…and I’m now two months on T, which only makes it more embarrassing.
I don’t even know about myself sometimes.
(Asia is great so far. Lots of awesomeness. More later!)
Guys paint their nails all the time. Do it, man.
(Source: ftmconfessions, via ftmconfessions)
eliottshane asked: Hey, I was creeping and was wondering, does your insurance cover your testosterone?
SHORT ANSWER: Yes! My insurance covers my T!
Long answer to a simple question:
I have really great insurance through the company where I work retail. [As a caveat, some policies through the same insurance company cover almost everything, some almost nothing. It depends on the company and what they ask for or even black out completely.]
Even with my excellent corporate policy, AndroGel (which is what my endo originally prescribed) is not covered. Had I been stuck with that Rx, I would have had to pay completely out of pocket, $400/mo.
Luckily, my policy does cover Testim, and my endo was more than willing to switch me over—we can talk about, or you can Google the differences between AndroGel ands Testim—leaving me with a $20 co-pay each time I refill. Luckily again, the company behind Testim offers up to $30/mo reimbursement for Rx-related fees, which means, with the exception of this month, where I had to call in my Rx early due to travel issues, I get it for free. My insurance also covers my estrogen blocker with another $20 co-pay, so I am left with $20-40 of out of pocket expenses for HRT.
As I mentioned earlier, my [really progressive and awesome] employer works with a major insurance company, and (basically) has a rider of things that must be covered. [In the case of gender-related stuff, it includes hormones and a very vague surgical element. I am lucky in that.] That’s not always the case, even with the same insurance group.
If you have any more technical or specific questions, hit me up privately. I’m open to anything you got. Hope this was not too wordy.
I was so worried that I wasn’t going to be able to get a vacation waiver for my Testim that I started halving my dose today, just in case. I was damned worried about running out.
This morning, I called the insurance company to ask what I needed to do and they were really cool about it. The rep looked up my info, said there shouldn’t be a problem, but gave me a number to give to the pharmacy in case they needed to authorize an exception.
Turns out I didn’t even have to give the pharmacy the number. They filled the script while I waited, which took about 30 seconds since no one else was around. Got my hormones for my trip overseas, and had a nice chat with one of the pharmacists about Asian bike culture! Yay!
All this is to say I probably won’t be around much on the Tumblr for the next little while. I’ll be running around Taiwan like a maniac, hopefully having fun, but I’ll be back, two months on T and hopefully doing well.
I am shaking.
Nothing bad happened, but the guy who took my ID and boarding pass just kept *looking* at me and my ID, like he really didn’t think it was me, but couldn’t really come up with a reason why. He inspected everything really closely, showed it to a coworker who inspected it, too, then finally gave it back to me with a, “You got a haircut, I guess…?”
Fucking hell, for a second I thought he wasn’t going to let me through. I felt like I was trying to trick them into accepting my ID, except it IS my ID, legal and real, and the best I can do right now. I guess I’ve really changed a lot. People read me as male, and when they see that female shit all over my ID and boarding pass, it freaks them out.
I thought about actually saying something about being trans, but this is South Carolina, and I worried that might make it even worse. So, instead, I just smiled a lot and raised my voice to a squeak and was really polite, and they sent me the rest of the way down the line.
Anyway, I feel like shit now. I’m nervous and I feel like everyone is looking at me. Getting a beer because I can (as long as they accept my ID, haha). Just a few more hours and I’ll be on the ground in NY and safe for a few days.
I think testosterone is making my PMS worse. So much bloating right now, and so much irrational loathing for my own poor body.
Ughs. I hate how obvious it is that it’s hormones doing this to me (P Tracker don’t lie, it’s a week before my period usually shows up, and it’s always like this around that time). The whole thing makes me feel like I’ve lost control of myself, of all of myself, body, emotions, mind. It is crap and I want it to stop.
Welp. I’m going to be with my girlfriend in just a few hours, so my mood had better shape up quick. I am not even joking.
I really don’t know how to take the fact that my coworkers keep bringing up “The Tom Gabel Thing” to me. I suppose they are doing it to express their support for trans* individuals, but really? What do you want me to say about it?
What’s my opinion? I’m not going to say anything über-enlightening. “I’m happy for her, glad that she’s taking a big step toward her own happiness and fulfillment, but it’s otherwise none of my business.” That’s the way it is. The fact that her wife is so wonderfully supportive makes my heart jump, but is that really even any of my business? (Maybe I should just tell them, “He’s making a big mistake! His life is over!”, then laugh maniacally and skip off across the sales floor. It would be dramatic and unexpected, at least. I don’t even know.) Why should I have some holier opinion about a person’s “life choices” just because our situations are similar? Why do my feelings even matter? This is her thing, not mine, regardless of how I *feel* about it.
The one thing I will say is, for the little I’ve read in the news, beyond the original Rolling Stone article, MTV is the only place to comment on the story using Laura’s preferred pronouns. Otherwise, it’s all “he” and “him” and “frontman”, and that is sad. Laura Jane Grace’s life is not a sideshow spectacle or a forum for people to express their feelings, even for those who are supportive and cool. It’s her life, and people best start respecting that, and respecting her, especially those who are “supportive” and “cool”. Start using the pronouns that truly describe her, and stop talking about her as a man becoming a woman. That’s my real opinion.
Morning-to-evening, when I walk down the street, I’m clocked as a slightly shorter than average guy, just walking, going somewhere, it doesn’t matter. No comment is needed.
