one week

So, as of today, I am in the home stretch for my top surgery scheduled for December 12th, 2007. I paid the balance due for my surgery on Wednesday, had my blood work drawn, and then this morning had my pre-screening physical for surgical clearance. Unless something completely "wonky" shows up on my blood work results, I am all set to go!

Crazy, and exciting, and surreal... (Just breathe~ )

My doctor's appt this morning was somewhat comical. It was a walk in clinic in the business district of DC, that focuses primarily on clearance for international business travelers. I had an appointment for 10am, yet they didn't quite know what to do with me. I explained that I simply needed a routine physical for a surgical clearance. They immediately looked me up and down, as I am sure they began to wonder exactly what kind of surgery I would be having. Perhaps wondering if I was "sick" or chronically ill. So, they reviewed my medical history, and their eyes stopped when they saw that I was on testosterone. They simply assumed me to be a man (as they kept referring to me as "sir" and "Mr. Eye - a - cavaley").

It wasn't until the nurse called me into the examination room that she saw that the "female" box was checked on ALL of my paperwork. She apologized profusely for calling me sir ad nauseum in the waiting room. I cracked a joke, to ease the tension and make her feel relieved about the "mistake." It helped, as I think we were both a little nervous after that. (I mean, it's kind of weird to be sequestered in a small white room with a complete stranger, and wonder what they are thinking of you, and while feeling supremely vulnerable in that position~ to wonder if in some way this visit will somehow unravel, and deem me unfit for surgery. Will this stranger be my ally? Or will they be too "freaked out" and somehow throw a wrench in the works?)

* * *

In September of 2006, I began the what would become the routine dr's appts when I decided to start taking testosterone. We have to be monitored for a while afterwards to ensure our livers are not turning to mush, and inflating our cholesterol to dangerously high levels. My doctor said that I had literally the best cholesterol he had ever seen in his tenure, which would make me a great candidate for "t", since it monkeys with the levels instantly.

So, during this first visit last year, this super-model looking, tall-waify Ethiopian nurse weighed me for my charts. As she teetered the mobile components on the commercial scale, she erupted in a huge belly laugh as the final tally came in... Nice~ Horrified, I simply looked up, embarrassed, and asked: "What?" "Well, I didn't think you would weight THAT much... I mean, you don't look THAT heavy." Ugh~ Oh, well. I jokingly said that the additional weight must be from my signature army green knit hat that sat atop my head during my weigh in. She looked at me quizzically, and with a furrowed brow. She explained in all seriousness that it would most likely be my shoes, or often times winter coats, that I had already shed... So, I emphatically insisted that it must have been my knit hat, until she realized that I was joking with her, out of embarrassment that I apparently was made out of lead.

Leading me to the present day:

* * *

The nurse weighed me, and I nearly lost it. I weighed exactly 25 pounds more than I did over one year ago, when I first began this process. Yet, ironically, my pants were baggier than ever as my thighs, butt and hips have melted away from the testosterone and weigh lifting regiments. With that said though, I have lost 80% of my t shirts, and sweaters now that I sort of "over shot" my goal, with my shoulders and neck now having become enormous from working out. Twenty five pounds... It is baffling.

I wasn't sure if I should hi five myself with my new biceps, thinking is was "pure muscle mass" or whether I should have run the 10 miles back to work, to burn off the excess calories from the few pieces of pumpkin pie I had to celebrate the holidays. Shit~

The nurse gave me a paper gown, in the origami shape of a sandwich, and told me to take off my "very nice polo sweater" (as she said) and put on the robe. Wait, was I supposed to take off my jeans then, too? Or just my sweater? I stood up to unravel the flattened, folded up paper gown, as I wondered how undressed I should be. Perhaps the distraction was not good, because I accidentally tore the entire gown in half while trying to open it up. (So, my money is back on muscle mass, then! Phew!)

So, I crumpled it all up, and stuffed it in the bottom of the resealable trashcan in my examination room, to pretend like I never got it. I sat on the edge of the examine table in my white t shirt, and jeans, wondering how the next five minutes might change my life. Also, having to predict how this doctor my react to my reality.

This gorgeous female doctor, who appeared to only be a few years older than me came in while reading my chart. She asked what kind of surgery I was having. "Um, plastic surgery," I meekly responded. She then asked what kind. "Um, well... I, ah, I'm trans, and so I am having 'top surgery' ~ a double mastectomy."

She looked up at me, and while making direct eye contact said: "Wow, you must be really excited!" It was right then that I knew I would be safe. That this woman was going to be my ally. And mid way through my exam, she started asking me all sorts of personal questions about my experience, about working out, how it has been with my job, and even about my name. When I said that Lani is my given name, but that the state of CT forces people to change their names in order to change their gender markers on birth certificates (which most other offices need prior to changing any other documents...) She became incredibly enthusiastic that I should fight that rule. This doctor not only because my passive ally, but suddenly wanted to be a freedom fighter with me on the front lines, declaring that these law be more sympathetic towards trans people of all sorts. Amazing... (I kind of had a crush on her...) She wished me much success, and approved my status as being physically well enough to withstand surgery.

Now, I am just waiting to hear back about my blood work, and barring any unforeseen changes, I am all set for surgery.

Man, that feels crazy to say...