Real-time Transition Record: T minus 44 Days

In a mere 44 days I will march into the office of a real life endocrinologist, present my therapist written and approved letter and state my desire to begin hormone therapy. I. am. so. jazzed. I am fortunate enough to still be on my parents’ healthcare plan though there is no telling of the longevity of that status when record of my visit surfaces. I figure I can get through the first visit and get my prescription before the axe falls. Fingers crossed.

I got my appointment some time in October and have been tearing pages off of the metaphorical calendar ever since. The months-long wait was deemed sympathetically frustrating by most and I have had my moments of impatience as well. Since the initial excitement of the go-ahead has died down I have found the immense value of the wait time. I have discussed my questions on the matter before in this blog though I continue to raise new questions everyday. With every question I challenge my opinions and rack my brain for answers but always come back to the conclusion that taking hormone therapy will help me feel more comfortable in my skin. I am also really looking forward to talking about my girlhood while stroking my beard. Go team.

My friend introduced me to the band Actor Slash Model, Chicago-based queer music goodness, last week and I was again reminded of the transfolks among us who elect to not take hormones. I respect these people immensely. I admire the strength and fuck-the-system attitude that many of them possess. But for me, I feel like I am spinning my wheels in an elongated adolescence, left to reach for the last stage of growing up that the medical establishment can provide for me: hormones. I understand that testosterone is not magic. I understand that my having a deeper voice will not solve the world’s problems. What I do know is that, in some fashion, I have been waiting for that first shot my whole life and it’s finally in sight.

When I question my desire I find that my decision to take hormones is I have made for my own happiness and to further my commitment to smashing the gender binary into tiny little pieces (see: bearded talks of girlhoods past). A brief anecdote: while travelling with my significant other last week, we stopped at a truck stop for a quick bathroom break. As a fearless (ha) bathroom activist and cultural idiot savant, I headed for the men’s room, took a deep breathe and pushed in the door. Upon meeting back at the car, my whereabouts were asked after and my admission of using the men’s room was met with “have you seen Boys Don’t Cry?” Simple, yet sobering. At the completion of our trip, my significant other presented me with Gender Outlaw by Kate Bornstein to let me know I “don’t need to fit in a man box.” I love them. Reading Gender Outlaw is lighting a fire under my transactivist ass and strengthening my commitment to binary smashing. Bornstein writes at about the socially encouraged condition of transpeople transitioning from one false gender to another. I agree with this point. We have the opportunity to be bigger than gender. How rad is that? In some way, while still out of my grasp of being adeptly articulated, I feel like my journey from female to giggling queen seeks to deny this societal convention and still work towards carving out a space for the gender variant. Anyone can tell you that there is not much that is gender normative about a transboy in gold lamé sparkle shorts.

Only time will tell of the effectiveness of my mission. If gender were plates I would throw them to the ground and make a colorful mosaic out of its remnants. Then I would put on my sparkle shorts and boogie in celebration. I might just do that now anyways. Shimmy shake for the gender revolution? Yes, please. Gimme more.

3 Responses to “Real-time Transition Record: T minus 44 Days”
  1. Katie Cahill says:

    “I am also really looking forward to talking about my girlhood while stroking my beard. Go team.”

    Def lolled over this. Just so you know I creepy-stalk your blog and I truly enjoy it. You’ve opened my mind and my world and just even having known you at all somehow makes me feel as if I have a right to be proud… like I could point and say “Yeah, I know that guy, he’s awesome.” In all reality, I have no such right, but I think it (hopefully) comes off as a compliment regardless. Keep up the aaaaawesome blogging, Eli!

    • Creepy blog stalking is the highest form of flattery 🙂 Thanks, Katie! You have every right to feel proud. After all, you shaped me in significant ways in my life. Remember when the seventh grade discussion we had about homosexuality (in our spongebob notebooks… when I was an idiot:)? I’m just as proud to say I know you.

      • Katie Cahill says:

        Ahhh yes the Spongebob notebook – definitely remember. Those were good times… I’m happy to hear my 12-year-old liberalism proved insighful in retrospect, haha.

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