I'm still here...

Six months have passed since I posted last... yes, I'm still alive and amazingly, I'm doing quite well!


I went through 15 radiation treatments (15 days straight) and 6 full rounds of chemotherapy (3 days, every 3 weeks, six times) and my last MRI and PET/CT scans showed no signs of cancer. Come October I will have another set of scans, then every six months after that (assuming all is well).

I was as bald as a billiard ball, but a tiny bit of hair is starting to come back now. In 6 months I should know how much will come back (keep your fingers crossed!).

I'm feeling pretty good; my strength and appetite are almost back to normal. Nickie and I bought a motorscooter, a 150cc Lance Venice, and I ride it to work most days. Nickie and I are still together, and our relationship has only gotten stronger through all this. I am truly blessed.

I'm posting to let everyone know that I've gotten your messages, and they've made a huge difference. The support I've gotten from my friends, my family, and a whole lot of people I don't even know have affected me deeply; you can't imagine how much it helps when you're starting to feel sorry for yourself, or doubt that you can keep going.

Thanks to you all. In a very real sense, you've saved my life.

What a long strange trip it's been... Part 1

Part I - The Saga Begins
Once again, it's been a long, long time since my last post. This time I have a pretty good excuse, though.

I apologize to those I should have been in touch with about all this, but to be honest, it's all been pretty overwhelming. I've been out of the hospital for just over a week now, and I'm just now getting around to posting this.

This is just part 1; I'll be posting part 2 as soon as I manage to get it written, which most of you know can be just short of an eternity. Anyway, here's part 1.

In early December I noticed a lump about the size of a large peanut in the center of my left breast. It had never been there before. About the same time I began having bad pain in the right side of my neck and back, and a numbness along the right edge of my forearm and hand. I soon noticed a fairly large knot (about the size of a gumball) on the right side of the base of my neck. Within a few days, the lump in my breast had increased to the size of a gumball as well. I made an appointment with Dr. Rodwick for December 27.

By the time of my appointment, the knot on my neck had become a cluster of two or three knots, and the lump in my breast had grown to about 2 inches in diameter and nearly an inch thick. It sat flat under the nipple, atop the rest of the breast. Dr. Rodwick immediately made an appointment with the imaging center at St. Anthony's for an ultrasound of the neck mass, a chest X-ray (because I hadn't had one in a zillion years), and a mammogram. I was lucky to get all three scheduled for the same day. (I don't have any schedule in front of me, so all the dates that follow are the products of my frequently-faulty memory.) I think the appointment was for January 17.

Well, I screwed up the time and showed up some 2 hours late, so they were only able to do the sonogram and the chest x-ray. I had to return January 24 for the mammogram. The mammogram showed pretty much the same thing as you could feel, a big mass sitting on top of the breast. The mammogram person decided I needed a sonogram of the thing as well, so I went to a nearby room and a sonogram was done. A doctor from the breast center came in and, looking at the mammogram and the sonograms of the breast and neck, said it was obvious both were enlarged lymph nodes, but that that didn't really tell us anything; the question was: why are they enlarged? She ordered a needle biopsy for January 30.

I was back on the 30th, and the biopsy was quick and nearly painless. The worst part was the shot of novocaine to deaden things. I was told that it was slightly possible the lab would have the result the next day, Friday the 31, but if not it would be the following Monday.

Of course it was the following Monday, February 4. Dr. Rodwick called me about 10 am and told me the results were back, and that the lumps were both lung cancer.

Lung cancer? In my neck and breast?

Yes, apparently I had somewhat advanced lung cancer which had spread to my left breast and the right side of my neck. He gave me the number of Gulf Coast Oncology Associates, also in St. Anthony's, and told me to contact Dr. Michael Diaz. I thanked him for letting me know so quickly, and hung up in a bit of a daze.

It was a special sort of kick in the head that it had been one year, almost to the day, since I quit smoking. I immediately called and made an appointment with Dr. Diaz for Wednesday, Feb. 6.

Michael Diaz impressed me immediately. He seemed completely confident in his knowledge and abilities, without being arrogant and overbearing. He really listened to my questions and concerns, and actually attempted to answer them as best he could rather than sweep them away with platitudes.

I asked him straight out at that first meeting if he would be able to treat a pre-op trans woman the same as he would any genetic female. His response went beyond just being reassuring, convincing me that the only way in which he would treat me differently would be in anything directly involving questions of genitalia (for example, the thought of cells spreading to the testes). He later proved this to me by placing me in a room in the "Women's Unit" when there was no room available in the oncology block.

All questions answered, he made appointments the next day for blood tests at 9:30 am, an MRI at 12:30 pm, and a PET/CT scan at 2:30 pm. Unfortunately, the MRI at St. Anthony's wasn't available that day, so I had to drive to another St. Anthony's facility in the Carillon center, then back downtown for the PET/CT scan. Amazingly, I made all three appointments.

Near the end of PET/CT scan, after which I was supposed to go home, the scan operator got a phone call from Dr. Diaz, telling her to leave the IV in place in my arm when we were done and to send me up to his office.

I duly rode the elevator up and he sat me down in the now-empty offices. He explained that one of the things small-cell lung cancer cells do is secrete a hormone which basically causes the body to dump sodium and retain water (it's a lot more complicated than that, but that's sort of the net result). This causes your body's sodium levels to plummet, and this is not a good thing.

He had already gotten my blood test results back, and the sodium level had immediately jumped out at him. If he didn't know that I had walked into the office for the test, he would have thought I was lying in a coma somewhere near death.

Normal levels are from about 135 to 145. Mine was 108. This is apparently considered life-threatening; the only reason I was even standing was that the drop had occurred slowly enough, over a long period of time, for my body to adjust somewhat to the low levels. Anyway, he said he was admitting me to the hospital right then and there. I said I would go home and pick up Nickie and a few things, and he said no, I'm walking you through the emergency room right now.

Luckily, a friend of ours was visiting when I called home and was able to give Nickie a ride down to the hospital to see me and pick up her car. By the time she got here, they were about ready to take me to a bed in the ER. Dr. Diaz actually wanted to get me into the Intensive Care Unit, but there were no ICU beds available yet. I spent Thursday night in the ER.

End of Part I.
More to come in Part II.

Day of Remembrance

Monday, November 19 at 7:00 pm, my church (Unity Church of Clearwater) is holding a special service in observance of the 9th annual Transgender Day of Remembrance. Speakers will include:

• Ms. Susan Stanton, Transgender Advocate and Spokesperson and former City Manager of Largo


• Rev. Leddy Hammock and Ms. Sue Riley, Unity Church of Clearwater


• Revs. Abhi Janamanchi & Millie Rochester, Unitarian Universalists of Clearwater


• Rabbi Stephen Moch, Congregation B’nai Emmunah, Tarpon Springs


• Rev. Anton DeWet, Faith United Church of Christ, Clearwater


• Rev. Susan Sherwood, Good Samaritan Church, Pinellas Park


• Mr. Brian Winfield, Equality Florida


• Ms. Faith Rivera, Emmy award-winning musician

My partner Nickie and I will be ushers at the event; we hope to see you there. Unity is loacated at 2465 Nursery Rd. in Clearwater.

From Gender.org:

"The Transgender Day of Remembrance was set aside to memorialize those who were killed due to anti-transgender hatred or prejudice. The event is held in November to honor Rita Hester, whose murder on November 28th, 1998 kicked off the 'Remembering Our Dead' web project and a San Francisco candlelight vigil in 1999.

"Rita Hester’s murder, like most anti-transgender murder cases, has yet to be solved.

"We live in times more sensitive than ever to hatred-based violence. Yet even now, the deaths of those based on anti-transgender hatred or prejudice are largely ignored. Over the last decade, more than one person per month has died due to transgender-based hate or prejudice, regardless of any other factors in their lives. This trend shows no sign of abating.

"The Transgender Day of Remembrance serves several purposes. It raises public awareness of hate crimes against transgendered people, an action that current media doesn’t perform. Day of Remembrance publicly mourns and honors the lives of our brothers and sisters who might otherwise be forgotten. Through the vigil, we express love and respect for our people in the face of national indifference and hatred. Day of Remembrance reminds non-transgendered people that we are their sons, daughters, parents, friends and lovers. Day of Remembrance gives our allies a chance to step forward with us and stand in vigil, memorializing those of us who’ve died by anti-transgender violence."

The Name Game

Well, it's finally official.

On March 28 I filed for my legal name change. It had taken a while to save the money, and a bit longer to obtain and fill out the forms (including the full address of every place I'd ever lived, and I've had more residences than some people have had pants). I was fingerprinted and sworn, paid my money, and sat back to wait... and wait... and wait.

