It's been a while since my last post, but such is the nature of an eventful year that flies by.
I want to wish all of my readers and their loved ones and very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Also, best of the season to those celebrating winter solstice, Kwanzaa, other festivities and nothing in particular. You could be gathering with family, biological and/or chosen, friends, intimates and you could be alone and doing compassionate service or emergency work of some kind. Best seasonal wishes to you as well. Reach out to those who have no family or friends to celebrate with this time of year. Keep each other in your hearts.
Usually when I wake up on the morning of my birthday, I temporarily forget what day it is; then, after a few seconds, it dawns on me. Today, it REALLY dawned on me. Halfway through a revolutionary decade, twenty years in Vancouver, the year of my SRS and recovery, the long hello and goodbye of transition ... that's what 45 means to me.
And the irreplaceable wealth of friends, family, colleagues and others.
I am touched by all the birthday messages today on FB and by the words of congratulation from those of you I met today as I fulfilled my birthday plan of taking it easy.
Time, when your daily routine is the same, passes without little or no notice; then, one day, you realize not just days or weeks, but months, have passed. At the end of this summer of recuperation, I am gradually getting my energy and stamina back, but it has been an uphill climb. On shortened hours, half my day is back at work with the other half being at home sleeping, dilating, eating ... functioning. I am fulfilling my one and only resolution for this year, to get through surgery and recovery, to do radical self-care. Physically, it has meant listening to my body and knowing my limits, prioritizing my post-op aftercare and exerting only as much energy as I can, regardless of what anyone may say about it. This is also true emotionally. I have learned not to take on other people's issues, absorbing their anxieties. There are energy suckers around who want your attention, your energy and all the rest. To them, I have been staunch about not letting them have it.
More than ever, I have lived on my own terms and needs.
And my cat's. Tatum became ill with pancreatitis in late May/early June while I was still off work. A few vet visits, an x-ray, an ultrasound and several medications later, he had made a full recovery, but it had been a tense few weeks. It had reminded me of how vital a friend he had been in all the years since I had adopted him, years ago when we were both shipwrecked in life. Since then, he had watched me through some very dark times and many changes. I was not ready to let him go just yet.
Last Monday, August 24, was my twentieth anniversary in Vancouver. Once long ago, I arrived with only two pieces of luggage (although six boxes arrived a couple of days later), but much baggage. Devastated by grief and terrified of disease and mortality, I sought to make a radical departure from the life I had led up until then, to overthrow old habits, learn new things, to live the healthiest life that I could. Every day was a brave new world. I still have a few souvenirs from those days: my meditation cushion and various shrine ornaments, supplemented by two of my late mother's brass candle holders, a second-hand Cowichan sweater, my first new item of clothing that I bought at a bazaar in the old UBC student union building. The future was completely open, the world seemed friendly. I miss those days, but I am glad I had the privilege to experience them.
I turned out that the student union building would have more in store for me then just clothing bazaars. During that first year of graduate school, I did the volunteer orientation for CITR FM, but I would not have time for volunteering until over a decade later. It then became the setting for my nightlife as a radio DJ. Some of the swing dances I went to, and DJ'd, were upstairs in the party and ballrooms. I grew with both of these. Eventually the dances there faded and I left the show. At the end of this past June, CITR moved into the new student union building, called the Nest. I went to the on-air continuous wake on the last Friday evening of that month. An alumni from the 1990s had me on as a guest for about ten minutes. I played twosongs and then talked about how great the new studios looked, then made my way. I missed those days as well. Adding this to my reflecting on my transition this past spring and summer has made this year more melancholy and nostalgic than I anticipated. Music will always be a deep part of my life.
Part of coming into one's own is taking your place in the world, becoming aware of it's state and finding where you can be a service.
The world is in dire shape and I feel the need to be a part of the solution. I know it will be a world of tough choices and sacrifices and I am steeling myself for it. My personal goals of the past twenty years have led to this point. The decisions I make on how best to live, be activist and contribute to a newer world will be built on top of them. We now head into the thick fog we call the future.
Spending a lot of time reflecting these days, I've realized many things. It's been a mixed journey this past year, coming of age (yet again) in a darkening, chaotic world. My story is one thing, but the world I've reentered feels foreboding and not without good reason.
Images from the second half of last year, Ferguson, Cleveland, New York still haunt me. Senseless violence and murder from the unaccountable, flames, riot police and military gear under a season's greetings sign during the holiday season, marches in the snow and cold. Add to these this year's horrors, Baltimore, McKinney and Charleston. The rage and fear I felt, and still feel, is hard to articulate, but consuming nonetheless. I fear the quiet of night time, something that used to comfort me. I live in a tolerant, diverse neighbourhood, but it only takes one hateful individual to cause grave harm, even in Canada. Being black, being trans, being out: any or all could be used as reasons by a bigot on a rampage.
And there's more than that. The free spaciousness of our society is diminishing rapidly. Corporate culture is everywhere and feels like a noose tightening around our necks, inflicting both micro and macro aggressions, unleashing its malcontents in the form of gangs, racists, and "lone wolves" to scapegoat and attack at will. Maybe not today ...
Once, long ago as a bullied pre-teen, I suffered from what I now know was PTSD: nightmares and night terrors, stomach pains and vomiting, chest pains and coughing, anxiety. Growing past this, gaining independence, growing intellectually and creatively through college and university, moving out west (twenty years ago) gave me confidence. Coming out a few times since then, even more so. I had always felt that the world was moving forward as I was. But I wake up feeling that fear in the pit of my stomach that bullies past have returned with a vengeance on the world stage. I walk through the world, with autonomy, with agency, but for how long.
