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

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

Word of the Papi.

Things are starting to look up in the health area of our home.

Yeah, just in time to enjoy it while running around doing the G'ma's bidding.

At least we're feeling better enough to handle the summons of the old bird.

We're starting to eat real food now.  Perhaps the chicken pakoras last night weren't the right idea, but hey, they tasted so much better than crackers.

So, as I was making veggies to attempt another round of, "Please, please, please my dearest stomach!  I've been so good to you for so many years.  How about we allow a little chard in that empty hole?" I asked my love if he would like to have a few greens in his healing tummy too.

I got the face of squint.

I asked again, in more or less of a rhetorical question, and managed to get him to allow a 'few' on his organic brown rice.

Of course, this will be chased with Dr. Pepper, but at least there's an attempt.

So, I filled my bowl and drizzled with some lovely tahini sauce, I asked my love if he would like anything at all on his bowl of rice.

"Sweety, do you want anything on your veggies?"

"Honey no!!  No vegetable weird shit!"

Word of the Papi.

No vegetable weird shit.

These are the times that I realize he's feeling much better.

That and harassing the old fart upstairs.

She has been quite adamant that she will not allow my love any freedom to be who he needs to be.  We've been hearing about it while she gave us a breather being in Alberta.

"I refuse to call her a man!"

Our sweet aunt said, "Well, you're going to look pretty silly when he has a beard and you refer to him as a woman."

I was told that one had her thinking for a moment.

The cranky ol' thing started in on Papi pretty quickly.  No less than 24 hours into the return and I heard, "You look like you have a moustache."

"That's because I do."

"Well I don't like it.  Please get rid of it."

"There's going to be more to come, so you might as well get used to it."

Oh, but wait, this was also done topless so that the G'ma had to face the facts about the top surgery.

There's just no point in sugar coating it anymore.

The old poop is going to hate everything about anything regardless of what it is anyway, and she's going to be nasty about it on top of that.

So, as I sat downstairs waiting for the conversation to turn into either a religious debate or a homophobic/transphobic slamming of my love, I was pleasantly surprised.

The G'ma gave in.

It was a most shocking moment.

This could be the beginning of a calm household, right?

Or perhaps the old coot is just warming up.

I bet on the latter.

i am glowing with health and wellness

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

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?

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.

Pee.

When Papi reads my blogs, it seems I always have portrayed the body of the story wrong in terms of my dialogue.

You know?

He said/she said?

So the other day when there were an abundance of penes around the house, my love was sad that I didn't explain that each of them has a specific purpose.

you're kidding right?

I just see a Plastic Penis.

Well, now I must tell you that one is for packing, another for peeing, and yet another for sex.

Apparently, you just stick a rod in it to get the full male effect.

ummmmmm ... i say no thank you.

I'm quite satisfied with Papi without toys.  I enjoy myself.  I don't need the lifelike penis coming at me.

Then there was the Good Vibrations card that my Blogger Friend has given me.

I told my love to pick out the better harness, because that nasty one that he's using looks like it's been in a few too many rugby games, hanging to dry on the shower rod.

So, Papi goes online, and instead of looking at the harness, what does he look at?

Lifelike penes.

Lifelike.

No, I don't want lifelike.

My love went on to explain that it can do all of the above.

Ok, then it's a definite no.

My love could have the 2 out of 3, but that thing is not coming near me for sexy time.

I prefer the ones that don't look anything like the real specimen.

Besides, they're better.

That is of course from what I remember.

I did spend my time in the closet wacked out on whatever my addict brain could find to keep me obliterated, and as far away from reality as possible.

Well, after my 'hell no!' came for the 'lifelike' torpedo, it was decided that I will now use the gift certificate for something that I want.

Anyway, the whole point of this is not about that 'lifelike' penis, it was really to get to the point about the one penis that pees.

The PeeCock.

I told my love to practise.  Practise makes perfect after all.