I was told it would probably take about 6 weeks. Other people I knew had theirs in about that time, and one famous person I knew had hers (with the help of an attorney) in a few days. So when it reached 8 weeks and I hadn't heard anything, I tried calling the "Pro Se" number at the courthouse.

The Pro Se number is the number that puts you in touch with the one underpaid overworked person at the courthouse who deals with people who are handling their own cases. "Pro Se" is Latin for "poor schlub who can't afford a lawyer to take care of all this crap for her".

After a week of trying during breaks and lunch hours, I finally got through to this seemingly mythical person and gave her my case number. She put me on hold for several minutes, then came back to announce, "Oh, I'm sorry, hun... apparently no one bothered to take your files up to the Judges' offices. I'll send it today. Check back in 6 weeks or so."

About 3 weeks later, my hopes were raised by an official letter from the Court. Those hopes lasted just as long as it took to open and read it:

"Hello! The form you filled out for your change of name was outdated. You will need to provide us with the following additional information..."

Another letter was sent and the waiting process began anew. Another seven weeks passed, and still nothing. After a few days of fruitless dialing, I reached the Pro Se lady again. "Hold on a minute while I check on that, hun..." A Muzak version of Sweet Child of Mine plays over the phone... "Hi again. Well, you're not going to believe this... no one sent your added information up to the Judges! I'll make sure it goes today. Check back in a few weeks, hun... don't wait so long this time!"

Some 30 minutes later the steam stopped shooting from my ears.

Several weeks passed, and I decided to take the lady's advice and call sooner. I tried 3 times that Wednesday, and never got through. I resolved to try again the next day.

I had long ago developed a habit of holding my breath as I opened the mailbox in front of my porch. This day was like every other, except that this time there was another letter from the Court. It seemed too light to be the final judgment; I assumed there was yet another piece of information they needed, or that I was being summoned to appear in court. I ripped it open.

"ORDERED that the Petitioner's present name... is changed to ANN ELIZABETH SKINNER, by which Petitioner shall hereafter be known."

My reaction surprised me... I had thought that I would be jumping up and down, laughing and shouting for everything I'm worth. Instead, I immediately teared up.

I felt an immense sense of relief. It was as if I were a contestant on "Who Wants to be a Millionaire" and I'd just passed one of those levels where even if I missed the next question, I at least had this much. No matter what else happens, they can't take this away from me. One of my worst nightmares (which I wrote about a year ago) can't happen now.

I'm finally me.

Lousy Terms

I hate the term "transgender".

While it may have been created to describe a very specific group of people, it is today used as an umbrella term encompassing practically everyone whose gender identity or expression does not match societal norms. Transsexuals, crossdressers, transvestites, drag queens, genderqueer persons, intersexed people... all are considered "transgendered" whether they believe that term should apply to them or not.

So what's the big deal? Why is this a problem? Because people consider things that we lump together under one name to be the same thing.

Consider the term "rock". Unless you're a geologist, you probably think of all rocks as being pretty much the same thing. You don't care (even if you are aware) that some are metamorphic, some igneous, others sedimentary. It doesn't matter to you that some had their origins deep in the earth and others at the bottom of the ocean. Even the difference between pebble, stone and boulder seem relatively unimportant.

The same is true with people.

Someone hears that Susan Stanton, former city manager of Largo, is transgendered. One sees drag queens marching in the pride parade, under the banner of the "Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgendered" community. And one sees a couple of crossdressers teetering on spike heels walking into a 24 hour restaurant after bar closing time, and overhears them talking about being 'transgendered'.

Does one make distinctions between them? No. They are all transgendered persons and they are interchangeable.

So what does someone think of when he is asked to support an ordinance in his town extending employment and housing rights to the transgendered? Does he think of a quiet, hard-working transsexual who is in most ways no different from his neighbors? Or does he think of the outrageous drag queen, or of the towering crossdressers in fishnets and minis? And if he thinks of one of the latter, how sympathetic to the cause can he be expected to be?

There's nothing wrong with being a drag queen or a crossdresser, but they aren't like me and I'm not the same as them. Our motivations, feelings and needs are completely different. Sure, the term 'transgendered' is more convenient than having to learn about all these different people; it's a nicer word in some ways than 'crossdresser' or 'transsexual'. But lumping us all together under one name is just plain wrong.

I'm baack...

Yeah, okay, I know... it's been more than 4 months since I've updated this blog. My only excuse is that things have been hectic, moving faster than my ability to write about them... sometimes even faster than my ability to understand them!

To pick up more or less where I left off:

Nickie and I are still together, our relationship even stronger than when I wrote about it in December. She has given up her cute little apartment and moved into Chaos Central with me (proof in itself that she's either nuts about me or just plain nuts). We are partners in every way, planning our future together and pooling our resources and our liabilities. It continues to be the best relationship I've ever had, and I am allowing myself to believe that it might actually last. It just feels right.

It has now been 6 months since I went to work as myself; everyone at the office seems pretty used to it all now, and any initial awkwardness is gone. The only downside has been having to get up earlier to get ready for work and having to spend more money on decent work outfits. That's okay, I'll deal with it!

You may have heard about Steve (Susan) Stanton, the Largo city manager who was fired after announcing his intention to transition. We have the same therapist, and I have met him a few times. I became pretty involved in the politics that came out of it, taking part in a support rally and speaking in his support at the final hearing for his job.

As you probably know, he lost his appeal, but there may be a larger win to come out of the whole affair. He has announced his plans to work educating the public about transgender issues, and the whole atmosphere of political activism that came about has inspired a group of us to push for a county-wide human rights ordinance including employment and housing protections in matters of gender identity and expression.

Let's see, what else... well, I filed my legal change of name about a month ago, and I'm hoping that comes through in the next few weeks. Once it does I can get my license and my social security card changed and I can stop being that guy completely. I've already decided that when that happens, I'm throwing a wake.

Well, I guess that's it for now. I'll try to write more regularly in the future; I already have a few ideas of things I want to write about, and I'll do a better job of keeping up with changes.

It's funny... now that I'm becoming the person I was meant to be, I'm finding that I actually have a life!

Nickie

Well, once again I've gone way too long without making an entry here. There is all sorts of news to report, but I'm going to leave most of it for another time because there is one event in my life that eclipses everything else.

When I began transition, I had no idea where I would end up physically, sexually or emotionally. I only knew what I had to do, and that wherever I landed would be a better place than that in which I had spent my life up to that time.

Physically, I have gone through changes that have amazed me. They came much faster and have been much more pronounced than I ever expected, and I am quite happy with the results so far.

Sexually, I went through changes just as dramatic, discovering things about myself I never expected. It's come to the point where "orientation" is meaningless, as attraction now depends entirely on the individual.

Emotionally I thought I had achieved a state of contentment; I was generally happy with my life, despite the fact that I was pretty sure that I would spend most of it alone. That was okay; I had spent most of my life that way, and had learned how to deal with it. I knew that any relationships I had would be temporary ones; the odds of my meeting someone who would want to be with me publicly, meeting the family, hanging out with friends, were slim and none.

And then the most amazing thing happened: I met Nickie.

Neither of us was looking for someone; we just became friends, talking on the phone and via email, and occasionally going out to lunch or something. But slowly, something was beginning to happen.

I was surprised right from the beginning to find that I was intensely attracted to her, but didn't think that anything would come of it. At most, it would be a casual sort of a thing, getting together when we could, and when nothing else was going on. But things began to change. We enjoyed every moment together, and talked about things I never expected to talk about with anyone. The fact that we are both TS just made the relationship stronger, giving each of us an understanding of the other that it's doubtful anyone else could have. Before either of us fully realized what was going on, the L-word was being used, at first tentatively, then with more and more confidence and conviction.

Now we spend every available moment together, and we both seem to want the same thing: to spend the rest of our lives together.

I continue to be the luckiest woman alive.

No more hiding

Possibly the biggest milestone of my transition so far occurred this past week. Not only was I not expecting it to happen when it did, but it happened in a way I never expected.

Thursday the 12th I was at work when one of the owners came in and was obviously angry. A personal project I had worked on for him was screwed up; he thought he had communicated that it had to be 12 feet long, while I was under the impression that it was 15 feet. It was unusable as it was, and had to be re-done and reprinted. He went off on me rather badly and, I thought, undeservedly. I had done a perfect job with the information I thought was correct.

I reworked it, and took the disk into his office. I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn't appreciate the way he had treated me, and it soon turned into a shouting match ending with him telling me to get out. As I left, it hit me: I was unemployed, but that meant that I no longer had to go to work as a guy! I knew before I even got out the door that wherever I went to work next, it would be as Annie.

