Is That Gonna Leave A Mark?

Surgery. It's huge in general. For any reason, for most people. But what happens when it's something you've wanted since puberty first kick you in the ass? Let me tell you allllll about it!
Now, please keep in mind that I am about to say something that many have scoffed at and isn't exactly...sensitive. But I don't mean it like that. This is something that crossed the mind of a 12-13 year old who had no clue what was going on or why and just wanted it to all stop.
Breast cancer is not funny and I, as an adult, am aware of its consequences. However, when I was a very early teenager, I wished I'd get breast cancer so my boobs wouldn't develop. I didn't know how it worked and didn't understand. All I wanted was to stop the female puberty I was experiencing because it was literally the most terrifying thing that I had ever experienced. I also wished for glasses and braces as a kid. I only "achieved" the goal of getting glasses. 
It wasn't easy but I managed to survive it. It being puberty. It didn't kill me, but there were times, and an insane amount of times since, where I thought it would. Being a bigger trans guy simply meant that it was a little easier to pass with people thinking I had "man boobs." It didn't make it any easier on me knowing the truth beneath my clothes. I won't say that I hate my body because I actually find myself semi-attractive. Attractive enough to not constantly fish for compliments or anything. But I will admit that I have some aspects that are not ideal.
Aside from getting cancer that would result in a doctor removing my manly man boobs, as I do not want to wish that upon myself or anyone else, surgery is the only way to sculpt a more pleasing chest. The questions that arise when you become conscious of this desire (and of age to have it done) are almost never-ending. What doctor do I go to? Are they local? What's the cost? Do I have to stay at the hospital? Can I afford it? Can I get off work? Will I lose sensation in my nipples? And many, many more questions. I've been asking myself these questions for 14 years.
It takes a lot of research. You have a lot of things to consider. The biggest for me personally is actually a tie between cost, location and scarring. If I'm going to spend $7,000 on a new chest, I want it to look good and I don't want any of those deep red/purple scars that can come along with the surgery. I'm willing to travel most anywhere in the US. I'm willing to spend around $10,000.
One question, you might have and I have only been asked once by someone not involved in the decision making process... "what about bottom surgery?" I will be honest with you guys: I don't trust the technology and technique yet. It's getting there, I believe. Maybe in a few years, as the surgery is perfected and science advances, but I'm not prepared for that yet. And I sure as hell am not getting skin grafts from my abdomen or thighs. HELL NAH. First, that shit is painful. Second, those scars are gnarly to say the least. Third, it is extremely expensive and there are so many options that it overwhelms me at times.
Not all trans guys need or want surgery. Some are lucky enough to have small chests to begin with and by simply working out, they can make the pectoral muscles stronger and make the chest firmer. Add some T, whether it be shots, gel, pills or a patch, and you're bound to have a more masculine chest than without. Some guys are more FTN which is Female to Neutral to where they don't necessarily want to be a guy, but they don't want to be a woman. That's a new concept that I discovered tonight and have done very light research so please forgive my current ignorance on the term.
Alas, for most of us, it is a very important part of our gender affirmation. It's something that is absolutely necessary when it comes to transitioning completely. For me, for this guy right here, I want to have surgery. I need to have my surgery. In my perception of what it means to be a man, what it means for me to be complete, I need to have a chest that - scars or not - can't be seen as man boobs or anything like that. It's simply part of my identity and I am excited to have it.

Resources for your own research:
http://www.chicagoftmtopsurgery.com/ (found this gem today - I'm very interested in this surgeon)
http://www.ftmguide.org/chest.html (the first site I used to learn about being trans and transitioning)
http://www.drgarramone.com/ (many many many people speak his praise, also considering him)
http://www.newbeginningsretreat.com (AMAZING facility - most rooms are booked through 2014)

Amnesia and Coping

Watch the corresponding videos:

part one

part two

part three

August 4, 2013

9:41 PM CST

I write this for my blog, so people who read it will get an inside look at what it's like to have amnesia. But honestly, I write it for myself, my heart and my memory.

Amnesia isn't the curse of curses, but in the moment, it sure feels like something in the universe is out to get you. Around 10:18 pm, May 4, 2012, I was driving with Rachel after seeing The Avengers in IMAX at The Warren. We got hit on the passenger side (I was driving) and were pushed from the inside lane (closest to the curb) to oncoming traffic (the outer lane). I had enough wits about me to get us back into the outer lane of our correct direction of traffic. In the chaos, Rachel's glasses flew on the floor and our phones went down. Fortunately, neither driver was operating their phone and driving, even though they were present in the cars.