So, my love tries, and tries, and tries to get it right, but bathroom time is full of cussing.

"Fuck!  I peed down my leg again.  Guess I'll have a shower," or, "Why does everyone say this is so easy!  It's not easy!  I'm constantly peeing down my leg!  Fuck!!  I'm pretty sure I cleaned it all up from the floor."

Yesterday's was most bizarre, however.  My love was complaining that everyone says it's easy and that the Top Surgery didn't hurt at all, and the hysterectomy will be a cake walk.

Yeah, I don't know who these people are that say it's easy, but I remember my mother being in the hospital after cancer and having her full hysterectomy.

It was not easy.

Papi will get through it, but when I'm really looking at everything that my love has to do to achieve inner peace, I find I want to support mi esposo even more.

I had so much trouble accepting all of this, but where we are now, I feel more compassion for Papi and the difficulty he must have had to get to this place.

Now looking at what lengths my love will go to, it's pretty eye opening, and I'm now at the point when people call my love female, I look at them like they're crazy.

Papi's transformation is indeed changing my mind along with my love's body.

This confirms my statement in the beginning: It's not only mi esposo who will be going through life changes, it is indeed changing my life too.

And it's not so bad anymore.

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!

This is where I heal.

i wanted to let you know that i've received another beautiful award from another wonderful Blogger Friend of mine ... it's here in my awards page :)

I can't let go of the fact that Papi went ahead and started hormones and the male transformation without discussion first.

It's been almost 10 months, and the feeling of my love taking the plunge, with me following in his wake, won't leave.

So much so, that the moment mi esposo starts speaking about 'other' options as an F-M, I panic, thinking it's not just discussion.  It's my love telling me he's moving on to another surgery.

I have shell shock.

Papi is like a bull in a china shop, destroying everything in his wake so that he may get to what he wants.

I try so hard to keep up. 

It feels like the moment I begin to breathe easy, there's another bomb to be let off.

Today, my love started speaking about a surgery similar to phalloplasty.  "The thing is I would like to penetrate you.  You wouldn't like that?  I just thought we could talk about it.  It's what couples do."

I could barely make a sound, but I was able to peep out, "Your idea of talking, is you talk about it, then you do it."

"I haven't looked into doing it and I don't have plans for at least 5 years.  Don't start crying and getting stressed out.  I understand that with the hormones I didn't have a conversation about it and I just did it.  I'm not going to just do this.  I want you to know that, but I just wanted to show you the options and discuss it because I don't have anyone to talk about it with.  I don't want the big penis.   This is different!  It's not phaloplasty it's just a lengthening of the clitoris."

so ... what you're saying is you'd like the 5 foot clitoris to be made a reality?

"It feels so much like ... "

"Like what, sweety?"

I just couldn't speak.  I could only stare forward.

memories ... horrid feelings brought up by ghosts ... don't speak ... if you ignore it, it will just go away ... memories ... nightmares ... they fog my vision ...

Papi was concerned that I went off to never-never-land.  "I just wanted to talk.  We'll discuss it together, and if it's going to disgust you, then I'm not about to do it, because I want be able to have still have sex.  It's just that there's a different option.  We don't even have the money, so I'm not going to spring it upon you and do it."

My love tried a different angle to get me to speak and not stare off at ghosts, "I am pretty happy that I have facial hair and no breasts.  I don't want you to get upset about it, but shouldn't couples talk about these things?"

"I feel like every time I begin to relax, you spring more on me and I'm just not ready to move forward.  I just want to get my head around what I've already accepted."

"There's nothing to spring on you, it's an option and I won't do it unless we decide together that it's all right.  I'm not even sure how much it would hurt, it's just that you can pee standing up.  I can perfect the Pee-cock until I can get better.  I just have to practise because I don't want to piss on myself again."

Papi could see I still have troubles trusting that he isn't going to run off and do it.  "Well, you always knew I wanted the top surgery, but the hormones I did spring on you.  The hormone thing wasn't very good of me.  I regret that whole situation and should've brought you into counseling.  I'm not saying I'm doing it I just want to discuss it it.  I won't bring it up again."

