I decided a few years ago that I would get a tattoo in every city in which I live from the age of 18 on. Maybe this will be an incentive for my wife to want to settle down sooner rather than later :) I promised that, aside from my foot tattoo, I would get my tattoos in places that can be easily covered (living in LA I wear flip-flops a lot and thus show my foot tattoo). I got my first tattoo in Athens, OH, I then incorporated that tattoo into my second tattoo that I got in Washington, DC, and I got my third tattoo in Jerusalem, Israel. My year in Israel was a very transformative, enriching and intense time, and I set out on a journey of self discovery early in that year. I am walking the same path today, and it has been an amazing experience. I of course wanted my third tattoo to be personally meaningful, for it to mark a moment in time permanently on my body, for it to be another way to never forget the journey I am on. Since Israel was the first time I really began exploring and discussing my gender identity in therapy, I wanted my tattoo to reflect this. I was inspired by Native American fetishes and the energy that they hold. I consider bears and crows to be my spirit animals (in addition to turtles). So I decided to create a story with my tattoo that would incorporate these ideas and describe my transgenderqueer and human nature.
The Story of a Tattoo Self Portrait: The bear is brave, proud and strong, and he is also humble, modest and gentle. He often looks down rather than looking up and out at the world around him. The crow is smart, social and has a strong emotional memory. She often serves as the bear's eyes. Sitting on his back, she sees what he cannot. Her world view is made up of the fantasies and daydreams she experiences as she flies through the skies each day, and when she comes to rest on the bear's back, the energy of these dreams flows through his heartline and enables him to understand his own life in a much more meaningful way. The bear and the crow need one another. The bear needs her so that he can come to know and understand her intuition, and the crow needs him so that she can ground herself within his beautiful reality. Each lives a fuller life because the other exists. They are neither either nor or; they are one.
(Refer to the photo entitled "Self Portrait" on the right side of my blog to see the tattoo. I think the artist did a fabulous job capturing the story, which I had shared with her. I am proud of this tattoo because of the meaning, significance and artistic beauty that it holds.)
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Monday, May 11, 2009
The Drawer
I've finished shopping for post-op necessities. Well...almost. I may or may not buy a lap desk for my bed. That will depend on if I can find one big enough to fit over me. I need to go to Bed, Bath & Beyond and "try one on."
The main things I needed were button up shirts, button up PJs, tank tops with low cut arm pits and underwear. I am happy to say that I finally have all of these items. The button up shirts are hanging in my closet, having already been worn a few times to work. The button up PJs, tank tops and underwear have been washed and dryed and folded neatly.
I cleaned out a drawer yesterday and designated it my post-op surgery drawer. My PJs and tank tops are in it along with my "belly buster" which I will wear once my hysterectomy stitches heal, and my underwear are in a separate drawer. When I put my PJs, etc. into the drawer, I found myself doing so with great care. I folded everything neatly and laid them in the drawer carefully.
This drawer feels strangely sacred. It is filled with items that I spent many hours searching for, items that will be used to care for myself post-op. I have worked really hard on myself to warrant the need for these items, and for that reason alone I know they are sacred. Sacred items for a uniquely special individual for monumental times. The existence of that drawer is a blessing just as my surgeries will be on my life and on my bright, shining future. I can hardly wait.
The main things I needed were button up shirts, button up PJs, tank tops with low cut arm pits and underwear. I am happy to say that I finally have all of these items. The button up shirts are hanging in my closet, having already been worn a few times to work. The button up PJs, tank tops and underwear have been washed and dryed and folded neatly.
I cleaned out a drawer yesterday and designated it my post-op surgery drawer. My PJs and tank tops are in it along with my "belly buster" which I will wear once my hysterectomy stitches heal, and my underwear are in a separate drawer. When I put my PJs, etc. into the drawer, I found myself doing so with great care. I folded everything neatly and laid them in the drawer carefully.
This drawer feels strangely sacred. It is filled with items that I spent many hours searching for, items that will be used to care for myself post-op. I have worked really hard on myself to warrant the need for these items, and for that reason alone I know they are sacred. Sacred items for a uniquely special individual for monumental times. The existence of that drawer is a blessing just as my surgeries will be on my life and on my bright, shining future. I can hardly wait.
My Last Mammogram Ever
There's nothing quite like having your breasts smooshed, smashed and pressed onto a plate of glass to make you super aware of them. I had a pre-op mammogram this morning. I have had one once before, and they are definitely not pleasant. They are nothing but awkward, uncomfortable and painful experiences.
To be perfectly honest, seeing my breasts pressed between two plates of glass kind of grossed me out. Looking at myself naked in the mirror is bad enough, but seeing my breast sprawled out in all its glory was sort of grotesque. I went into the appointment with an open mind and came out with my tail between my legs, eager to call my wife for some comfort. These two tumor like growths on my chest were flaunted at me this morning. "Look at what nature gave you that wasn't meant for you," the digital machine seemed to say mockingly. It was harsh.
I told my wife last night that I wasn't going to wear my binder to the appointment which was first thing this morning. She assumed it was because I would be showering and getting dressed just to drive somewhere and get undressed again. But it was mostly for different reasons. I felt self conscious going to a women's health center to get a mammogram of the breasts I've resented having since puberty. I felt like if I was going to get a mammogram I should walk into the office showing some signs of having breasts, so I just wore my sports bra without my binder.
It felt weird to be out and about without my binder on. I don't wear it to look male -- I wear it to look like myself. And I didn't feel like myself without it on -- I wasn't comfortable without it. Once the mammogram was over, I hurriedly went into the changing room and fought the fight to get myself into my binder. I put my shirt on over it, looked in the mirror, and smiled. I liked what I saw and I liked how I felt. I grabbed my bag and walked out into the lobby, thrilled that I would never again have to have a mammogram because it will soon be physically impossible to perform one on my soon to be flat chest. I'm sure the results will be normal and I will be one step closer to surgery day. Onward.
To be perfectly honest, seeing my breasts pressed between two plates of glass kind of grossed me out. Looking at myself naked in the mirror is bad enough, but seeing my breast sprawled out in all its glory was sort of grotesque. I went into the appointment with an open mind and came out with my tail between my legs, eager to call my wife for some comfort. These two tumor like growths on my chest were flaunted at me this morning. "Look at what nature gave you that wasn't meant for you," the digital machine seemed to say mockingly. It was harsh.
I told my wife last night that I wasn't going to wear my binder to the appointment which was first thing this morning. She assumed it was because I would be showering and getting dressed just to drive somewhere and get undressed again. But it was mostly for different reasons. I felt self conscious going to a women's health center to get a mammogram of the breasts I've resented having since puberty. I felt like if I was going to get a mammogram I should walk into the office showing some signs of having breasts, so I just wore my sports bra without my binder.
It felt weird to be out and about without my binder on. I don't wear it to look male -- I wear it to look like myself. And I didn't feel like myself without it on -- I wasn't comfortable without it. Once the mammogram was over, I hurriedly went into the changing room and fought the fight to get myself into my binder. I put my shirt on over it, looked in the mirror, and smiled. I liked what I saw and I liked how I felt. I grabbed my bag and walked out into the lobby, thrilled that I would never again have to have a mammogram because it will soon be physically impossible to perform one on my soon to be flat chest. I'm sure the results will be normal and I will be one step closer to surgery day. Onward.
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