Pain in the Chest

Today is my “Three-Months-Boobie-Free” anniversary….and my chest is killing me. But don’t worry—my nipples are still attached. The pain is coming from the green, extraterrestrial slime living in my lungs. Yup, I have a nasty chest cold thanks to a bunch of work travel I did last week.

I work for an advertising agency that’s based in the Midwest, but I work “remotely” from home. My top surgery got me off the hook for all work travel for over four months. I can’t lie—having both the “I can’t lift things over ten pounds” card AND the “I got a blood clot in my calf and can’t get on an airplane” card in my hand at the same time was, well, the equivalent of a Remote Worker Royal Flush. I played those suckers like Fats Domino. Wait…he’s into pool, not cards. Well, whatever. You get the idea. Anyhow, my luck eventually ran out. So, last week I packed my bags and hopped a flight.

Lots of people at my office know I had surgery. But only two of them know the type of surgery it was. I couldn’t help but wonder if my friends would notice something different about me. Something missing, maybe? Surely they’d be able to tell, right? There was only one way to find out.

On Monday morning I put on the smallest, tightest t-shirt I owned and walked through the company’s front doors. Seriously, this shirt was so tiny it looked like I’d purchased it in the toddler’s department at Target. You could actually see my nipples through it. Every time I passed a mirror I giggled with glee. I couldn’t wait to see if my co-workers would notice. I mean, I didn’t expect anyone to say, “Jeez dude. Where the heck did your boobs go?” but surely I’d get some sort of reaction, right?

Yeah, no. Didn’t happen. No awkward glances. No furrowed brows. Not a single pause in conversation. Day after day I strutted around in my baby T’s and…nothing. None of my 300+ coworkers seemed phased in the least. How was this possible? Something was awry. Then it dawned on me.

Blind, unadulterated, shameless jealousy. (We are talking about advertising people after all). And I get it, I mean, my chest is pretty friggin’ sweet. Way sweeter than that lame Facebook brand page you spent the last five months working on that the client ended up hating. But, still. We’re all adults here. It’s just a chest. Get over it.  Grow up. Move on.

Did they do that? No. Instead, they foisted their evil office germs upon me as if to say, “Oh, you think your chest is so hot? Try this chest cold instead!” Petty, petty advertising people. Let me say this in a language you can understand: Don’t hate me because I’m boobless.

At the end of the week I caught a flight home—and brought my chest cold along for the ride. But, whatever. It’s just a little congestion. Nothing I can’t handle. Besides, my chest has never felt, or looked, better. And everyone knows it.

2 Months

Last Thursday was my two month post-surgery mark. I guess time flies when you’re having fun. And let me tell you, having a boy chest is a rip roaring good time. No more averting my eyes when I see myself in the mirror. No more peeling off my sweaty bra when I come home from the gym. No more jiggling of any kind. I friggin’ love it more than I ever dreamed I would.

If you look through the photos in my past blogs, you can see how the healing process has gone week by week. I’m super happy with the progress so far. And I’m just happier in general. A lot friggin’ happier.

Better Late Than Never

I’ve been so busy with work this week that I never got a chance to upload my weekly photo. Until now.

For the first time since my surgery over seven weeks ago, I’m finally starting to feel “normal.” All of my stitches and scabs are gone. What a relief! And with the exception of reaching high above my head, I have very little discomfort when I move my arms. The best part for me though is the feeling of a t-shirt over my bare chest. I absolutely love it.

Another unbelievably cool thing has been the reaction of my friends. Everyone who’s seen my chest is amazed (heck, I see it everyday and I’m still amazed) and super supportive. I think some of my female-bodied buddies might even be a little bit envious. Even though they are happy as women, let’s face it, boobs are a hassle that have to be constantly managed. I wish that they could feel the incredible freedom I’m experiencing right now. It’s unreal. In a really, really powerful way.

Two Giant Steps for Boykind

For me, there’s nothing harder than taking it easy. Before today, it had been seven weeks since I last worked out. It felt like seven years. But, I had my final consult with Dr. Garramone this afternoon and he gave me the thumbs up to resume all regular activity. He also told me I can stop wearing Band-Aids over my nipples. So, not only did I go to the gym and work out braless for the first time, I came home, showered and put on a t-shirt over my bare chest.