Now I felt bad, so I timidly squeaked out a few words.  "When we discuss things, they immediately happen, and I don't have any say."

"You can you have a say.  I'm not married to the the decision."

"But if you were wanting it, you'd just do it.  I don't have a say in anything with this transformation."

"If I'm thinking something, I should be able to tell you.  Don't you think that is right?  If you're thinking something you should tell me.  I'm not just going to go do it.  I promise you that.  I'm telling you I'm happy right now and I want you to believe me."

"It's hard."

"I know, but can yo please just trust me?  I do know that getting a penis would be a deal breaker for you."

My love then took the initiative to call the hotline for adult survivors of sexual abuse to start the ball rolling for my healing.

Papi asked me if I have to write about everything in my blog when it comes to our discussions.  Mi esposo would like it if we could just have a conversation without me writing about it.

Sorry Papi.

This is where I heal.

This is where I'm heard, and can speak.

This is safety for me when I'm feeling there is none, and right now, I'm scared.

Nipples.

I went into The Dispensary and had a nice chat with my Medicinal Cannabis guru.

Apparently, I ate too much of the Budder Bar.  That's why I got a little paranoid and coocoo.

Well, lesson learned.  I can see now where that little gem could fit in.  Not really something I want for the all day, never ending, nattering of a bitchy back.  It's something that could be used for the really bad days where I can't lift my head off the pillow.

So, I've found the magical tincture Snake Bite Oil is the ticket for this femme.

I was actually able to sit for longer than 10 minutes making music yesterday without a screaming back.  Let me tell you, it was the greatest feeling.  I never knew three years ago that it would be a struggle just to get back to composing.

I'm pretty grateful that we live in a city that is so liberal that I actually have a choice about what to put in my body for pain management.  I really don't need residual liver damage from a motorcycle accident, ya know?!?

Anyway, I found another bonus to the Snake Bite Oil.

Another side effect of MC is being a little more brave.

Papi was wandering around without a top on yesterday ...

... which was never out of the ordinary prior to the top surgery ...

... and I looked at my love when Papi started talking about his nipples.

"I was told that they would take a while to heal."

I was finally able to look at them without the mask of denial!  I thought to myself ... wait a minute ... how did they create that nipple?? ... then proceeded to ask Papi. 

"It's my own nipple.  It's from my original nipple!"

Then I realized, I'd never thought about it.  So now, I'm looking at said nipple and I realized that there was no other scarring to make the big female areola hole shrink to fit into a small male areola area.

damn ... does that make sense?!

Well, I was surprisingly curious as I shocked myself by asking my love how the hell they did that!!

Papi didn't know.  Papi and I just looked at each other, wondering how they created this crazy illusion!

They really did a good job!  I finally looked at it differently.  I didn't look at it from a place of queasiness.

well ... maybe i shouldn't go that far ... i was queasy ...

None-the-less, it took me a moment to really envision my own nipples being cut off, cut to size and placed back on my chest!

Oh yeah ... I couldn't really get past that, but the point is I really looked at them from a place of acceptance.

Here is the person I married.

My transgender, F-M esposo.

That's when I had a moment where I saw the person Papi wants to be.

It was quite a fleeting moment, but I saw it.

I saw the 'man' that people see when they just see Papi on the street and walk on by, without trying to figure out if this is a man or a woman.

I saw the male figure that Papi desires to see in the mirror.  It wasn't so scary, it was just a chance to see my love through different eyes.

Of course, the feeling I had in seeing my love in a different way vanished with one sentence.

"I don't think they'll fall off now."

Nice.

No, they pretty much look like they're going to be stuck there for good.

So, to my Blogger Friends Dirty Cowgirl and Sandra, you can stop worrying about nipples being ripped off by the power of the shower head, then floating down the tub drain.

They're now permanent.