I spent Friday and the weekend updating my resume and sending in job applications. I had to find something else, and soon. Through it all, however, there was a giddy elation: I was finally me! I may have been out of work, but it was me that was out of work!

Monday morning as I was about to leave to put in more applications, the phone rang. It was my direct supervisor, and she wanted to see if I would come in and talk about the possibility of coming back to work.

I agreed, and after calling my counselor for her advice, I decided on a course of action. I would explain to them that there were three things I would need to come back to work: an understanding that there wouldn't be a repeat of the incident that set me off in the first place, a significant raise, and that I would work as Annie. You have to remember that they knew nothing of my transition. They knew I was changing, and a bit odd, but they didn't know why.

I walked in after lunchtime, and we all sat down to discuss it. I talked about the incident, my need for more money, and then I dropped the bombshell. I explained my whole situation: my GID, the therapy I was undergoing, the fact that I had been Annie outside of work for months, all of it. I was in tears by the time I was done, but I made it clear that if I were to come back, it would be as Annie, not the guy they had known.

I expected that they would need time to think it over and discuss it, but to my surprise one of the owners looked around the table and said, "I think I can say right now that we don't have a problem with any of that." As you can well imagine, the tears came even stronger now.

We talked about things for a few more minutes, then I left with my feet about eighteen inches off the ground. The next morning, the 17th, I showed up for work as myself for the first time.

Everyone was wonderful. I was welcomed back, with a couple of people coming up to me and telling me they thought it was great that I was doing this, and one made a point of telling me that she knew of no one at the company who had any problem with it. Everyone seems to be trying hard to get used to using the new name and the correct pronouns. And the company has gained a fiercely loyal employee.

Looking back on the whole situation, I realize that it went just as the rest of my transition has; despite my trepidations and fears for the worst, I have yet to experience a bad reaction! Knowing the horrors that others have gone through and are still going through just makes me appreciate even more just how incredibly lucky I have been.

Goodbye, Ann

Former Texas governor Ann Richards died Wednesday after a long battle against esophageal cancer. Thousands of people lined up Saturday and Sunday to pay their respects as she lay in state in the Texas capitol. I couldn't be among them, so I want to pay my respects here.

I met her very briefly in 1983, shortly after she had become the Texas state treasurer, the first woman to be elected to statewide office in 50 years. Even in that short meeting, she struck me as a most unusual politician, one who was willing to talk straight and tell the truth, whatever that might be. She was also one of the warmest, funniest, and friendliest people I have ever met.

I watched her over the years as she rose in Texas politics, never compromising the values that made her who she was. Molly Ivins related this story in her column of September 15:

At a long-ago political do at Scholz Garten in Austin, everybody who was anybody was there, meet-in' and greetin' at a furious pace. A group of us got the tired feet and went to lean our rears against a table at the back wall of the bar. Perched like birds in a row were Bob Bullock, then state comptroller; moi; Charles Miles, the head of Bullock's personnel department; and Ms. Ann Richards.

Bullock, with 20 years in Texas politics, knew every sorry, no-good sonofagun in the entire state. Some old racist judge from East Texas came up to him: "Bob, my boy, how are you?"

Bullock said: "Judge, I'd like you to meet my friends. This is Molly Ivins with the Texas Observer."

The judge peered up at me and said, "How yew, little lady?"

Bullock: "And this is Charles Miles, the head of my personnel department."

Miles, who is black, stuck out his hand, and the judge got an expression on his face as though he had just stepped into a fresh cowpie. He reached out and touched Charlie's palm with one finger while turning eagerly to the pretty, blond, blue-eyed Ann. "And who is this lovely lady?"

Ann beamed and replied, "I am Mrs. Miles."

In her keynote speech at the 1988 Democratic National Convention, Richards said:

You know, tonight I feel a little like I did when I played basketball in the 8th grade. I thought I looked real cute in my uniform. And then I heard a boy yell from the bleachers, "Make that basket, Birdlegs." And my greatest fear is that same guy is somewhere out there in the audience tonight, and he's going to cut me down to size, because where I grew up there really wasn’t much tolerance for self-importance, people who put on airs.

That's the kind of person she was.

As governor of Texas, she opened the doors of government to women and minorities. As President Clinton said in his eulogy at the Capitol, without her it would have been extremely unlikely that the honor guard of state troopers who escorted her into the capitol would have been led by "a woman in a cowboy hat".

Clinton went on to say that Richards "really believed we could make a world where everyone could be a winner ... where young girls grew up to be scientists, engineers, police officers and politicians, where people, without regard to color, condition or orientation were treated as God's children, where the dreams and the spirit were as big as the sky in her beloved home."

She made a difference in the world, and that's as much as anyone can hope for. She will be missed.


Molly Ivins' column can be read at http://www.dfw.com/mld/startelegram/news/columnists/molly_ivins/

The full text and audio of Richards' 1988 keynote speech is available at http://www.americanrhetoric.com/speeches/annrichards1988dnc.htm

The family requests that memorial gifts be made to the Ann Richards School for Young Women Leaders through the Austin Community Foundation, P.O. Box 5159, Austin, Texas 78763, 512-472-4483, or by e-mail: austincommunityfoundation.org.

Stop acting like a guy, part I

For some reason I've recently had a lot of girls ask me online for help and advice on how to "act like a woman". They are self conscious about the way they stand, sit, walk, and so on, and are anxious for any tips I can give them.
I don't take this to mean that I'm some sort of expert, or that I'm really really passable, or anything of the sort. Indeed, most of them have never even seen me in person, so they have no idea if I'm any good at it! I think the reason thay ask me is that I'm pretty open and willing to talk to people, and they're desperate for some decent source of information.
With that in mind, I've put together this seeries of essays. It's a combination of things I've observed myself, things I've been told by others, and things I've dug up on the net. If anyone has anything they feel needs to be added, or if something seems wrong and needs to be changed, let me know.

I think the single most important thing you need to know is that the whole idea of "acting like a woman" is the wrong approach to take. If you act like a woman, you will come across as a man acting like a woman!

I think a much better approach is simply to stop acting like a man.

Those of us who grew up knowing we were really women with the wrong parts were born with all the instincts and feelings to "act" like a woman naturally; the problem is that we learned to supress those instincts and act like guys so we could get along in society. From the words we use to the way we sit, there's an awful lot to un-learn, and the best way to do it is to watch other people.

Let's start with walking. I was surprised to discover that I could immediately tell the gender of a person walking toward me on the street even a full block away, without any cues from hair or clothing style. Guys walk as if they're walking through dangerous territory in a hurry. They lean forward slightly with fists closed, and keep their feet well apart and angled out. The knees are slightly bent. Their arms are somewhat out to the sides, as if always ready to fend off an attacker.

Women, on the other hand, walk with their feet much closer together and pointed straight forward. To accomplish this without twisting their legs in the sockets, their hips rotate back and forth, each side moving forward as the leg swings forward. They lean back slightly, back arched, and take smaller steps with the legs extended. One arm is usually holding onto the strap of a purse, and the other is either crossed in front of the body to hold the purse too, or swingling freely at the side. The hands are open. The elbows are kept close to the body. Most of their weight is on the balls of the feet.

One of the best tricks for getting used to walking like this is to imagine you're wearing a tight knee-length skirt that won't let you take big steps or move your legs too far apart.

Even standing in one place there are big differences. The biggest is that men tend to stand with their weight equally on both feet, feet spaced well apart, and their arms are often crossed. This position makes me think of a London policeman, saying "What's all this, then?"

A woman will tend to stand with her weight on one foot, the other either pointing out to one side or tucked in behind the other. The hip that the weight is on will be thrust out to one side. The arms never both hang at the sides, at least one hand is kept at waist level or above, and the hands are kept open. A woman will hardly ever lean against a wall or lightpost.

Sitting is another big deal. The thing to remember here is that a woman is used to wearing a dress or skirt, and will never sit with her knees spread far apart. In contrast, men seem to want to display their crotches for all the world to see! They will slouch back in a chair, legs spread, and feel perfectly comfortable doing so.

Sitting with your knees together can be difficult for some; crossing the legs at the knee can be nearly impossible if you have very muscular (or fat!) thighs. It may be easier if you keep your back straight, or even lean forward slightly. Experimenting with the exact placement of the foot on the ground can help, too. The alternative is crossing the legs at the ankles; if your knees tend to come apart in this position, try moving the feet well to one side or the other. Keep your hands in your lap and your elbows close to your body.

And don't forget to sit up straight!

To be continued...

