“To Testosterone!” And other shenanigans…

Posted by e.a.irving on February 9, 2011 · 5 Comments 

So much to update you on, loyal readers! I am now officially ineligible to compete on women’s sports teams. It feel so good 😀

Let’s start with a story.

Last Friday, 4 February, I woke up with more enthusiasm than any day in recent memory. The caffeine in my morning cup of tea overwhelmed my queer little heart five sips in so I put it down in favor of bigger and better things. Like work. And a viola lesson. And class. And my long awaited appointment to see the endocrinologist.

After class at noon, my dearest friend Melissa took me out to lunch to celebrate my big day. Ask any of my friends, I am excessively interested in sentimental things; it was much appreciated. She drove me all four blocks to my appointment, waited and went in with me. Who could ask for more? I was definitely nervous about my appointment. Navigating the health care system both makes me feel naive and nauseous. Melissa’s support and medical profession lineage helped ease my worries and everything progressed smoothly. I went back to my appointment in no time. The first nurse was extremely pleasant and joked around with us as she filled out forms. She left and was shortly followed by the doctor. Show time. The doctor asked me questions about my identity and my experience with hormone therapy. I love that my life has given me the pleasure of knowing so many transfolks that I can reference in addition to my personal trans-related research. Tresearch.

She kept asking me if I had questions but I know more about transitioning than the average bear. I just played my part – nervous, confidant, jazzed, a pinch over-compensatingly masculine and waited for her to do what I had been envisioning in my head for months. She wrote and handed me a prescription. Did that really happen?

I beamed. Success. The cunning part of my brain jumped in and asked me if I had just tricked the system. Perhaps I got this far by saying all the right things and wearing the right skinny jeans. I sat with this thought. I was in therapy for over three years. Doubtful. But little voices are little voices, even if they’re crazy.

The doctor left and sent in a psych nurse for consultation. This I did not expect. She asked me deeper questions about my identity and made me generally nervous. A friend of mine was turned away from this doctor for not presenting femininely enough and I was not about to lose my efforts to a slip of my fabulous tongue. I wore a button down and blazer to the appointment; it’s about as butch as I get. She looked me dead in the eye and said “Eli, I must say – you confused me. You’re wearing earrings.” Hold the motherfucking phone. I quickly explained that they’re plugs – 1/2in to be exact. I showed her the hole. I hated hearing myself justify them with “many males wear them”. The tension soon broke and she said that it made sense but still confused her. I get that she’s a little bit older – but shouldn’t people prescribing hormone therapy know a little more about gender essentialism? You got me, nurse. I’m really a girl because I wear 1/2in mustard colored plugs.

Brief crisis aside, she wished me luck and sent us out. There was a moment of panic with insurance (student health had actually changed my legal name in the system) but the receptionists were wonderful and chatted me and Melissa up about the opera department. They sent us on our way. Melissa and I high fived and I was soon distracted from my victory speech by a beautiful boy posted up near the lab entrance. Some things never change.

Melissa dropped me home and I biked my triumphant ass to Walgreens to take advantage of their discount program. I submitted my prescription and wandered around the store. The most notable moments of this trip were when they told me not to get pregnant while taking testosterone and when the person entering my information into the system looked at the screen and said “well, you’re definitely not male” and I responded “well, I will be. That is the goal.” “Oh! Got it” she said. I giggled. Biking up Richmond road at rush hour was worth the flirtation with death until I got home to realize they neglected to give me syringes. I stared longly at the long-awaited bottle of testosterone. Could I will it into my veins? I texted my transbrother Jack about my discovery and he offered one of his syringes. We then concocted the best night of trananigans I have had in my young life.

I played show five out of six of our university’s production of Porgy and Bess then stripped out of my tux into bike gear and headed towards my favorite bar in Lexington. They were having a benefit show for the bike co-op we just opened and I needed to get out. I was met by my brother and his friend, who upon hearing of my glorious day bought us a round of shots. “To testosterone!” Jack said. “His is in his nads, mine’s in my leg and Elias’s is in his backpack!” The evening only got better as time passed. We played “Sweet Home Alabama” in the jukebox and a pool fight broke out. We drank great beer and danced like crazy people. We eventually headed to Jack’s place with the two of us on my bike. Note: this does not work past the age of 8.

Safely in the house, Jack poured us more bourbon shots and got everything ready. This is about me becoming a native son of Kentucky, after all. Can’t do it without bourbon. I sat in my long underwear and a stolen shirt from an ex (the color is so pleasing!) and watched my future gleam in my eyes. I gave myself the injection and Jack depressed the lever. We high fived and hugged. I wouldn’t be here without him. We took a victory shot and watched Portlandia until three in the morning. I got up and went to work at 8am. I have never felt more victorious in my life.

So that’s the first part of my journey. It’s hard to say if I’ve felt any changes other than the expected jump in hornyness. I think my voice actually cracked today. I’ll keep you posted. Thank you, dear readers, for your love and support. Onwards!

Filed under hormone therapy, kentucky experience, transgender, Uncategorized