And small. 

**shudders**

Kumba-fucking-ya

Last night, Papi asked me if I'd like to join a Facebook page called 'Top Surgery Tips' as an ally.

I told my love, "But, I don't know anything about any of that, so there wouldn't be anything I would have to add to the group."

Papi suggested, "Well, maybe if you read a little bit about it in the group, it will help you understand it more."

Fine then.

Possibly.

Yet, I was instantaneously reminded of the painful trauma that my love has finally bid adieu.

At this point, there are just big scars that take the place of the gore that had me on the verge of panic attacks.  Anyhow, as I was reliving the pain in my mind, it happened; I found out why mi esposo wants me to join, "Well, it's really all about me anyway."

There it is!

The Papirazzi.

That's what my love is after.

Honestly, when I write to 'you', my imaginary friend, I'm not really writing for anyone in particular, I'm just blurting out the mania in my mind so it will calm down.  I either look for a silent ear to listen to what I'm going through, or just to tell 'you' the crazy things in our lives that happen.

Anyway, the point is, when I finish my blog, it's pretty much a guarantee that Papi will read it.

Now, that's no big deal.  It's actually how I managed to speak out loud to my love in those first 6 weeks of being grief stricken and catatonic in a La-Z-Boy, with only my tears as company.

My love would read the black and white monologue of pain and have a little more understanding about where I was in our journey.

However, as I started to show more strength, mi esposo started becoming a blog critic.

Occasionally, Papi will say, "Your blog really wasn't that good today."

Hey.

I can take it.

But there was one thing that started becoming apparent.  The only time my love would tell me my blog was boring, was when it wasn't about Papi.

Now fast forward to where I am now.

Here I am having many, many tear free days, finding more and more strength and love, and Papi has become my meanest critic!  I've had to actually say, "Ok.  You're not allowed to read my blog anymore."

Who's blog is this anyway?!?!?!

But I digress.

So, my love asked me to join this Facebook group because it's all about him, not because I need to learn, but because mi esposo needs more attention.

As for being an ally to the Top Surgery Tips, I briefly looked at the page and had to relive mi esposo's Great Breast Disappearance all over again.

It's awful to see all the pain that wouldn't even allow my love to raise his arms to grab something from the counter.

I don't need to relive this.

What I do need is to find some peaceful way to learn and get past my fears.

I tried the other day.  I really, really tried, and all I found were site after site of defensive words.  Anger that exuded about not being understood, or having been hurt by other people.

I can only learn from a place of harmony.

I need to read something that is lovingly telling the reader, "I'm happy you came to the Tranny 101 course," and "Here's a great place to start learning."

I don't mix well with anger, but I do agree that we need those filled with fire and political passion to get the world to listen to what needs to be changed for everyone's sake of humanity.

Regardless, I need to hear words without hostility, or I just won't listen.

The time is right.

About two years ago, Papi and I were trying to get pregnant.  I haven't spoken to 'you', my imaginary friend about it, because it was quite a sore subject.  However, I feel this is the right time to do so.

We were so thrilled when the first time we tried to conceive, I managed to actually get pregnant!

Bingo!  Blammo!  There ya go!

Yeah.  Unfortunately, it ended with a big bang as well.  When we went for our first ultrasound, we were overjoyed, glowing parents, excitedly waiting for our turn in the waiting room.  We were completely unaware that the Pit of Doom was going to drag us to darkness that day.

As I lied there with my feet in stirrups, we eagerly waited to hear the first sound of our baby's heartbeat.  Only, the nurse told us it wasn't there.

We didn't really know what that meant.  We both had thoughts stirring in our mind about why there wasn't a heartbeat.

Maybe the sound for the machine was broken?

Maybe the baby was situated in such away that made it hard to make out?

Our minds swirled with irrational ideas to keep us safe and happy.

However, there was no denying it when she showed us that we should be able to actually see the heart as well.