Over the past year I’ve daydreamed about doing these two things. In the end, they felt exactly like I’d imagined they would—normal. Which is how my life is starting to feel again, too.

Six Weeks. Finally.

I made it to the six-week post-op mark. Or as I like to call it, the “42 Days of Boobie-free Bliss” mark. This is a big milestone because I’m finally at the point that I’m allowed to resume normal activity. I can lift my arms above my head. I can workout. I can even put on my own beer helmet. I’m pumped.

On Monday I have a follow-up consult with Dr. Garramone. That’ll give me a chance to ask him the questions that still keep me up at night (“When the heck are the stitches going to fall out already!?”). He also wants to check in with me on my blood clot issue (which is lingering but seems to be mostly gone).

Overall though, things are great. I love my chest. And I haven’t missed having to put on a bra one single bit.

35 Day Update

I’m five weeks post-op. One more week and I’ll be able to start working out again. Hooray.

As for right now, everything is healing nicely. My left nipple is scab-free. My right is a little bit more stubborn but I’m sure that within the next week it will be healed, too.

I still have stitches around my aerolas. I’m guessing those will hang around for at least two or three more weeks. But, overall things are great. I can’t wait for the day when I don’t need to keep them covered with Bandaids:-) Tick tock, tick tock…

Just Call Me Mr. Belvedere

Over the past 31 days since my surgery, the hardest part of my recovery hasn’t been dealing with pain or bandages or even this pesky blood clot in my calf. It’s been dealing with the fact that I even though I can do lots of the things that I’ve always done, I’m not supposed to actually do any of them.

I’m on strict orders to limit my physical activity for six weeks. For instance, I’m not allowed to get my heart rate up. Or lift anything over five pounds. Or raise my arms above my head. I’m supposed to act like my elbows are pinned to my sides. Think T-rex without the ferocious overbite.

On the bright side, I’m off the hook for doing all sorts of crap that I hate. I can’t possibly run a vacuum cleaner. Or empty the dishwasher. Or fold the laundry. And grocery shopping? No can do. Darn.

On the not-so-bright side, a whole bunch of other basic and enjoyable tasks went out the window too. Like putting on a t-shirt. Or driving a car. Or grabbing the leftover Chinese food from out of the fridge.

Even worse, I still need all of those things done. Which means it’s been an even longer 31 days for my partner than it has been for me. Not only has he had to pick up my slack, he’s had to pull up my slacks. And let’s face it–even though love each other that’s just awkward.

But here’s the good news, honey. With only a week and a half to go, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Soon I’ll pick up everything from dinner to Dunkin’ Donuts coffee. I’ll make the bed, mop the floor and motor to the supermarket. I’ll do whatever you need (except pull up your pants. We’ve both lost enough dignity already). So hang in there. Six weeks of payback is coming—and nobody will be happier about it than me.

What a Difference a Month Makes

This time last month I was just coming out of the OR. They say time flies, but I still feel like I’m trying to fast forward to the day I can get back to my normal routine. Or even just lift my arms above my head. Still, I’m stoked to hit this big milestone.

As for my healing, things seem to be going well. I still have to keep my nipple grafts covered 24/7 with large bandaids but overall the care is easy. A few of the stitches have disappeared along the top edge of my right graft–guess my body no longer needs them! I still have some scabbing over the very center part of my nipples but it’s not too bad. I’m just glad my nipples haven’t washed down the drain accidentally! Haha.

My incisions are healing well, too. The puffiness at the end of the scars, under each arm, is slowly going down. Those areas are the most sore for sure. I apply ScarGuard along the incisions twice a day but there’s not much care beyond that. Eventually I’ll start massaging the scars to help break down the scar tissue but it’s too soon for that now.

I still have some minor swelling in spots, and general tenderness but it’s really nothing to complain about. All in all things are great. Can’t wait for my two month anniversary!

The D Word

Discrimination sucks. Whether because of race, age, religion, sexual orientation, gender, gender identity—you name it. It’s never okay. But that doesn’t stop it from happening.

That’s why, two months ago when I called my family doctor to schedule an appointment for my pre-surgical blood work and EKG, I was nervous. Do I tell him the truth about my surgery? Does he even know what it means to be transgender? If not, what will he think? And will he understand?