One thing that has come up for me during this past week and a half, since Caitlyn Jenner's Vanity Fair cover went public, has been the importance of all of us transfolks telling our stories and challenging the narrative. There are many ways to do this, but now of course, I'm focussed on post-op recovery. The mainstream media have been focused on our transformations, sensationalizing them in the process. Someone walks into a clinic and voila they come out all brand new and shiny. None of this goes into the roller coaster ride that is recovery from SRS ... and it is a roller coaster ride, physically, emotionally, psychologically. Becoming "new and shiny" can take up to a year although much of the recovery happens in the first three to four months.
I have found a few people expecting me to be kicking my heals in delight at having finally had the surgery and being shocked by the fact that I've had ups and downs. Luckily, I've had no serious complications, only minor (although painful) ones. Below is my Facebook status from earlier today:
"Life Update: I'm currently in my latter stages of post-op recovery. My experience is one of decreasing, but still obvious, discomfort (and
some pain sensations from healing and having a minor complication
treated on a weekly basis). Also a lot of fatigue, my energy seems fine
(during a stretch of gorgeous weather no less) then it drops out
suddenly, making me tired enough to go to bed. My aftercare is still
very time consuming, meaning I still spend most of waking hours at home. This, in turn, makes me quite melancholy, hence more fatigued. I also
find myself looking back on four and a half years of transition, missing
looking forward to the next milestone and the joy and exhilaration it
gave me.
I miss looking
forward to everything, especially earlier this year. I have no regrets,
at all. But I really feel the physical and emotional drain of recovery;
and watching my cat Tatum get sick and begin to recover has made me
realize how fragile health can be. I've whispered at him that I love him
many times over the past few weeks, I hope he understands.
And now, I
want to extend my virtual arms out over FB to embrace all of you and
tell you that I love you all, family and friends alike, very much! Thank
you so much for your words, visits, gifts, meals and all kinds of
support and assistance! It's meant a lot to me.
Now, together, let's create new things to look forward to in our interconnected lives! Onwards and upwards!"
That's right I've been having challenges, but also, I have no regrets. I'm having a human experience, and it's more of our human experiences as transpeople that need to get out there: the good ones, the bad ones and the dull ones. Let's keep telling them all!
I found myself in 2009. I found Mad Men in early 2012. This blog is the direct result of the former, but has been generously flavoured with, actually inspired by the latter.
I had heard of the series since it premiered in 2007, my ex and I had seen some of the early promos for it on TV, but it was when a colleague, now retired, suggested I watch it that I started: first on DVDs to catch up, then on TV when its long delayed fifth season began. I followed its themes, music, casting in my blog posts.
At that point, I had been transitioning for a year, my life was accelerating; every month, every week, every day brought a new experience, a new milestone. I have always had a yen for things 60s and the music (I was still hosting my radio show at the time) of the series raised my spirits. I posted accordingly. Sometimes it was like my life and the series were having a conversation. The song "You Only Live Twice" closed out season five mere days before I flew home for my father and stepmother's wedding. Living twice was my theme, in that I had not come out to my folks yet, I led a double life. For them, living twice was each of them marrying for a second time.
When season six started, in 2013, I went full-time. I took my fashion queues from the show's year, 1968, my favourite fashion year. It was an exhilarating year, albeit with some sadness. Season six ended with the song "Both Sides Now"; I now knew both sides now, pre-transition and transitioned. "The Best Things In Life Are Free" ended the half-way mark of the seventh season (2014), and I was realizing with an unburdened mind and pierced heart how true that was. I had just come out to my folks. The best things in my life were/are the people in it, friends and family, and the joy of realizing it was so strong it hurt. This feeling carried over to when my folks came to visit later that summer.
This year was monumental for both myself and Mad Men. The series was now set in 1970, the year I was born; 2015 has been my year of being reborn, in the city I was originally born in. I was born in the fall which is also when the series ended this evening. A character is losing her mother as I once did, just after my twenty-fourth birthday. The fathers on the show, like mine, are softening as they reach the autumn of their lives.
But this time it wasn't the final song that resonated with me, but instead the song used in the promo "End of an Era: A Final Toast". Originally used in a Kodak commercial in 1975, Canadian singer-songwriter Paul Anka recorded a hit version soon afterwards. The promo, with its montage of highs and lows and intimate moments from the series cut my heart open, not only because I will miss the show, but also because I will miss these past few years, the end of two eras.
There have also been many highs and lows and intimate moments in this past chapter of my life: many hugs, tears, first steps, goodbyes, reconciliations, I will miss those times dearly and my heart breaks open wide for all of you, all of us. Remember this please. The times of out lives have ended. They have also begun.
Monday, April 27. Six weeks after surgery. I'm back at home and continuing my recovery. I'm still dealing with swelling and a constant low level ache with frequent bolts of electric pain as nerve endings repair themselves. Advil helps. The embrace of a hypothetical boyfriend would help more. The best, though, is the support of my friends with whom I've been planning visits and meals and best of all company.
I'm going through a post-surgery depression of sorts; the rush, fear and adrenaline of heading up to surgery now past, I'm sometimes left with "what now?" feeling. But, I know the future gets brighter from here. Little things like no more tucking and wearing bikinis and big things like looking in the mirror and finally seeing a body that fits.