We were devastated.  Papi was thoroughly distraught and the only word that would come out of my love's mouth for the next few moments was, "No!"

From there, we needed to make an appointment to have the deceased baby removed from my body.  It was a horrible time where the first DNC didn't work.  This was followed by being in and out of emergency a few times from an excruciating miscarriage that wasn't supposed to be happening.  Finally, the 2nd DNC completed the job.

echos ... 'you're starting to show' ... still intruding my fragile mind 

After all the trauma, I didn't think that I would want to try again, but you know me.  Nothing stops me when I have my mind made up.

We tried again 3 months later, after many anti-depressant pills, and a uterus that seemed to be working fine again.  Only this time we had a local friend/pornographer document the procedure.

Yes.

You heard me right.

Pornographer.

Well, the entire thing was caught on film, including the sex that is important to making a baby, because your body is more open to the turkey baster method when you're doing the deed.

This brings us to last night.  We went to see the short film of our baby making escapade on the big screen, along with a theatre where every seat was filled.

It was nerve wracking, and my love and I slumped in our seats trying to disappear.  I was shrinking because people were going to see my vagina up close and personal, never mind the fact that they'll also see what my face looks like during sex.

Papi, was slithering down his seat because my love can't stand to hear his own voice on film.  My love could care less about people seeing mi esposo's sex act.

The film was very well done.  It had a split screen, where the left side was the evolution of getting the donor's sperm, the process to prepare it, and the verbal account of our journey.  The right side was for the voyeurs who wanted watch the down 'n dirty show.

I really only watched the left side.  I've seen myself having sex before, so it didn't really interest me.  I was enthralled by the fact that this was a time prior to my love telling me there would be a male transformation in my life.

I hypnotically watched my love's breasts.  They were so beautiful.  A vision of my butch confined to film.  If I ever wanted to see the person I married before top surgery, I now have the opportunity to do so.

Then there was also a scene of me walking with a cane.  I had a weak stagger from brain injury, still not having rewired my brain, and was unable to walk in a stable manner.

The whole thing was surreal.

Breasts, a cane, a baby making session.

Well, we didn't get pregnant on this next try.  I'm pretty sure it was because I needed to be on anti-depressants, lest I commit suicide from my chemical imbalance whispering seductive words about how living is the true hell the zealots speak of.  Studies show that anti-depressants make it harder to conceive.

My love and I accepted this fact eventually, and decided that when we move to the Dominican Republic, there will be many children who really need a home, and we will try to adopt there.

I don't really need a mini-me running around.  It would have been cute to see a blonde, curly headed, tiny version of myself.  However, I'd love another little being that needed me and called me 'mom' just as much.

Anyway, I've been meaning to tell 'you', my imaginary friend about this difficult time in my life, and now was the right time.

I was grateful to have seen where my love and I have come from and where we are now.  It made me love Papi all the more.

It was such a beautiful night filled with loving friends, talented film makers, and memories to remember.

Oh.

And porn.

this moment brought to you by the letters W,T,F

It's a strange phenomenon.

You know how men just can't help but stare at breasts?  Or more precisely, cleavage?

I get it now.

Papi parades around topless and all I can do is stare at The Great Breast Disappearance.

It's so damn weird.

I can talk to Papi about 'who knows what' and my eyes leisurely gravitate lower, and lower to the nipples that seem much happier than they were a month ago, not to mention the scars that look less ablaze.

My love is using serum meant to diminish the scarring.  Every morning, when mi esposo comes home from the graveyard shift, it's applied with love after the, "Yikes that's cold!!!" healing water cleans off the area.

I actually haven't seen the wreckage (or lack thereof) for a few days, as the morphine oblivion has had me in quite the state of lassitude.

However, after my IMS treatment yesterday, I haven't had to take the nasty drugs that make me look like a hippy from the 70's, with meager slits for eyes and a pseudo-grin.

dude, pass me another ...

All I've needed to are my usual muscle relaxants and anti-inflammatories.