As Time Goes By

This weekend marks the first anniversary of the defining moment in my current life; it was one year ago that I made the decision to transition.



As i've written before, it was in the first part of last year that it slowly began to dawn on me that transition was actually possible. By summer I was figuring out who I was and was going to be. In mid August I got up the nerve to venture out in public for the first time.

Being myself, and being accepted as myself by other people, was an amazing, intoxicating experience. For the first time in my life I felt free of all pretense, able to do and say what I felt.

People who have never been through it can't even imagine what it's like spending your whole life being someone you're not. The sense of relief at no longer having to hide inside another persona was one of the strongest emotions I've ever felt; each evening the muscles of my face would ache from the huge grin I was wearing.

After two weekends of going to the club, stopping into a restaurant on the way home, buying things at a convenience store, and all the other little things that others take for granted as normal life, I knew I had to transition; I had to finally be true to myself.

That was been exactly one year ago. In the wee hours of Monday morning, I emailed for a therapist's appointment. I had begun my journey. (For those who are unfamiliar with the process: three months of counseling are required before being allowed to begin hormone therapy. I began in December.)

Thinking back to that weekend a year ago, I reallize that it was a lot like stepping off a cliff. You take the leap, trusting that you've made the right decision. Changes happen slowly at first, but gravity has its way and the pace accelerates. Transition takes on a momentum of its own, almost beyond your control, and the best thing you can do is to just hang on and enjoy the ride.

A year ago I couldn't have imagined that I'd be where I am now. My body has changed in major ways. My feelings and wants and needs and emotions are so different. I'm tantalizingly close to living full-time, being out to everyone I know except my employers. And my face still aches sometimes from smiling.

I'm not even going to try to guess what the next year will bring.

Memories

Weird, the things I have to remember. That's what I was thinking the other day as I sat at the bus stop.

There's a woman I often see there, and we have gotten to the point where we talk like old friends. Work, makeup, television... we cover the range. This particular day she mentioned that her son was coming over for dinner, and I told her that my son is planning on visiting next month. She asked, "Where does he live?", and I almost blurted out, "Oh, he lives with his mom in Nashville!"

I caught myself just in time, but it's just one example of the things I have to keep constantly in mind.

My memory is filled with experiences it would be awkward to talk about. School, marriage, past jobs... no matter what the subject, I have to constantly filter what I say unless I want to get into a long explanation of my situation.

It's funny, though... more and more, those memories seem the memories of someone else, almost like scenes from a movie you saw long ago. New memories are crowding them out, pushing them into the shadows.

I had an odd experience a while back. I was organizing files on my computer's hard drive, and came across a folder full of old pictures of myself. As I went through them, it hit me... I don't know this person! I remember the face, but it's inconceivable that it was ever mine.

Today I had an even odder experience. I was thinking of elementary school, and it hit me that I remembered myself as Annie. All the experiences were there: playing at recess, doing a magic trick for show & tell, watching a movie in the cafeteria; yet they were the experiences of a little girl with bushy hair and too-long legs. I was seeing things through the eyes of the person that had been there all along, buried deep inside, but still there.

Maybe before long I won't have to filter my memories any more.

Z109

Well, it's the end of an era. Z109 is closed.



The owners, Amber and Sally, built a TG-friendly night club that became known all over the country. If you were in a chat room and it came up that you lived in or near Clearwater, Florida, someone was sure to ask, "Oh! Do you go to Z109?"

Despite its fame and its reputation, however, it never made any money. The place was just too big and too expensive to operate. One can imagine that Amber and Sally were ready for more than a few hours off, a chance to travel, and some time without the pressures and headaches of running a club for three years. They got an offer to sell, and they took it.

That's right, three years. In fact, Saturday August 12 was supposed to be the 3rd anniversary party; instead, it became a time to say goodbye. It was the biggest crowd I'd ever seen there, perhaps the biggest crowd they ever had. Everywhere, the topic of conversation was the same: "I can't believe this is it... that it's really closing."

What was it about the place that made it the place for TG people to go?

Sunday afternoon, a lot of long-time regulars and friends gathered in the upstairs bar for chips and hot dogs and dollar drinks, and to say goodbye and thanks. Just before it was time to leave, I had to visit the ladies' room. As I walked through the empty main club, I thought back to the first time I had gone there.

It was my first time ever out in public; I was scared to death, and sat in the car for a long time before getting up the nerve to go in. As soon as I walked in, the folks at the door said, "Hi, hon! How are you tonight?" No funny looks, no eyeing me up and down, just complete acceptance of who I was. And that feeling never changed. Mitch and Alicia, the rest of the bar staff, the door people, and Amber and Sally themselves made everyone who walked in the place feel welcome, safe, and accepted. For a lot of the people who went there, it was the only acceptance they knew. As I stood there looking at the empty dance floor, I realized that that is what made it so special. Without the people, it's just another (somewhat tacky) gay bar.

As of this writing, the Z's website is still up, frozen exactly as it was that last week. All the photos from the years past are still there. It's a little spooky to look at them now.

The new owner has said that it will reopen in a few weeks after remodeling as the Viper Room, and that he wants the same crowd to come back. Whether that will happen remains to be seen, but whatever happens it won't be the same place.

If I get a little choked up writng about it and ramble a bit, you'll just have to indulge me. After that first night, I spent the better part of two weekends there. Being out, being accepted as me was such a revelation, and felt so right, that the next week I made an appointment for counseling, with the aim of beginning transition. And I haven't looked back since.

Thanks Sally, Amber, Mitch, Alicia, and everyone else who made it a home for a lot of otherwise homeless people.

Top Ten List II

Top Ten Really Nice Things About Being A Transsexual




10: No more pretending to be interested in football, baseball, basketball, hockey or NASCAR.

9: After spending thousands on hair removal, you can save a fortune on razor blades.

8: You're probably tall enough to see over the heads of the crowd at the Liz Phair concert.

7: One word: Pedicure!

6: No more performance anxiety.

5: Walking in heels isn't really as hard as everyone says.

4: Spending hours working on your voice keeps you from wasting time and money on frivolous things like books and movies.

3: When you gain weight, it all goes to your hips.

2: Guys no longer try to crush the bones of your hand when you're introduced.

1: Being called "ma'am".

Top Ten List

The Top Ten Things That Really Suck About Being A Transsexual:



10: It's hard finding really pretty shoes in a size 13.

9: People who knew you before transition can never forget who you used to be.

8: Sitting down talking with other women, there are things they've all been through that you have no memories of and will never be able to share with them: getting pregnant, having your first period, being a boy-crazy adolescent, and so many others.

7: Worrying that some crazy will attack you for using the "wrong" restroom.

6: You'll spend the rest of your life taking estrogen and progesterone and worrying if they'll cause breast cancer.

5: Fearing that a right-wing Christian politico will manage to make everything you've dreamt of and planned for illegal.

4: You never know if you're really "passing" in public places, or if people are just being polite.

3: You can only dance with that small fraction of men who are taller than you.

2: Not being able to say, "When I was a little girl..."

1: I'm never going to meet a guy who's going to take me home to meet his mother or his kids. It sounds silly, but it hurts.

The rotten stuff

Last week I said that I would "write about all the rotten stuff later". Well, it's later.

I've been putting it off because, to be perfectly honest, I don't like crying. I'm getting better about it; I 'm not ashamed of it any more, but I still don't like it. And I know that I'll do plenty of it before this is written.

In most ways, I've been really lucky. My friends and family have been wonderfully supportive, I'm establishing a small group of new friends who have only known me as Annie, and all my experiences in public have been positive ones. But there's one thing that keeps it all from being what it should be, getting in the way and frustrating me at every turn. Money.

Up to now, everything I've done has been relatively inexpensive. Thrift store clothes, makeup from WalMart, and shoes from eBay. A wonderful counselor who works on a sliding scale and charges me whatever I can afford that day. Sometimes that's been nothing.

I've managed to handle paying for hormones, and the cost of the support groups I go to are underwritten by a local organization. I've managed without the expenses of a car, taking the bus wherever I need to go or occasionally calling on friends for rides. I've even done a website tradeout to get my laser hair removal free.

But now I've hit a wall.

I've done just about all I can without a major expenditure of money. All the stuff that's left is incredibly expensive, at least from my perspective. Full Facial Feminization Surgery can cost over $40,000. Even just a nose job and brow lift (both of which I desperately need) is over $6000. Breast implants can add another $5000. And Sexual Reassignment Surgery is over $20,000, even having it done in Thailand. It's more here in the States. Even a bilateral orchiectomy (better known as castration), so I don't have to take testosterone blockers forever, is in the neighborhood of $3000.