I walk alone at night and I see my shadow on a wall, the same shadow I’ve had for years, adjusted, maybe, but the same general shape, even from when I walked my mom’s line in a summer dress and platforms, a pretty, ripe young woman. It is me.
I see my shadow and I think like a woman in this world, I think about how I have a knife in my bag, and a set of keys in the pocket of my jeans, half a dozen sharp points, ready, if I need them. I think about how I will fight, if it comes to that.
And then I realize that it won’t come to that. No one wants anything from my short chubby-boy frame.
I walk down the street and I am clocked as a slightly shorter than average guy. Some boy will say, “Hey, man, ‘sup?” Some girl will say, “Hey, dude, where you headed?” They’ll clock me as a safe guy going somewhere, just some guy, and head on. Nothing will happen.
Meet someone on the street, even late at night? I’m a small guy worth a nod or a friendly comment, no harassment. Re-imagine me with longer hair and wearing a skirt? Well… But I pass so easily, on my way somewhere…
That’s why feminism matters. When I pass women on the street at night, they are walking in packs, often with a male escort, because they need that to be safe, even in my small southern city.
It doesn’t matter what a girl wears late night, she is an automatic target. I am safe now in my masculinity, but I still know where my knife is, because I grew up a woman here, and I know what goes down.
It’s graduation weekend and a thousand women are walking home tonight: in packs, with male “guardians”, in pairs, and alone. Every single one of them should be allowed to walk down a street at any hour, just like I do with my bag slung over my shoulder, nodding, smiling, congratulating the grads, happy and safe.
But some of them won’t make it. Statistics say it all. Women existing are targets. I can stand on the corner of a busy street, typing this out on my phone, and all I will get is smiles and nods. Put a woman in my place, and count the cat calls.
And that is why we need feminism.
(In which I cannot pronounce “barbital”)
My girlfriend told me that my voice was getting lower, so I decided to see if it was, by doing that ol’ Tumblr pronunciation meme again.
For reference: Previously….
[eh… maybe more gravelly, but I don’t hear much.]
Basically, all I want to eat is bacon.
I don’t even usually like bacon all that much (I know, I know, throw me to the wolves), but the last few days, it has been calling to me endlessly. I desire it and all other horrible-for-you foods, in large quantities, as quickly as possible.
The food thing just keeps getting worse, actually. I get sick-hungry after just a couple of hours of not eating, and all I want to eat is meat and grease, though I have tried to moderate that with lean protein and vegetables. It works about half the time, depending on where I am and how readily available crappy food is. I haven’t been going to the gym, mostly because I haven’t been sleeping well the last few days and when I get home, I can barely move. I had a day off and should have gone today, but, for whatever reason, I didn’t. Instead, I just did my free weights and played online and thought about bacon and sex, but not bacon sex.
I feel like my body is starting to change, if only a little. My arms are getting stronger and a little leaner around the muscle. I’ve gained a bit of weight, but my pants still fit the same around my beer belly and hips… except for the fact that I don’t appear to have an ass any more. I never had much of one to begin with, sure, but now my pants are starting to fall down because there is nothing for them to hold onto in back. It’s alarming, also annoying because I can’t quite pull the belt buckle to the next hole to tighten them up. Maybe if I stopped eating all the time and actually worked out… hum…
I’ve been really down on my body the last little while, mostly because of the eating and the lethargy. I bounce back and forth between “I don’t give a fuck, I am hungry!” and “Oh God, I have no self control,” sometimes in minutes. I don’t know how to integrate the two feelings into something healthy, so I cycle through them again and again. All the while, I have a long way to go before I am happy with the way I look, so the whole thing isn’t going to go away any time soon. I hope it isn’t a slippery slope into eternity. (It probably isn’t.) Woo, whining.
Otherwise, life continues. I’ve been working a lot and picking up a little tutoring money on the side. Going on vacation with my girlfriend next week(!), which is pretty much the best thing that could be happening right now. I cannot wait to run away with her. :D I have other things I could write about, but I won’t right now, because I want to go get something more to eat. Ha.
A few months ago, I told my brother that I was considering my gender issues. I talked to him a bit about my life and my hormones and how things might end up, and he was amazingly cool.
Tonight, I opened casually with our usual family drama (it’s bad. really fucking bad.), letting him know what was up with the up. Then, as it worked out, I pulled it all in with, “Hey, I’ve been on testosterone for a month.”
His response (paraphrased):
“As I said before, you are my sister or my brother, whatever happens. I doesn’t matter who you are, I just love you. Where do I have room to judge? You are you, and I am me. Our family doesn’t like that I am living in Asia. They probably don’t like what you are doing. I don’t care about that or about what you are doing, as long as it makes you happy. If you know who you are, you are who you are. I love you.”
And that is what family is fucking for.
I just want to reblog pictures of food all day.
Is that so much?
![transparrotfish:
[Image description: Background is 8 piece pie style color split with black and blue alternating. Foreground is a photo of a parrotfish. Top text reads “Trouble finding non-dysphoric outfit”. Bottom text reads “Leave half hour late”. End description.]
This happens to me more often than I’d like to admit. Way more often.](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m2xwn6VgFs1qkevm9o1_400.jpg)
[Image description: Background is 8 piece pie style color split with black and blue alternating. Foreground is a photo of a parrotfish. Top text reads “Trouble finding non-dysphoric outfit”. Bottom text reads “Leave half hour late”. End description.]
This happens to me more often than I’d like to admit. Way more often.