Hence, today when I got up, I had a glimmer of the spirit of Andréa, and there they were.

The flattened, AWOL breasts in all their glory.

As I speak to Papi, my eyes keep lowering without my intention.

I stare.

I look back up at my love and again my eyes start falling like a moose in quicksand.

Lower.

Lower.

And bingo!

Nipples.

Man nipples to be exact.

What the hell?  I just can't keep from staring at them.

Well, there is one thing that will keep me from staring at them.

Papi using the brand new beard trimmer.

Here's another unavoidable casualty for my eyes to lay upon.

My love now has what is a small mass of fur at the chin's end.

Just at the tip.

Can't really call it a beard, but there's something there and it actually is growing on me.

hehehe ... sorry ... couldn't resist ...

I'm not sure what's happening to me, but I do believe I'm starting to either a) get used to it, b) am entertained by it, or c) thinking it's kinda cute.

WTF?!?!?

It actually doesn't offend me, and it suits Papi.

again, WTF?!? and who just said that?!?

So there stands my love in the bathroom mirror, shaving and trimming so that it looks like an intentional mass at the chin's end, and I watch.

I watch mi esposo making it look perfect.

I don't cringe.

I smile.

who is this person?!?

Honestly, because it's on Papi, I don't mind it.

Is this what they call unconditional love?

I am so not in control.

Some of my Trust List friends have been lovingly coaxing me to go to Gender Odyssey.

Considering the fact that Papi and I are now so broke it's spooky, I had to bow out and rely on having my support through my Trust List instead.

I was feeling so down about the fact that it's just not affordable to go to this event, that I decided to invite my Trust List to lunch on the weekend that this tranny soirée was happening.

I thought, "Well, I can't get support there, but I'll get it in my own way."

No dice.

Every person but one said they couldn't make it.  They were out of town, or had plans etc etc etc.

I felt so alone.  I felt that I was meant to be alone and that I didn't have the cosmos on my side. 

but wait?! what's this?! a light at the end of the tunnel?!?

Then My Person told me to look into a subsidy/scholarship.  She told me to tell them my brief history, that Papi was a newcomer to the transformation and how I need support.

I put in the appropriate application and letter ...

i had to keep my letter under 175 words. yeah. me. chatterbox extraordinaire ...

... and left it up to luck and/or someone who cared.

I spoke to the one person on my Trust List who could make it to the lunch, "It looks like it's only you and me.  I put in an application for a subsidy/scholarship and if I'm not accepted, would you like to join me one on one for lunch?"

This amazing friend one upped me.  "I'll do better.  I'll help subsidize you.  How does $100 sound?"

I couldn't believe it.

I honestly couldn't believe it.

Who is that insanely generous?!?!

Well, it looks like my friend is.

When my love woke up, I excitedly told Papi that there was subsidy from my friend and a possibility of subsidy from the Odyssey itself.

Papi said, "You can't take her money!!!!  That's crazy!!!"

I replied, "Well, she's already put it into my PayPal."

Papi stopped, looking a little shocked and in awe, not really knowing what to say.  To be honest, it looked a bit like how I felt when my friend first offered.  "Wow.  Ok, but don't count on them giving you a subsidy too."

alright negative nelly.

When I checked my email today, lo and behold, I had the subsidy.

ok ... apparently i'm really supposed to go

After closing my mouth, I decided to share the exciting news with 'you', my imaginary friend.

It's things like this that make me realize I'm meant to be in this relationship.  I'm meant to learn how to remain in love with my soul mate despite us going through this male transformation.  I'm meant to open my eyes and heart to this new world I've been so against for so many years.

This time is meant to be.

Perhaps I'll gain some insight.  Perhaps I'll find allies.  I'm positive I'll find others who, like Papi, are bubbling with joy over the chopping and hacking of their body parts.

Papi is still healing from the top surgery and can't do a lot as of yet, however, my love is already looking forward to the hysterectomy.

seriously?