Any way I look at it, I need to spend a bare minimum of $30,000. Considering that my after-tax income this year is about $20,000 and my expenses are about $22,000, it's going to be a long time before I can go much farther. And I'm not getting any younger.

I desperately need a better job, but it's hard enough finding work at my age without the extra little complication of having to say, "Oh, yeah, by the way, That's not my legal name yet..." Sometimes it seems hopeless, that I'll be stuck spending the rest of my life in this weird in-between state, unable to go forward and ready to die before going backward.

But I have to have hope. I have to believe that somehow it will work out, that eventually the perfect job will come along, that everything will be okay. It's a matter of either having hope or stepping out in front of a truck.

I just hope it happens in time. I have an image that comes to me every so often that plunges me into the deepest, darkest despair. Sometimes it's a nightmare, other times simply a waking thought.

The image is one of me, many years from now, lying in a hospital bed. The end is near; there's not much time left. My hair has been cut, my makeup taken away, and the doctors and nurses all are calling me "mister" and "he". I try to plead with them, but my voice is too weak to make myself understood. My eyes close, but I can still hear them talking. "What was he trying to tell us?", one of the nurses asks.

The room fades away, and is replaced with an image of my tombstone, with my male name on it. The inscription reads, "He wanted more."

An Update

Okay, here it is: the much anticipated (yeah, right...) update!

Part of the reason I haven't written about what's been going on until now is that most of it has been more of the same: support groups, laser sessions, putting in job applications. There is one interesting development regarding my laser treatments; I'm building a new website for Laser Lovers (the salon I go to), and we've done a tradeout so that I get my sessions for free. That removes a big financial burden, which is a good thing as there have been no developments on the job front.

Website work may be my salvation in the long run; I'm getting a lot of inquiries, and I'm reworking the site for the AIDS PArtnership, Inc. It's strictly volunteer work, but it's a good group and it'll be good on my resume. And they're letting me put a link to my site on it. I met the people involved at a dinner they hold each month; everyone was really friendly and they seem to like what I'm doing so far.

Let's see, what else is going on? Oh, I have a car now... the only problem is that I can't drive it! It was given to me by a friend; her mother was getting a new one, and it was so old that she wouldn't have gotten anything for it in a trade-in. It's an '87 Pontiac.

The thing is, I still have a couple of old tickets on my license that I need to pay off, plus I have to get insurance, and there's a $100 fee to register a car from out of state, in addition to the regular registration and tag costs. It'll be a few more weeks before I can afford all that. In the meantime, It's visiting various friends' driveways, as my park manager (the jerk) won't let me park an untagged vehicle here.

I went to St. Pete Pride last month; it was an amazing event, with some 50,000 peeople attending. Apparently it's the largest Pride event in Florida.

I visited the various booths, hung out with friends, and watched the parade, accumulating a staggering amount of beads in the process. I ended up giving most of them away, keeping just enough to look good hanging from my rearview mirror and obstructing the view out the windshield.

The biggest development of all though is that this week marks the one year anniversary of the time it began to dawn on me that I could really do this. In a couple of weeks, it'll be one year since I first ventured out in public. Damn, I was nervous, but it felt so right that just a couple of weeks later I was emailing for a therapist's appointment to begin hormone therapy.

I guess you could say that my birthday is coming up!

I'm back

Okay, okay... once again, I've gone way too long without posting anything here. I'll do a regular update later, but for right now I want to talk about why I haven't been writing.

First, it's important to understand why I write in the first place. There are really a lot of reasons, of varying importance. I write so that my family & friends around the country can keep up with what's going on with me. I write to share things I've learned and experiences I've had with others who may be facing some of the same issues. Sometimes it's to help me understand something better myself; I've found that writing forces me to think about things and clarify issues in my own mind. Part of it is pure ego gratification; it's nice to think that there are people out there reading, and placing some value on what I'm saying.

And sometimes it's from sheer boredom, the lack of anything else to do.

As I was sitting down to write this, I thought the main reason for such a long lapse was the fact that I've actually been pretty busy. I'm working on a couple of websites, going to several support group meetings, and trying to do some new artwork. I also like going out on weekends, and when you consider that I'm away from home for 12 hours every weekday (2 hours to get to work, 8 1/2 hours at work, and an hour and a half to get home), there really isn't much time left.

But that's not the whole story. I have come to realize that the biggest part of why I wrote in the first place was that I had no life.

When you've lived (mumble mumble) years as I have, hiding your feelings and knowing that the "you" everyone knows is a fake, you don't feel much like getting out among people. And the fact that your few friends are married or in relationships and have lives of their own to live doesn't help matters. You find you'd rather do something at home by yourself anyway... like writing.

The name "Annie Social" was appropriate.

Over the last couple of months, though, as I've come to terms with who I am, I've found that I really like being around people! Imagine my shock and surprise... me, actually getting out and making friends and doing stuff.

I've gotten to know a few people that I can go out with, or just hang around and talk to. Rather than going out somewhere on my own, I can call and say, "Hey, whatcha doing tonight?" Last weekend I spent more than 4 hours with an ex-girlfriend, her aunt and two of her cousins just sitting around the kitchen table, talking about me and them and family and babies and clothes and... well, you get the idea. And there's even a guy I've gone out with a couple of times!

Things haven't been perfect; there have been depressing times, and plenty of obstacles thrown in my path. I'll write about all the rotten stuff later, but right now I'm not complaining.

I guess this is all my longwinded way of saying that the reason I haven't written is that I unexpectedly got a life, and I've been busy living it! Don't worry though; I'm still "Annie Social" enough to lock myself in and put pen to paper. Figuratively, anyway.

Isolation

An interesting question came up recently in a support group: Would you still find it necessary to go through physical transition if you were suddenly to be isolated forever on an island somewhere, never to be seen by another human being?

The point of the question was, of course, to get at how much we are transitioning for ourselves and how much to better fit into society. To me, though, it brought up a much more interesting question: Could I live in total isolation?

Prior to my realization that transition was actually possible, I would have answered yes without hesitation. I had always felt isolated anyway, never really a part of the world. At work, among friends, and even in relationships I had always kept a distance between myself and those around me. When you are pretending to be someone you're not, you can't let up for a moment; you're afraid to get too close to anyone for fear that your secret will slip out. It's as if you're an international spy or an undercover cop: one false move and your cover is blown.

Isolation was my friend. It was the only way I could relax and be myself. And then transition changed everything.

Suddenly I had nothing to hide. After all those years of hiding inside myself, the dam had burst and everything came pouring out. I told all my friends and family what I was doing, and found I actually enjoyed telling them and answering their questions. Online and in support groups I tried to pass along what I had learned about myself to anyone with a need or desire to know. Just talking to friends on the phone became a great joy. This was what had been missing all those years, being able to talk openly and honestly about my feelings, my fears and my desires. I had spent most of my life deprived of that most basic of human needs, the need to be close to someone, and I was making up for lost time.

Now living in that kind of isolation again is unthinkable. After experiencing what life is supposed to be, going back would kill me as surely as a bullet to the brain.

This just in...

It's been an awfully long time since I've posted anything here, so I've decided to do a little catching up and filling in. Nothing heavy today, just "here's what I've been up to" kind of stuff.

I had my third laser hair removal session a little over 3 weeks ago. The original plan was to alternate between the full face and just the goatee area, but my neck seemed to be more stubborn than my chin, so we did it and the upper lip. The neck didn't seem to be quite as sensitive as last time (thank God!), so the worst part was the lip again. My chin is just now starting to grow out a bit, and I think one more session might reduce it to nothing but white hairs that will be dealt with by electrolysis.

I've actually found one way in which my transition is saving me money: my razor blade costs are dropping to nothing!

This past weekend was a busy one, despite having no support groups or therapy sessions scheduled. It seemed I was doing something every minute! I visited friends in Sarasota Friday evening, worked on a new laptop for my friend Sandy on Saturday morning, went out to Z109 Saturday night, and saw the show at the Suncoast Resort Sunday night.

Z109 was packed on Saturday; a bunch of girls from all over the state (who know each other through Yahoo groups) had planned a big get-together there, and it seemed every last one of them showed up! It was nice meeting face-to-face with a lot of people I had only known online.

All in all it was a great weekend, with the only bad moment coming late Sunday night when I had to strip off my nail polish for work Monday morning. They can deal with the long nails, but I don't think it would be a good idea to show up with them painted red...

