll be happy to know I stuck up for 'you', my imaginary friend.  I'm positive you don't need to see what I saw the other day.

To think I was concerned about facial hair!?!?!?

Oh, let me tell you, ass hair wins this one all the way.

There is also enough hair on Papi's upper thighs now to keep him warm all winter.  I'm pretty sure there is no need for long johns from this winter forward.

I'm also quite positive that the cloak of hair is going to be really hot for my love when we move to the Dominican Republic.

I've already informed my love that if there isn't any volunteering of hair removal after the thrill of looking like a werewolf has ended, that I will drug him in his sleep and wax that shit off.

Part of the reason I'd like to get rid of all the body hair is because my love likes to flaunt it in my face, while rubbing his thigh hair as if it was a prized dog, accompanied by a taunting, Tranny Terrorist smile that says, "How do you like this, my dear wife?"

My love is never short on props to use to his whimsical advantage.

It has indeed been quiet on the Tranny Terrorist front while my love is still healing from the hysterectomy.

Yesterday, when I was out for dinner with a sweet friend, we were talking about what's important in a relationship to each of us.  For me, I'll pick someone who can make me laugh over romance.

I can live without romance when there's a funny one in my life, however, I'm fortunate enough that my love is a massive romantic at heart, as well as someone who makes me laugh.

My friend said, "You must have laughs every day with that character."

I confirmed and upped the ante, "Yes.  Every day, and usually more than once a day."

I do love the Tranny Terrorist in a warped, sick way.

I'm a sucker for attention.

I was once labeled an 'attention whore' in a former relationship.

This label is not far off the map.

I was a little short on attention after my parents split up, and I'm pretty sure I've been trying to make up for it for the rest of my breathing life.

I'm cool with admitting it.

And it's probably why I fell in love with Papi so quickly.

My love gives me all the attention I could ever want, coupled with goofiness that keeps me laughing and rolling my eyes, not to mention gushing over what a romantic gentleman Papi is.

Well, that is of course, when my love isn't lying around healing in the La-Z-Boy.

Anyway, I hope this blog was much more interesting to Papi.

Even though I'm the one writing to 'you', it really is all about him isn't it?

I'm Getting Out the Cattle Prod

There was a little bit of panicked entertainment last night.

My dear Papi had a little scare from the post-surgery healing.

We phoned the nurse's line who directed us to go immediately to emergency.

Now, normally, that would be something to panic about, but unfortunately, we're sorta used to being there because of me.

However, I was overjoyed that we weren't going there as a result of my bitch of a back.

I've been in so many times, that I now have a 'rule'.  I am not to be taken to emergency unless my eyes, ears and nose are all bleeding simultaneously.  There was no blood spewing from my head, so I was happy to be going there for mi esposo.

Good times at the hospital.  Let me tell you.

Remember I told you that the nurses, docs and admitting people out in bum-fuck-nowhere could teach the Vancouver hospitals a few things about bedside manner and customer service?

Well, one of my friends who works in a Vancouver hospital said, "That's probably because out in bum-fuck-nowhere, they don't have all the assholes downtown that we have to deal with on an hourly basis."

So true.

I mean, even though my fellow bird of a feather crazies seemed to find me at the hospital in bum-fuck-nowhere, they weren't quite as intense as the people who visit emergency in Vancouver.

oops ... off track ... i'll get to the point ...

My first experience with bringing Papi, was that they weren't going to let me sit with my love.

You know how a cat will relentlessly meow at you for their food?  I was a bit like that last night with the volunteers, nurses and admitting people, because they weren't going to let the 'spouse' be with their better half.

c'mon people! don't you know i'm famous??!? you don't want me to write about you!

Eventually, Papi came out and I was back to happy again.  But damn!  They're lucky I needed a whole wackload of pain killers yesterday.  Those little drops keep me much sweeter to those around me while there's pain shooting down my legs.

Anyway, the most fun was when the admitting nurse saw 'male' on my love's identification, but that Papi was there for possible post-surgery infection due to a full hysterectomy.

This nurse addressed Papi, "Ok, so there's no easy way to ask this ..."

Before the question was answered, she looked up from her computer screen to two Cheshire Cat, shiny, brace face smiles.

Papi relieved her by saying, "I'm a transsexual female to male who just had a hysterectomy."

The woman was much nicer to me after having to ask her embarrassing question.

Well, I got mi esposo lying down to ease the pain, and Papi and I proceeded to spend some quality time together.  This was when my love decided to tell me that I didn't do as good of a job as the g'ma used to when it comes to taking care of him.

well my love, that's probably because i'm not a passive aggressive control freak ... ummm ... well not anymore, that is ...