Well, I figured there was only one way to find out. Slowly, I punched his office number into my phone…6-0-2…9-5-5…6-6-3-2…

“Arcadia Family Clinic. How can I help you?” She sounded pleasant. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Hi, I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. James Doris.

“Okay, have you seen Dr. Doris before?”

Yes, he’s been my primary care doctor for the past ten years.

“Alright, well, what will you be seeing Dr. Doris for?”

I need a pre-surgical clearance.

“Well, it’s our policy to contact your surgeon first, have them fill out some paperwork, then fax it back to us. After that, we’ll get you scheduled.”

Immediately my brain started to backpedal. Is this customary? Do all doctors require this? Should I bail out? Deep breath. Stop being paranoid.

“What type of surgery are you having?”

I’d rather not say.

Her pleasant tone turned to annoyance. “Oh….um….why? Is it personal?”

Yes.

“Ohhh-kaaaay. Well, give us your surgeon’s information so we can fax them our forms.”

I should have hung up right then. But, I had no other doctor to go to. I needed these tests done, soon. So, I choked out Dr. Garramone’s contact info.

“We’ll call you once we get the paperwork back and schedule your appointment.” Click.

Within thirty seconds I was on the phone with Dr. Garramone’s assistant, Bridgett. I told her what they needed. Was this normal?

“Well, no. But we’ll take care of it.”

Okay. But I didn’t tell them what my surgery was for. Was I required to?

“No, not at all. That’s your personal information. You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to.”

You won’t tell them will you?

“Of course not. Don’t worry.” Easier said than done.

Over the next few days I tossed and turned, trying to talk the red flags away—but to no avail. So, I called Bridgett back and told her I’d decided, somehow, to find another doctor who’d perform my pre-surgical consult.

“I’m really glad to hear you say that,” she replied. “Because we received their paperwork. And I gave it to Dr. Garramone. He took one look at it and said, ‘I’m not signing this.’”

I gasped. Really? Why?

“Because, they were requiring Dr. Garramone to sign a form saying that he was not performing transgender top surgery on you. Without that signed form, they will not see you.”

But, but, but…how could they know what my surgery was for? I didn’t tell them! Did you?

“No.”

Apparently, Google search did. While Dr. Garramone does perform other procedures, he’s most well-known for male chest reconstruction. It was an easy leap for Dr. Doris and his cronies to make. That doesn’t mean it was an ethical one.

All I know is it left me without a doctor. Which begs an obvious question. How do doctors, like Dr. Doris, decide who they will and will not treat? Do they make decisions based on personal morals? Or religious beliefs? Or are they controlled by self-righteous medical groups who pull the strings? I mean, come on. If I had breast cancer and needed a double mastectomy, would Dr. Doris turn me away? Doubt it. And what about a breast enlargement? If I just couldn’t live one more day without those voluptuous double D’s, I’m quite certain he’d have no problem taking my money.

Eventually, I found another doctor to perform my pre-surgical clearance. It was not easy. And somehow, he got the idea that I was having a hysterectomy. Which is technically true since I plan to have one someday.

That reminds me, discrimination isn’t the only thing that sucks. Lying does, too. But for me, it was small price to pay. And one, like my surgery, that insurance won’t cover. But don’t get me started on that.

Three Weeks and Counting

Today marks 21 days since my surgery. Three whole weeks! Pretty cool.

I had a little freak out moment yesterday night when I realized I’d accidentally been using medicated bandaids over my nipples rather than regular ones. But, I emailed photos to Dr. Garramone and he didn’t seem concerned. In fact, he told me I no longer have to put medicated Xeroform gauze over my nipples each morning. I can just cover them with Neosporin and bandages until the center heals completely. That means one less step in my post-shower routine. And one step closer to getting back to my normal pre-surgery life.

As for the blood clot in my calf, I’ve been on blood thinners for the past six days (hence the ten tiny bruises around my midsection thanks to the injections). The calf pain is pretty much gone so I know the clot is disappearing along with it. But, I’ll have to be on oral blood thinners for at least three months, just to make sure no clots re-form. Sigh.

In the meantime, here’s a pic of how things are looking right now.