gravity work your magic.

Oh, the ebb and flow of emotions.

Looks like that wave has crashed into the sand today.

Hurricane Andréa is upon us and she is one massive shitstorm.

I have the feeling I'll be wearing the cast for more than the 3 weeks they told me.

I'm still having a lot of pain.

So, having pain means, I'm trying to rest with my ankle up.

Resting too much means my bitch of a back acts up, because it does NOT like to be lying down with all my organs pressing on it for too long.

Fuck you back.  Like I need your fucking bullshit right now.

Then there's the meals I'm being fed, which are increasing the weight of fat pushing against my back as well.

Papi isn't much on cooking healthy food, so whatever is easiest for him is my meal; hot dogs, pasta, cornchips, chocolate.

I'm rolling around like a bloated manatee and having a major issue with my chemical imbalance.  Wheat makes me a little freaky.

Fuck you food allergy crazy brain.  How about we lay off the fucking wheat spaz-out, OK!?!?

Then, add in the fact that my cycle is a week and a half late.

I'm NEVER late.

I highly doubt Papi got me pregnant.

But I'll tell you, this is the PMS people use as an excuse in murder trials.

Perhaps it's due to stress?

Or, perhaps, all that sweating I'm doing has nothing to do with the crutches and the exertion it takes to get around.

Maybe I'm just going to stop that monthly womanly hell all together now and I'm having hot flashes sent directly from hell itself.

I'm old enough to be freed from my womanly duties.

You know what I don't understand?  If my fucking uterus won't give me a fucking baby, then why the fuck do I have to suffer through womanly hell every fucking 3 weeks?!?!?!

Huh?!?!?!  A big fuck you to my uterus.  If I could, I'd rip you out myself you fuckwad!

Not to mention, when I don't exercise, my brain gets a wee bit off kilter.

Anyway.

Put it all together, and I'm a fucking mess today.

I got up and cursed Papi's name a few times when I saw my bread wasn't put back in the freezer.

I'm glad he wasn't up, because after that, I really lost it.

I found our new cutlery in the cutlery drawer on top of all the old cutlery in a colossal clusterfuck of silver.

Swearing his name, I ranted, "What!?!?  Am I living with a fucking child?!?!?  And those fucking dishes!!!  I'm wobbling around in pain and you can't help with the fucking dishes?!?!?!"

When I finally had my coffee I calmed down a little, and remembered that there are many factors adding to my bad attitude today.

That it's not the cutlery or the bread.

I'm not myself today.

I started feeling messy yesterday when I couldn't get the mother fucking free video website to work so I could watch a fucking show and take my mind off the fact that I'm not able to play my fucking piano and ease this fucking insanity.

... excuse the run on sentence ... just felt right ...

I signed up for a free month of Netflix to watch Breaking Bad.

It was a good distraction to watch violence and anger played out by someone else, instead of spewing pea soup with my head rotating a few times.

I'm fucking sick of this.

And like I said, I'm pretty sure this fucking cast is staying on for longer.

I'm not impressed and I'm losing it.

However, what goes down, most definitely comes back up again.

Today's mission is working on patience.

everything happens for a reason

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

Butterflies

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

Do you ever just look at ...

... ahem ...

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

It's always nice when that happens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

phew ...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes.  Sideburns.

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

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

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

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

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

The Fine Art of Distraction

I'm having a really hard time writing today.

I'm feeling very disjointed.

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

Of course I answered honestly, "Yes."

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

Huh?

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

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

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

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

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

There will be a mini Papi cleanse going on!

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

I have the power.

**enter eeeevil laugh here**

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

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

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

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

See how I did that?

I can distract myself in an instant.

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

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

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

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

healthy yummy treats mwahahahahaha!!!!!!!

Anyway.

I'm nervous.

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

Yeah.

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

So, tomorrow is another change.

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

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.

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.

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!

I'm a fucking nutbar, but then so is Papi.

Is it depression?

Maybe it's my anemia upping the ante to bring me down me again.

Could it be cancer finally filling my uterus with black death like it did with my mother and grandmother?

goddammit i told you ... it's mine!  leave it the fuck alone!

I'm not feeling so great, and of course my mind would jump to cancer.  I jump to the most horrid outcome possible every time.

I've slept 23 of the past 34 hours.  I just don't feel good.

I do have an avid imagination.  I guess that's what makes me the creative artist I am.

But damn!

ok ... time for you squeamish boys to stop reading if you can't handle the girly stuff.

I have something going on in the womanly world.

It's so hard to think of myself as a woman.  I still consider myself a girl.  I'm probably the most immature of all my aging peers, yet I'm also one of the most youthful because of it.

age is just a number.

I have had strange goings on with my monthly sequel.  That rat bastard acted as if the world was coming to an end and didn't want to leave the comfort of my womb to see what's up.

I have had spotting for a total of 10 days now since the last visit of 'ugh'.

I thought my normal womanly situation would never come.  It was 4 or 5 days late, but sometimes, it's hard to tell with my finicky womb.  I get that stopover every 23 days or so.

Yeah.  Ridiculous.  I know.

At least it only lasts 4 days.  I guess that's to make up for the every 3 weeks of the blahs.

Anyway, it freaked me out, all this spotting and no getting busy with the deed.  This has never happened before and it scares me.

Behold!  Good ol' Rick the Red finally made an appearance yesterday, and at the same time I slipped into the off and on coma.

I haven't accomplished anything since Thursday, because the times that I actually WAS awake, it was all about Mr. Moustache.

He's had a resurgence of energy.  It's so nice.  We'll be enjoying him during this temporary 'up time'.

A small window of peace for us, and a new opportunity for my love to resume terrorizing me via a calendar that now hangs on the wall.

Papi thinks it's funny.  I can't stand looking at that ugly mug.

It's for "T-Boys" and Papi bought it at the same time as those playing cards we used on Valentine's Day.  Every month has a different picture of an F-M, none of which I find attractive.

Papi told me the money goes to support transitioning people.

"Fucking excuse me?!?!?!  Trannies have all the fucking support in the world!!!!  What about the wives who sit in a La-Z-Boy pit of doom and cry for 2 months straight?!?!?!  Give the fucking money to US!!!

Papi giggled, "But most wives wouldn't do that.  Most wives would leave."

It's hung right where I would be looking while working on my journey via my words to 'you', my imaginary friend.

Fucking hell.  You are an evil imp my love.  Why would I want to look at that when right behind it is a perfectly pleasing calendar with a picture of a mama frog and her baby!?!?

This is why I love Papi, however.

My wonderful bull in a china shop.

and now, i return the original obsessive fretting ...