There was my love, at the end of our bed, doing the happy dance.  Hips waving back and forth.  Arms moving with the mocking white man sway, almost emulating a chicken, "I can't wait to get my hysterectomy!  It's coming soon!"

I couldn't believe I was seeing this jig and hearing this elation, after mi esposo had been complaining about the pain for the past month.  "Honey, if you think your top surgery hurt, this next one is going to be wayyyyy worse.  I wouldn't be doing the happy dance if I were you."

"Yeah I know that, but I'm not hurting as much, so I've forgotten how bad it was and I'm just looking forward to getting it all done."

Oh boy.

Goody gumdrops.

The next mother fucking hurdle.

Yup.  I'm really supposed to go to the Gender Odyssey and learn more about my part in all this.

However, right now, I must go and try to look fancy for a performance tonight, after spending two days in bed with a fever.

Envy me?

yeah ... sure.

You suck old man sweaty balls.

Dearest gentlemen who read my blog:

Thank you for being gentlemen.

And to the dreg of the earth, 50 year old virgin, living in your parents' basement, satan spawn who reads my blog to jack off to:

Fuck off.

Well, the time has come to take options for 'anonymous' comments off my page, since a creep wrote a gross comment yesterday, which I'm sure was supposed to be some kind of (ummmm?) compliment?

dude ... there's a reason you're still a virgin ... you really need to work on your pick up lines

If you read anonymously, know that you can always email me if you'd like to say something that now can't be posted here on my blog.

at least there i can block scum.

Just because I speak candidly about my sexuality doesn't mean I'm writing for filth to get off on.

And seriously?

To read my ranting, whining, moaning about my flu seems like the entry to write your crud?

Wow.

I'll be sure not to moan about flus and colds from now on if that brings out the waste of the world.

ok but really! my fever went up to 99.8!! c'mon! it was awful! oooh ... does that turn you on?

This slimeball wouldn't even know what to do with a lesbian in bed.

I remember when one of my dyke friends decided they'd sleep with a guy to see what it was like.  Her review?

"It was quick and painless."

Exactly.

Poor Papi.  My love got really upset about the excrement that was smeared on the walls of my comments.  Mi esposo has a bit of trouble keeping calm when someone disrespects me.

Papi got all up in a tizzy when I got into a fight with a guy on the road.  He was driving like an idiot and cut me off.

I pulled up beside him to speak my mind and the next thing you know, Papi was getting out of the car to fight.

Ok.

So, that would seem like a typical thing for a man to do, and the guy yelled something like, "I'll fuck you up boy!"

What this slime didn't know was that this was only a week after my love got back from the top surgery and couldn't even lift a hand, never mind an arm to swing.

me thinks i would've had to do the fighting that day!!!

Anyway, my love wanted to climb through the computer screen when Papi read the turd that was left in my toilet.

Ah, Papi, thank you for defending your femme.

And you know, your 5 Foot Clitoris is much bigger than this guy's penis.

I promise you.

Say hello to my little friend.

I have to rationalize about why there hasn't been any sexy time.

First it was the braces.  I didn't want to get locked into Papi's brace face.  That could be scary.

Then it was the top surgery.  My love was so fragile that I couldn't even get a hug.  That left me longing for mi esposo's cuddles, but was another justification as to why we weren't having a romp.

Well, last night Papi ordered me into bed.

i like it

Yet, that didn't stop me.  I tried another excuse.  I felt like I had to share that my stomach wasn't top shape right now.  Perhaps we didn't want to 'scents' the wrath of my issue?

Oh, no.

That wasn't a good enough reason for my love.

The truth is though, ever since the 5 Foot Clitoris moved in, I'm very uncomfortable with sex.

It wasn't like it was before, where I knew my love's body and could just jump on in with no hesitation.  I knew what to do and when to do it.

Things have changed.

Papi has changed.

It's like starting all over.

My love was adamant that I'd get a little up close and personal time with the 5 Foot Clitoris.

you're really going to make me do this now aren't you?!?!

