alive and kicking

Hey there,
I just want to thank everyone for all of their well wishing over the past few days. I feel great, and can't believe everything went so well with the surgery. I guess there is still time for some kind of "issue" to pop up, but otherwise, I am rocking out. For the last few months before the surgery, I had been taking a shit ton of homeopathic meds and working out obessively to try to prep my body for the potential shock that it might have to endure. I suppose that it may have helped, since I feel like I could host a break dancing party, or run with the bulls in Pamplona. Well, sort of...

My chest feels a bit tender, but after getting two whopping migraines in a row this past weekend, nothing could possible feel THAT bad. So, this is a cake walk. mmmm. cake... (My friend Cayli was wondering if the surgeon's request for me to stop taking testosterone for the last month leading up to surgery to prevent possible complications~if the absence of "t" threw my body into a downward spiral.) After surviving those migraines, feeling a tiny bit of swelling in my chest is completely managible.

I can't raise my arms that high, so for me, that has been a huge challenge, while I still wish that I could be totally independent and do everything myself. My ego keeps getting in the way, as I hate asking for assistance with things in general. Especially because I feel great, despite the lack of mobility in my arms. If I felt like shit, then maybe I could fathom having to ask someone else to pour me a glass of water, but now it just feels belittling. Ugh.

While we were leaving the hotel this morning, we passed the continental breakfast spread, and I feared that I looked like a lowbrow thief. My oversized sweatshirt hiding the grenade shaped balloons that catch the overflow of the drainage tubes installed under my arms. These reservoirs clip on to the bottom of the compression vest the nurses put on me while I was still under sedation. These grenade shaped "flasks" then rest against my belly, and while concealed under my oversized zip up sweatshirt~it appears as though I have stolen a half dozen bagels away from this Bacchanalean feast of stale breakfast starches. Awesome. My anxiety seems more imply more guilt than is really necessary.

So, I am home again, and now wondering what the hell will fill my time for the next week that I am in town. My friends are coming in from out of town to visit and pour that water for me. We all predicted that I was going to be bed ridden, and in and out of consciousness, where now I want to plan trips to Atlantic City or other such forbidden lands that I never have time to explore when I am well. My haggard, slightly hunched stance, as I keep my arms close to my chest would fit right in to the elders clutching their oxygen tanks on wheels.

Cable tv is already boring, and I suspended my Netflix queue thinking that I would be out cold. Trying to get caught up with friends who have been inquiring about my well being, and wanting to make those posts from the past few days that we couldn't upload as the hotel's wireless connection was down. Thanks for the patience as we try to get everything back in running order.

So, now the next phase in all of this is to figure out a new name. My surgeon was about to sign the paper work stating that she completed my SRS (sex reassignment surgery), but it gets complicated because I have not changed my name yet. It is tricky with having to figure out the correct chain of command with regards to which elements need to come before the others while trying to alter both gender markers and one's birth name. So much to learn, and still fumbling up! Jeez...

Anyone wanna help me pick a new name?

Aiiiight. Off to eat some dinner. Early bird special at my house, see, I'd fit right in with the blue hairs in Atlantic City...

XX