I'm just a little over a week from having been on HRT for six months. It's hard to believe it's been that long. My development shows no signs of slowing down; I just about fill a B-cup now, and the hips keep getting bigger and the waist smaller. My hair has gotten a lot thicker; I had it trimmed a couple of weeks ago, and I'm starting to go without my wig more and more. In another month or two, I may be able to do without it completely.

I've had no luck finding a new job yet. I've sent in several resumes, but haven't gotten any responses recently. I hope something comes up soon; it's getting harder and harder to hide who I am. I can't even imagine doing this for another 6 months!

I have done a bit more freelance work, and I'm trying to develop that further (hint hint).

I guess that's it for now; I promise my next post will be something profound and meaningful, or as close to it as I can manage.

Gender Identity?

What is gender identity? Is it an inborn set of values, feelings and attitudes? An articial construct, based on societal rules and expectations? It all comes down to the ancient question of nature vs. nurture. And the answer here, as in most things, is probably "both".

(Please note: there is a huge range of variation among individuals; the discussion below is intended to be an overview of general principles, not something to be applied blindly to everyone. It is my own interpretation, not intended to be definitive, but rather a basis for thought and discussion.)

Evolution has favored those who fit what we now consider to be stereotypically masculine or feminine traits. Natural selection is often misinterpreted as "survival of the fittest". In reality, the survival of the individual is not what is selected for; rather, it is the ability to pass ones genes along to another generation.

Historically, men who were good providers, with skills in hunting and/or gathering were seen by women as attractive potential mates, thus providing those men with more opportunities to pass along their genes. It was in the interest of men to impregnate as many women as possible, as often as possible, so as to increase the chances of the survival at least some of their offspring.

Women with strong maternal instincts were more likely to safeguard their children. Empathy for others helped create supportive communities. And the desire to settle with a single mate increased the chances that they and their offspring would continue to be provided for.

Thus the presence in people today of traits considered masculine or feminine (there were a number of physical attributes selected for as well, but these are irrelevant to this discussion).

These inborn traits provide the basis for what we now call "gender identity". How they manifest themselves in our day to day lives is colored by the society we live in.

Society tells us that men, the hunter/gatherer/providers, should be interested in sports and competition and things mechanical. Women, the mother/nurterer/caretakers, are supposed to be interested in the home and garden, spiritual matters, and taking care of their mate and children.

Occasionally a person is born who is physically of one sex, but whose gender identity is the opposite. Obviously there is a conflict between their identity and the role that society tells them they should take on, as defined by their physical sex. Some are devastated by the conflict, while others are able to adapt to the situation (with varying degrees of success). Any attempt by such a person to take on the role more appropriate to their gender identity is seen as unnatural, perhaps sinful, and threatening to society. Such people are often condemned and even vilified, and forced to either hide their feelings or become a part of a marginalized subculture. Those who are lucky enough to be able to pass as the sex they feel they are (either naturally or with the help of hormones and/or surgery) must do their best to hide their past and live day to day with the fear of being "outed".

One can only hope that in time society will evolve to accept and embrace these individuals, rather than marginalizing intelligent productive people because they don't fit a norm inherited from ancient times.

It'll be okay...

In one of the forums I frequent, a married crossdresser who recently "came out" to her family made a post saying that her wife is taking it badly, her son has no respect for her, and she is going to stop dressing and try to go back to the way things were before coming out, to try to save her marriage.

Aside from the obvious questions of whether it is possible to go back, this post raised another issue because she had been advised by other members of the forum to explain her feelings to her spouse.

All of us in this community want nothing but good things for the people we've come to know. Most of us know how important a few words of encouragement have been to us at critical moments, and we want to provide that same encouragement for others. But there is a danger.

We see someone going through all the pain and turmoil of wrestling with the decisions they have to make, and we want to tell them that it will be okay, that everything will work out. But we need to be careful; we need to remember that sometimes things aren't okay, and sometimes they don't work out.

We need to be realistic. The need to transition, or the need to come out to people close to us is so strong that it's easy to deceive ourselves; we read all the stories of wonderful, understanding spouses and friends, of passing when we never thought we would, and those stay in our minds. We don't remember the stories of divorce, recrimination, and being outed in public because that's not the way we want it to be for us. We become blind to the realities of our own situation.

If you're 6' 6", wear a size 15 shoe, and have a voice like James Earl Jones, you're going to have a tough time being out in public. If your father grew up in Lizard Beak Arkansas, watches Fox News, listens to Rush Limbaugh every day and doesn't care much for George Bush because he's not conservative enough, there's a good chance he's not going to accept your transition. If your wife has been with you for decades with never a hint that you were TG and you suddenly show up in an evening gown and 5" heels, she's going to have a hard time dealing with it and may not be able to deal with it at all.

So should we stop encouraging people? Of course not. Give them the kind words and reassurances, but point out the possibilities. Give them tips on how to make things go smoothly, but also give them tips on how to deal with the pain and rejection that may come.

I've been incredibly lucky so far, without a single bad experience. But I know that I've been lucky, and that my luck could run out at any time. Unfortunately, the reality is that there are a lot of people out there who either can't or won't understand who we are and what we're about, and feel threatened and even disgusted by us. We shouldn't be surprised when we meet them.

Breasts! (That'll get their attention...)

Like the rest of America, we are obsessed with breasts. Our obsession is a little different from most, though; our breasts can play a big part in our "passability".

Peoples' initial impressions of ones gender are based on a number of cues, of varying importance. A low voice, being tall, wearing pants, having large hands and feet, short hair, facial hair, and a flat chest and hips are all seen as male traits. Long hair, petite size, makeup, smaller features, skirts or dresses, high heels, and a curvy body are female traits. Most people show a mixtue of male and female cues, but the preponderance of one or the other is what determines our immediate impression of someone.

For example, Bea Arthur has a very low voice, but no one would take her as male. But if she were flat chested, had a crew cut, and wore jeans and a t-shirt and no makeup, that impression might change.

A young MTF transsexual, with a petite body, small features, and a flat chest can still pass as female fairly easily, even dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. An older transitioner, 6 feet tall, with big hands and craggy features, needs more help such as breasts, a skirt and heels, and makeup. More female cues are needed to outweigh the male ones, and breasts are a very strong cue.

We can't change our height or the size of our hands & feet, and modifying our facial features is extremely expensive. But breasts can be changed, with hormones, implants, or a few dollars worth of silicone rubber.

They're one of the few things we can change, so it should be no surprise that, to those of us that need them, they are a very big deal.

Position Still Wanted

As I mentioned in my post of April 16, Position wanted, I recently sent out a number of job applications as myself for the first time. One of them got a response, and an interview was arranged for Tuesday, April 25.

My first dilemma was whether to inform them of my TS status before the interview. I asked my therapist and a number of friends, and they all agreed: Don't tell them in advance. As one friend said, "Meet them first, and work your charm on them. Why give them a chance to reject you sight unseen?"

At the same time, I didn't want them to think I was trying to put one over on them. I decided to inform them of my situation early in the interview, whether it appeared that they had figured it out or not. I also printed up a one-page fact sheet about me, to attach to my resume. It was adapted from an example I found in the 'transitioning on the job' section of the Wiki on the Susan's Place website, with a lot of input from friends both online and otherwise.

One particularly valuable piece of advice was to emphasize the term 'diagnosis' when referring to my status. I took it a bit further and avoided the use of the word 'transsexual', as it is emotionally loaded for some. I also pointed out that, while asking them to jump through some hoops for me (pending name change, the restroom situation), I would undoubtedly be one of the most loyal employees they'd ever had!

Tuesday finally came, and despite being nervous as hell, I managed to dress and do my makeup and head off to the corporate headquarters.

No one gave me any funny looks, no one screamed, "That's a guy!" when I walked into the gigantic marble-lined reception area. The person interviewing me only seemed interested in me as a potential employee. We talked for quite a while about qualifications, experience, and people we both know in the industry; he never brought up the issue. When I finally did, telling him my legal name and explaining my situation briefly, he seemed legitimately sympathetic. I left with the impression that my gender really wouldn't be an issue; even after I brought it up, the questions were about salary issues and software perferences, not bathrooms and name changes.

As I walked out of the conference room, my interviewer was reading my information sheet. I felt good about it. I think I did everything right, and even if I didn't get the job, I felt that I got a fair hearing.

It was an amazing day.

I've been out in public before, but this was public. I was so encouraged by the whole experience that immediately after the interview, I went to the bank & cashed a check, then went shopping at Wally World. Not a single hassle or bad experience.

I'm not saying that I passed; I've said before that I don't believe I'll ever be 100% passable (is anyone really that confident?) I'm sure there was some whispering going on behind my back, and a few looks being passed back and forth, but I've always said that if I can leave people in enough doubt that no one says anything about it, I'd be happy. Well, I was happy!

