Yesterday, my good friend, R, reminded me softly to be patient. There’s an issue for me between taking testosterone and having stage three chronic kidney disease. They don’t mix. Part of me is moving quickly and didn’t look at facts from day one. At the beginning of this journey I was convinced I wanted no part of either testosterone or top surgery. In ten months, all that has changed. All of it.
In denial still, I tell myself on the twenty-third of this month, my PA-C will prescribe low dose T in gel form and I’ll be fine. Just a squirt here and there and my sanity will return, as though it were ever there in the first place. This will match that. Gratefully I’ll endure the puberty of a fourteen year old boy and get on with life each step closer to top surgery. It’s all a process; no magic here.
So it goes. No one has said I can’t have T. But, I had to Google things and slipped into the deepest depression I’ve felt in eight years. Called in the troops. Besides G, there are several non-biological family members, therapists and friends with whom I’d shared the good news (following the January twenty-seventh appointment) where I’d learned T would be an option. They all came forward with hugs and love.
Disappointment doesn’t come easily. Of all my years in a twelve step program it took nearly half those years to learn to live a day at a time. Some don’t get it; I thought I’d be one of those people. I’m grateful, humble, etc., and honestly mean it. My bottom was bare bones; not just scary but creepy. There’s talk around the rooms of losing family and cars and homes. And minds. I was a fucked up person and won’t go into details.
Back in the world, on track, having the tools to perform, exist, subside, I want to live. Inside, I’m who I am with or without physical changes I didn’t know I’d want or need. It’s up to me to garner as much strength as possible, with as many avenues open, to push like I were weight training or skiing down a mountain. Perhaps begin on a bunny slope and take it from there.