At first, all I wanted to do was look at it and introduce myself.

"hey how are ya?  i'm new in town and i thought we could grab a bite to eat?"

But I quickly realized that this exploration wasn't really sexy.  It was more like I was a gynecologist looking at a specimen.

No.

Not sexy.

So I dived in.

I didn't know what to do.  Honestly!  The 5 Foot Clitoris is intimidating!  It was beyond that little nut I'd play with with my tongue.

It really did feel more like a miniature penis.

It was so difficult not to revert back to the dislike of the bio-male anatomy that I had to endure in my stint of oh so many years in the closet.

I would have to be snap drunk or sky high to go anywhere near those man bits, and here I was, face to face with the mini-me version who was sticking out it's own tongue, taunting me.

My love's smell was also different and will take some time to get used to.  It wasn't like the Man Stink that occurred near the beginning of this roller coaster, but indeed it was not what I was used to.

time to get out the chocolate sauce?

None-the-less, I did my best, and dammit, I just felt like I was flailing.  I have no fucking idea how to work with this.

I guess I'll have to practise.

*******

A side note to Tricia, one of my blogger friends, here is the updated photo of Papi, the Tranny Terrorist.

And no, this was not taken after sexy time ...

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

Touché

I may have found the first way to joke about Papi's top surgery.

I wanted my love to change the channel last night, but mi esposo was too busy with the tippity-tappity of a Facebook chat to respond. 

oh, no no no. you know better than that. i will not be ignored.

"Change the fucking channel or I'll poke you in the ribs."  I made a gesture that was at least 10 inches away from my love, but it worked.

"Ok!  Ok!  Just gimme a sec!  Don't come any closer!"

I crept a little closer, "I'm coming in for the kill," I said with my best Hannibal Lecter impersonation.

The channel was changed.

There was no need for me to jab an area that has left Papi without the ability to raise arms any higher than the elbow.

Aha!

I have power!

I think Papi and I both know that I would never intentionally cause any pain to mi esposo, but damn, this could be fun.

do my bidding.

After the channel was changed, and the remote handed over to me, Papi headed for the shower.  Yet mi esposo was again terrified to get in, for fear of nipples sliding down the drain.

I'm pretty sure we're past that point, but Papi hasn't really let me see them since I last saw them and gave the cringe face.

"Don't make that face!  You make me feel ugly!"

My love, it is not you that I'm cringing at.

It's the thought of stitches all around my very own nipple.  The look of the raw, red, angry looking areola that I just know must be painful.

That's what the cringe is for.

It's also for the new scars that inhabit the majority of my love's ribs.  Hell, it even took out a small portion of the sugar skull tattoo on Papi's right side.

It is not my love who I cringe at.

It is the thought of the pain.

It is the thought of how it must obviously hurt to raise those arms, because that would inevitably pull on those bitter red lines that look so precarious, they could actually just split apart with the simplest of reaches.

like changing the channel?

The tape that holds the last portion of those ruby lines is now a darkened brown.  The evidence of sacred blood escaping Papi's body.

Yes.

This is what the cringe is about:

How about you?

Does it send shivers through your stomach thinking of how it would hurt, pull, ache?

did you cringe?

It's so difficult to think of my love going through this to feel better within a body that I found already perfect.

Anyway, the point is, I am getting used to The Great Breast Disappearance.

I must be, because I found a way to torment the Tranny Terrorist, and as long as I can do that, I know I'm healing.

My next mission is dealing with the man hair that is squatting on Papi's legs.  Great black furry bristles.

"Touch them!  They are smooth and silky!"

No, Papi, I don't see the softness of female hair.

I see evidence of an F-M changing into the person I didn't marry.

hmmmm ... shave it or I'll poke you in the ribs!

Oh wait, it was me who said it would look ridiculous for a male to have shaved legs right?

Even I have troubles keeping up with my 'rules'.

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.

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.