Thus began a nerve-wracking 10 days. At the interview, it was mentioned that they hoped to have a decision by the middle of the next (this) week. Every day I anxiously checked phone messages and email.

Finally today the word came. I didn't get the job.

My guess is that they felt I was overqualified, and wouldn't be happy in the long run doing more production-oriented than creative work.

I'll just have to keep looking, but tonight I'm just going to curl up on the sofa with a spoon and a half-gallon of ice cream and do some serious self-consolation.

Does anyone know of any job openings?

What's in a name?

I've become fascinated by names recently. Most people are more or less stuck with whatever name their parents gave them at birth, but those of us who transition have the great luxury of choosing how we will be known to the world.

It's something that requires a lot of thought; names like Fantasia L'Amour and Amanda B. Reckondwit are fun, but they're probably not the sort of thing you want on your resume when you apply for that big corporate job. Please note: "Social" is not my real last name (duh!); it was a joke when I needed something for a Yahoo ID. Annie Social = Antisocial. It was funny at the time; I guess you had to be there.

Of course, those who have gender-neutral names such as Kim or Leslie don't have to change at all; they are able to avoid the expense and hassle of going through the courts. But they don't have the fun of choosing!

The easiest solution is the feminization (or masculinization) of your old name. Robert and Bob become Roberta and Bobbi, John becomes Joan, and Steven becomes Stephanie (or vice versa). There are only two problems with this approach: the new name may be uncomfortably close to your old name if you are trying to start a whole new life, and again, you don't have the fun of picking an entirely new one.

Some find out what their parents had planned to call them if they turned out to be the other sex; remember that some of us are old enough to have been born before it was common to know in advance what the baby would be. Others choose the name of a favorite relative or childhood friend or fictional character, or simply a name that they've always liked.

I think most of us, though, try to find a name with some special significance to us.

Several years ago I was researching my family history and came across a relative I hadn't known existed. She was a little girl named Annie, the daughter of my father's grandparents, and had died in 1880 at the age of 19 months.

She never appeared in any census records; she had been born and died between the years the census was taken. The only record of her was an inscription on a tombstone. She had been completely forgotten.

The thought of a little girl dying on the prairies of North Texas so long ago stuck in my mind. I found myself thinking of her often. When the time came for me to decide on a new name for myself, the choice was obvious. I became Ann Elizabeth. Ann E., or Annie.

That little girl was no longer forgotten; she had another chance at life, as did I.

Please tell me the story of your name; just click on "Comments" below.

She's free

My life has woven countless threads throughout these many years,
and now as I approach the end, I look back through the tears.
I see the pattern that they make, a picture of my past,
and now I see a change in me, too late, but here at last.

It's a picture of my loneliness, all dark and shadowed hues;
the choices made, the paths I took, the loves that I would lose,
the thoughts that made me live apart, all hidden deep inside,
the person who I never knew, the self that I denied.

But in one corner I can see a warm and golden light,
The person I was meant to be is coming into sight.
She bears the scars of all those years she lived inside of me;
her face is worn, her clothes are torn, but now at last she's free.

She knows she doesn't have much time, she's waited much too long;
for her to be what she must be, she knows she must be strong.
Her life won't be an easy one; she knows how it will be,
but through travail, she will prevail, for now at least she's free.
Thank God, at last she's free.

Beach Blanket Bingo

A few weeks ago, a support group that I belong to announced that, in lieu of a regular June meeting, the group would instead hold a big all-day beach party. It sounded like a wonderful event, with the promise of great weather, lots of food, and a ton of people having a good time, and the very thought of it struck terror in my heart!

Why? Why did my skin get clammy and my knees begin to shake every time it was mentioned? Because it meant that I would have to buy a swimsuit, and worse, I might even have to wear it! As I looked around the group, I could see that I wasn't the only one in distress.

You see, very few of us are perfectly secure with our bodies, especially those of us who are still in the early stages of transition. Think about it: even a lot of genetic women dread summer coming around, with the necessity of shorts and swimsuits. Imagine the angst in one who relies heavily on breast forms and shapers and pantyhose! Not to mention that some of us have never been anywhere except home and the safety of our meetings.

There's another issue as well: a lot of us are in the middle of having laser hair removal, and the laser practitioner has warned us over and over again, "No sun! Stay out of the sun! If you have to be exposed for a short time, wear the heaviest sunscreen you can find! But stay out of the sun!". Creeping paranoia begins to set in.

Of course, if you're at the beach, you're pretty much expected to get in the water at some point. In the water? In the water? Are you insane? Do you know what that will do to my makeup? And my wig! What about my wig?

The meeting room disappears in a wavy dissolve, and an image forms before me...

(Please note: the following is fantasy, making liberal use of stereotypes. It's a joke. Anyone complaining will be sent to the office with a note for being humor-impaired.)

The cars are circled like covered wagons, providing us with some slight protection from the outside world. Within the circle can be seen a forest of beach umbrellas, beneath which sit some 20 women wearing t-shirts over one-piece swimsuits with built-in skirts. Huge floppy hats and pitch-black sunglasses are everywhere.

The center of the circle is dominated by two items: a 40-gallon drum of SPF 40 sunblock, into which girls are taking turns dipping parts of their bodies,and a brick barbecue pit around which are gathered 8 or 9 FTMs, drinking beer and smoking cigarettes and swearing. At one point, an extremely masculine-looking guy (who actually has very little experience being male) nearly sets his face on fire lighting the grill. He is saved when the shock wave from the fireball knocks him backwards before the flames can reach him.

Beneath one of the umbrellas, two girls are arguing over whether the salt water will cause their nylons to unravel, while another keeps peering nervously around her Ozzie Osborne sunglasses to see whether someone she knows might have chosen this day to come to the beach.

The guys eventually manage to burn the steaks well enough, and everyone grabs a plate; the girls each pick up enough napkins to wash a car. As the afternoon wears on (and the beer flows), a few brave souls venture briefly into the water, retreating before each incoming wave, then working their way back out again. Inevitably, someone falls asleep in the shadow of her umbrella, waking up hours later to find that the sun has moved and she is burned to the color of a steamed lobster. The sound of a ball game wafts from the window of a black SUV, the roof of which is hot enough to fry an egg. People gather in little groups under the umbrellas, comparing HRT dosages and being jealous of the one twenty-something who looks so good in the white bikini. One of the guys stops by; "Has anyone come across a gold loop earring? Janie lost one in the sand somewhere...".

As the sun starts to get low in the sky, people begin packing up like a circus moving on to the next small town. Each is thinking, "Well, that wasn't so bad; I actually had a lot of fun!".

At the next meeting, one of the girls will have "I Survived Tranny Beach Bash 2006" t-shirts.

In a perfect world...

We are all aware of the prejudice and intolerance that exists in society. Too many people believe that anyone different from themselves is somehow inferior, not deserving of the same rights and protections as themselves. We decry their bigotry, their smug dismissal of others. We, of all people, should be tolerant and accepting of diversity in our community.

Yet sometimes, we don't do so well ourselves.

Every group under the transgender umbrella seems to have a few individuals that dislike anyone unlike themselves: straight crossdressers bashing gays, transsexuals disliking crossdressers for creating a public perception of us as 'men in dresses', and drag queens making fun of transsexuals for not knowing how to do their makeup!

Even among transsexuals, there are rifts. At any gathering you'll hear it: "Older girls are overly concerned with clothes and appearance." "Young transitioners have it too easy." "Non-ops aren't truly TS; if they were, nothing would keep them from surgery." "Why in the world would you want to be a woman if you aren't attracted to men?" "And what's the deal with the Female to Male transsexuals; don't they realize they've got it made?"

Some of the differences are understandable when such diverse groups of people are lumped together under the banner of 'Transgender'; it's not surprising that straight crossdressers don't want to be considered gay, or that transsexuals don't want to be thought of as crossdressers. Everyone resents being labeled as something they're not.

The answer, however, is not to wish that all those others would just go away, to invalidate their lives and try to exclude them from the community. Rather, it is to try to promote understanding of our diversity among the public; to make them see that not all transsexuals work in porno films and go on Springer; that not all crossdressers hide in the closet and masturbate every time they put on a pair of panties, and that transgendered people come in all varieties: male and female, gay, straight, and lesbian, bisexual and asexual, short and tall, loud and quiet, shy and exhibitionistic.

In other words, that we are a lot like them.

"So, tell me about your childhood..."

Recently, I've heard a lot of people complaining about their therapists... how they put up unnecessary roadblocks, make the whole thing into some sort of competition, and just generally don't understand transgendered people.