An off-duty nurse came upon the accident and we all got to the side of the road. Rachel and I just kinda sat there and let the shock slowly come to us. Her car was totaled without a doubt. We even captured a picture to remember the moment. I don't remember taking the picture. We got a ride to my house and I had a slight headache, but didn't think much of it. I was stressed out! We had just been in a major car accident and I felt responsible for totaling a car that wasn't mine. We ended up at the Tecumseh Ave campus where my life took on a whole new outlook.

I started to feel very drowsy in the waiting room as the staff was more concerned with Rachel's injuries. Made sense to me, she had a massive bruise that cropped up within ten minutes of the accident. She went back first and after I was processed through Triage, I went to my room. I rolled over to my side and I ended up dozing off. When I woke up, I was in a strange place with someone asking me how I was feeling. I asked her where I was, when I got there, why I was there…I even asked her if it was an April Fool's joke. Turns out…my life had changed forever.

After testing, slight agitation and freaking out, I finally got to see my mom's face. I was able to calm down and things were very slowly pieced back together. I had heard Rachel's voice for about an hour or so, but was not allowed to see her even though the staff asked me about her every five minutes. It was the only comforting thing I experienced until my mom got there. When I finally got to see this comforting voice matched with a face, it was heartbreaking.

The woman I had come to know for nearly a year, who I was insanely and happily in love with, had instantly become a stranger. I searched her eyes and her face, trying to place how I knew her. Try as I might, I couldn't. It hurt, it made me cry. She held it together. I could read her eyes enough to tell it pained her some that I didn't recognize her. I was able to get some time alone with her while my mom talked to the doctor. I asked her questions and tried to make sense of it with her. 

We had two options that night. To go our separate ways or she could come home with me. I was intensely drawn to her so I asked her to go home with me. I wanted to ask her questions, I wanted to get to know her. It was quite surprising to me to learn I had moved back in with my mom after being on my own for nearly three years. My dog Lucy had grown and her hair was darker. Spencer had so much more white on his body. Emmy had a growth on her paw that I didn't remember. My life was a complete 180 from what I remembered.

In the days that followed, there was meeting with a lawyer, calls from insurance companies, negotiating time off and pay from work and re-introducing myself to people I had grown very close to. I don't think that anyone realized how bad things truly were until they saw me. When I saw the faces of people I worked with and was unable to place them, it hurt my heart. Seeing their reactions to my confusion, I believe, caused them discomfort and pain as well. But, nonetheless, they were amazing and were slow-going with me. They gave me time, allowed me to come to them, and we were able to very slowly rebuild our friendships. But even with that, things were not the same.

I was unable to remember simple things like phone numbers I had previously memorized. I was forgetting to go to doctor appointments. Simple tasks became ordeals for me. I had, at times, the mentality of a child. To be an adult, I pretended that I had everything under control. The only time I couldn't convince anyone, myself included, was when I had my migraines. They would bring me to a sudden halt. There was very little warning I was about to get one and when it hit, there was no amount of medicine that could make it better. There was literally nothing that could be done to bring me comfort.

I had stopped talking to people. I essentially allowed the amnesia to run my life and keep me form reaching out. I felt like a burden and I wasn't able or ready to admit that I couldn't do it on my own. It all came to a head in October when all stability I had known was gone. I wasn't seeing people every day due to unemployment. I wasn't emotionally strong and I allowed fear to harm me. Even with employment in November, my outlook was bleak. I wasn't sure that I would be able to see everything through like I hoped. Relationships were ending, friendships were failing and I let it happen.

I had been told that most memories were expected to return within one week. It was now December and I had only recovered about 60% of my memories. Come February and March, I'd say about 75% had come back. By this point, I was remembering something maybe once every other week. In the beginning, around June and July of 2012, I was remembering several things a day. Since March 2013, I have remembered maybe three specific memories. I've recovered no more than 80% of my memory. 

There are going to be things, people and places that I never remember. A lot of the things I remember came from visiting a place or a joke or a conversation that seemed familiar to me. The epiphany type of memories have ceased even though they were the most common form of memory for me. This time last year, I didn't even have an idea what my life would be like. Looking to the future, this time next year, I have aspirations and I know the direction I am taking.

Amnesia happened to me. It does not define me or what I stand for. It has made me stronger in many aspects and has given me the ability to see challenges from a different light. I share my story with you, in these bits and pieces, hoping that you'll find some form of relativity. We do not have all the answers, none of us do. And people may have thought I had a mental retardation based off my inability to be cohesive in my thoughts and speaking patterns when simply, I was confused and didn't remember conversations.

The people who stood by me in my absolute darkest hours (and months) are the people I cherish the most. They are part of my story. They are part of my strength. They are part of my soul.