So, when Papi told me that, I decided that I needed to be more forceful, and not ask if my love would like something.  I should tell my love he's going to have it.

So I tried at the hospital to make Papi drink more water.  I was presented with a stubborn mule who kept turning his head away, in an attempt to evade the glass.

Really Papi?!  This deserved the remark in mi esposo's face, "You fucking bugger!  Do you see?  I do try to take care of you, but you're a fucking manchild and don't let me!"

Yes.

I am a good caretaker.  My love, if you thought you saw caretaking before, you'll be seeing it now with a riding crop in hand.

Perhaps even a cattle prod.

Oh, yes.  I'll be making you drink your water and eat your meals.

Oh, by the way, Papi's going to be fine, as long as he complies with my orders, that is.

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.

So, then that's a 'no'?

"I don't know why the nurse would have to tell me, 'no sex for 6 weeks'.  I can't imagine anyone who would feel like having sex after a hysterectomy."

I would have to agree with you, Papi.

However, I had to ask, "So, do they mean no action with the vibrator either?"

Papi was horrified that I would even contemplate having sex right now.

But you see, it's not so out of the ordinary.

I mean really, I get amorous at the worst of times.

Seriously.

I can feel it coming on like I'm a bitch in heat when it really shouldn't be happening.

I think the worst time ever was when I was at a funeral.

Mind you, that was a bit of a mind fuck, considering I was contemplating suicide at the same time as this teacher died.  Seeing so many people grieving over their loss of this beautiful person, I decided that I couldn't put those who love me through that, even if I felt so doomed, yet somehow, horny.

... blah blah blah nervous breakdown yadda yadda suicide is selfish ... yawn ... my maelstrom of a mind ...

But still, I had to ask Papi if it meant absolutely no hop on action, when I was greeted with the most energetic words I've heard all week, "No fucking way are you bringing anything near me!"

Hey, wait a minute!

Wasn't it you, Papi, who just weeks after I was brain injured and unable to walk in a straight line, never mind feel any pain from all the straight codeine I was hopped up on, decide we were having sex, even if it meant I may be a little more fucked up for physio the next day?"

Yeah, I think I deserve my tit for tat now!

Although, after all that thinking, the inkling went away.

Yeah.

It flits about like that.

catch me if you can!

Like I said, completely inappropriate.

I managed to get Papi out of the house today.  Took him for a little drive downtown when my love asked, "Do you ever think people are listening in on you?  Like you're being bugged?"

I had to stop and wonder if I'd been giving off the air of another nervous breakdown. 

Was I talking psychotic babblings and perhaps didn't know it?

Was Papi witness to me having some weird ass freak out and was trying to break it to me that I need to go 'see someone'?

However, I couldn't help answering honestly, "Yes."

Oh great.

Now Papi knows.

I heard my love toss words like it was just an everyday conversation, "Oh.  So do I."

phew! we're in this nuthouse together!

But I do!

Sometimes, I turn on my computer and the little light by my built in camera comes on.

I desperately reach around for the closest piece of paper I can find to cover up the camera.  Then I turn the computer off and reboot.

Not because I'm afraid of my privacy being happened upon, but because when I blog, I don't look so 'fresh'.

And besides, I'm not just paranoid, it's also a fact that I'm followed by insurance people trying to catch me doing the limbo or dancing en pointe for the next ballet troupe.

and people wonder why i never leave the house unkempt ... i'm a star i tells'ya! papirazzi everywhere!

Anyway, it was sure nice having a few moments of my love back.

Even if I made things worse by making mi esposo laugh too much, I do know that even though it hurts to laugh, it helps with healing.  So, bring on the smiles my love.

It's all working out just fine ...

On the count of three ... one ... two ...

There's a lot going on.

I can always tell there's a lot going on when I go to write to 'you', my imaginary friend, and I'm stupefied.

It's all pretty good stuff, but the icing is a little bitter.

Working on 2 short film scores, taking care of the wounded tranny, taking care of the 96 year old coot, taking care of the 4 legged Fuzzy Family, 3 days a week at physio to get this bitch of a back to shut the fuck up so I may be employable, and preparing to prepare for the panel of ICBC lawyers whose job it is to convince everyone that I'm a liar.

yeah ... people just t-bone illegal maneuvering cars with their motorcycle, tumble over the hoods of said cars, then fly 15 feet through the air and land on their head all the time! there's nothing wrong with me ... right?

And at the same time, try to figure out what these feelings are.