I only have experience with one therapist, and after hearing all the horror stories, I feel I must be the luckiest girl in the world.

When it was time to find someone, I asked people in the area, made inquiries in some local Yahoo groups, and did numerous Google searches. One name came up over and over again; she had been working with TG patients for 20 years, founded the major support group in the area, knew just about everyone in the community, and her office was only a mile and a half from my home!

I called for an initial consultation, and when I asked about the fee, I was told that I was to pay what I could afford and thought it was worth. Amazed, I made the appointment.

From the first moment, I knew I had found the right person. It was clear that she understood what I was going through, and saw her job as helping me to understand it as well. We went through the things you would expect, such as history and attitudes and desires, but we also explored subjects like how to deal with family and friends, and reasonable expectations for HRT. She gave me the names of friendly doctors in the area, and once I decided it was time and asked, she sent the letter.

I never felt that I had to somehow prove to her that I was TS; she took my word for my feelings, and even pointed out how certain problems in my past could have been related to my identity issues. On reflection, I usually found she was right.

Throughout, she has been more of a guide than a gatekeeper, answering questions, educating me on what to expect and what works and what doesn't, even critiquing makeup and wardrobe choices. She's been there when I've needed a shoulder to cry on, and when I've wanted to brag.

Since starting HRT, my sessions with her are less frequent, and I sometimes find myself wishing they weren't!

That's what a therapist should be.

Position wanted

Well, I've taken another step. I've sent out 4 job applications in my new persona.

Needless to say, some creative editing of my resume was required. Everything on it is true; I just had to omit a few things that made it obvious that I wasn't Annie at the time! Even now, it's a rather odd resume for a woman my age... there are a few jobs listed in which it was pretty unusual to find a woman at the time. And of course, I removed the name of my current employer.

The real issue is what to do if and when I get responses. I've pretty much decided that the best way to handle it is to go through the emails and telephone conversations, then when it's time for an interview, say, "By the way, there's one little thing you ought to know..."

I'm not going to simply show up for an interview without warning them what to expect; I'm not that passable yet, and there are other issues to deal with such as the fact that my legal name change is still in the works. I'll also have to point out that nothing I'm doing is covered by insurance, so hiring me is not going to cause their rates to go up.

As best I can tell, none of the positions I've applied for involve dealing with the public, so if the employer is generally sympathetic, at least they can't say, "Well, I personally don't have a problem with it, but we have to consider what our clients may think..."

I'm not holding my breath; I know I'm going into this with a huge strike against me, but I have to try. Shifting back and forth every workday is an incredible strain, and I don't know how much longer I can keep it up. If I can find employment as myself, I will finally be able to kill off this guy I've been pretending to be for so long. When that time comes, I've decided to hold a wake; you are all invited!

Easy terms available

A few days ago, reading through one of the forums that I frequent, it struck me that we have more abbreviations, anagrams, and obscure terminology than NASA. In the interest of ameliorating the rampant obfuscation (!), I've decided to post this little guide to the terminology of transgenderism. I know I've left out a lot; leave me comments as to what should be added!

Sex - In this context, refers to the genitalia. As sex and gender are separate qualities, one can be of the male sex and the female gender. Indeed, it is this incongruity that defines transsexuality. Also, what all those guys in the Yahoo chat rooms are looking for.

Gender - The mental component of one's sexuality; that is, what you feel like inside, regardless of your plumbing. Someone of the female gender identifies as female, regardless of what type of genitalia they may have.

Orientation - Basically, who you're attracted to. Again, this is independent of sex or gender. It is not uncommon to be of the male sex, the female gender, and attracted to females. Or any other combination. Has nothing to do with emigrating to Asia.

TG - Transgender. An umbrella term, encompassing transsexuals, transvestites, crossdressers, drag queens/kings, intersexed persons, gender neutrals, androgynes, anyone who feels uncomfortable being classified as a specific gender, and Milton Berle.

CD - Crossdresser. One who dresses in the clothing of the opposite gender. Most crossdressers identify as their birth sex, and see their dressing as an expression of the feminine side of themselves. Many are heterosexual married males, whose spouses may or may not be aware and/or supportive of their dressing. Also, the shiny little disc you keep your photos on, so the kids won't find them when they're looking for their Spongebob Squarepants pictures.

TV - Transvestite. Similar to a crossdresser, except that there is usually a sexual component to their dressing; ie, they get aroused by it. Also, the place you watch the dozens of documentaries about us that seem to be released every week.

TS - Transsexual (sometimes Transexual with one S). One with an overwhelming need to live as the gender opposite that of their birth sex. May be diagnosed with GID (see below). Also, Top Secret (which, depending on where you are in your transition, may be the same thing).

GID - Gender Identity Disorder and...
GD - Gender Dysphoria. The diagnoses of transsexual persons that allows them to receive treatment, including therapy, hormone therapy, and sexual reassignment surgery. The debate continues as to whether it is proper to require someone to be labeled as having a mental disorder in order for them to receive treatment, but most of us are willing to go along with it if that's our only choice.

SOC - Standards of Care. The procedures suggested by the Harry Benjamin International Gender Dysphoria Association (HBIDGA), spelling out the hoops one must jump through to receive hormone therapy and/or surgery. Some see them as unreasonable roadblocks to receiving the treatment they want and need, others as a necessary safeguard to prevent every looney on the planet from rushing into surgery then suing the doctors a month later and making it impossible for any of us.

M to F - Male to Female Transsexual.

F to M - Well, duh... Female to Male Transsexual.

FFS - Facial Feminization Surgery. Any of a number of procedures aimed at countering the results of years of exposure to testosterone, including eyebrow lifts, brow bossing, chin sculpting, jawline reshaping, lip lifts, botox, rhinoplasty, dermabrasion and others. If you closely resemble Ernest Borgnine, this may be for you.

SRS - Sexual Reassignment Surgery or Sexual Reconstruction Surgery and...
GRS - Gender Reassignment Surgery. The procedure or procedures that replace a penis with a vagina (or vice versa). There are several different procedures, with recipients of each loudly proclaiming its superiority. SRS for F to M transsexuals is not very satisfactory with the current state of the art, while M to F surgery is very good, regardless of which technique is used. By the way, in M to F surgery, the penis is not "chopped off". It is either turned inside out, or disassembled and its parts used in the new construction.

GLBT - Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender, or...
LGBT - Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender; which one you use seems to depend on whether or not you're a lesbian.

HBIGDA - The Harry Benjamin International Gender Dysphoria Association See SOC above.

HRT - Hormone Replacement Therapy. The name comes from the regimen used to treat menopausal women, replacing hormones their bodies no longer make in sufficient quantities. For M to Fs, the regimen ususally includes a testosterone blocker, estrogen, and progesterone. Effects include breast development, redistribution of body fat, softening of the skin, a lessening of body hair (but not facial hair), and emotional changes. The effects can take several years to reach their maximum. HRT does not change the voice (dammit!).

Intersexed - A person who is born with ambiguous genitalia, not clearly either male or female, or with components of both. The term 'hermaphrodite' is now considered obsolete and somewhat insulting, and was rarely used accurately anyway.

RLT - Real Life Test or...
RLE - Real Life Experience. A period of one year living full time is a prerequisite for SRS under the HBIGDA SOC (now there's a handful of acronyms for you!).

IRS - Internal Revenue Service. The organization that has decided that none of your expenses for any of this stuff will be deductible.

S--male - The dreaded S-word! (I've dropped a couple of letters in hopes that this page won't be found by people Googling for porn.) Considered highly offensive, unless the person you're referring to works in the sex industry. The term was invented by the porn business, and some in that field self-identify that way. Nearly as bad is 'He-She', and 'Tranny' seems to be acceptable only when used by other transgendered persons (although some have no issue with it at all).

Therapy, or...
Counseling - This is usually the first step once you acknowledge to yourself that you are transgendered. A good therapist can help you discover your true self, and how far you need to go. She can help you along the way, providing critiques and tips, and can refer you to support groups. She also serves as the gateway to HRT and SRS, providing the needed letters to your doctors. A bad therapist can take all your money and leave you suicidal. Remember, your therapist works for you; if you're not happy with the way your case is being handled, find someone else.

Transition - The process of becoming the person on the outside that you know you are on the inside. Everyone is different in how and how far they will transition; for some, living part time is enough. For others, nothing short of surgery is acceptable. Typically, the process includes counseling, hormone therapy, living part time, voice training, hair removal, living full time (the real life experience), and SRS. Some may have FFS and/or breast augmentation. And whatever their process and timetable, you can be sure that they will think anyone who does it differently is nuts!