I have no idea, really.  I mean, it's not every day we watch our loved ones go through sex changes.

There's just a feeling attached to it that I can't put my finger on.

I know we're very primal beings who, when connected to our instincts, can sense a lot more than we choose to admit.

It's just that as we go along, someone, somewhere tells us we're nuts for thinking our instincts are true.

I'm told I'm paranoid all the time.

Even still, I'm usually the one to say, "Told'ja so."

So, being connected to my instincts, I'm feeling something about Papi's most recent change, but I just can't figure out what it is.

Is it just the fact that I know my love has had the last procedure and the feeling of loss is final?

Is it that I'm sensing the shift in Papi's hormones now that they've taken away the last reminder of being born a female?

Is it that I can smell my love has changed?

I like to think I was a dog in a former life.  Maybe it's like in their world, where once a dog gets their 'bits' taken away, the other dogs can smell it and they are shunned from those who still carry their balls and ovaries?

It's a bit of a mind fuck thinking about my love as this new person.

I was so afraid of who this person would be that I'm married to.  I'm not afraid anymore.

I can safely say that.

But this other feeling?

It's almost like a letting go of some sort.

Perhaps my heart is finally speaking to my brain, "See, everything always works out.  Papi is still the sexy person you married."

Yet my brain is so damn stubborn that there is a battle ensuing.

'Stubborn' can be useful.  Like when you're learning to walk again.

In this case, stubborn is a curse.

My heart knows better than my brain.

Yet still, as I watch my wounded soul mate heal by way of rest, fluids and an arm to hold him while he tries to get up out of the La-Z-Boy, I don't know what this feeling is that looms.

I can't tell if it's happy, scared, content or indifferent.

Seriously.

I remember once an ex pissed me off, and I held in the anger.  It brewed and festered until they then did something as small as leaving the cap off the toothpaste and I lost it.

It wasn't about the toothpaste, and I can't even remember what it was that pissed me off, but I do know that if I had have figured out what irked me faster, I wouldn't have looked like a loon ranting about a cap and drying chunks of toothpaste congealing with air.

Maybe I'm just feeling that sigh of relief we feel when someone says, "Ok.  On the count of three I'm going to rip the bandaid off.  Ok!  Ready?"

Once it's no longer adhered to our skin, we get a rush of adrenalin, and the knowing that it's all over.

Well, the bandaid has definitely been ripped off.

Perhaps that's what's going on?

Never say 'never'.

This hysterectomy is a lot less demanding of my emotions than the top surgery.

I do need a few days to process my feelings around all of it.

Papi said I'm acting different.

yeah ... well at least i still have my lady bits ...

I am having feelings, but I just can't figure out what they are.

Papi asked if it was because it was the last procedure to get through.

Could be.

Could be that it's all over now and we get to watch the butterfly emerge.

I honestly don't know what it is, but I'm sure it will surface soon.

It usually does when I'm writing to 'you', my imaginary friend.

I haven't had a chance to force feed Papi any vegetables yet.

I'm too busy feeding and caring for the Fuzzy Family, the 96 year old coot, and the wounded tranny.

except for yesterday ... yesterday i played hookie from being a caretaker and got to see some of my 'rough around the edges friends' ...

Interesting enough though, last night we watched a documentary on transgender children.

The narrator told us they'd be using their birth assigned gender as the referring pronoun.

I was actually shocked that they would disrespect the children this way.

When we were watching the documentary, these children were the gender they felt.  It didn't matter that they were born a boy or girl.  They were definitely the gender they felt in their mind.

I was horrified that they documentary makers would refer to them as a gender they clearly were not.

It pleased me that I was horrified.

It means I'm thinking a hell of a lot differently than I was a year ago.

Then it dawned on me.

A year ago, I couldn't fathom being in a relationship with a transgender person.  I couldn't imagine ever letting go of my perfect butch that I grieved for.

I believe that's the reason the top surgery was such a big deal compared to the hysterectomy.  I wasn't ready for it.

Time heals us.

I was well enough to be Papi's support system for this surgery.

When the top surgery happened, I wasn't ready.  This is why it was such an ordeal for me.

I suppose this means I truly am ready to deal with all of the changes.

One good thing about the hysterectomy?  Papi will be taking less of that poison everyone flippantly refers to as 'T'.

Testosterone.

The 'rules' are still in place about that one.

They must still be called hormones for my weak psyche to handle the fact that this concoction is roaming through my love's body, changing him from the inside out.

I don't know that I'll ever get used to that one, but then I said that about a lot of things, didn't I?

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.

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.