On Seven Months
Jan. 9th, 2024 05:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scrubjayspeaks[CW for frank discussions of body changes, talk of dysphoria, and discussions of surgery. I'll be putting these updates fully under cuts, as they are less general interest on the topic of gender/transness and more "what do I personally have going on with my bits these days." Niche interest and all that.]
Is this late? Yes, because I had exciting developments to deal with on the 8th. Also, I’m sick.
Face
I finally got to spend a full week not shaving my face, owing to holiday time off from work. That was long enough to see how it fills out across my cheeks, which is patchily but pretty well for this stage of HRT. It was also time enough for my stubble to grow out to the point of being soft instead of prickly. Which was pretty fun just as a novelty. But it also does a lot of heavy lifting in masculinizing my face in general. Clean-shaven, I still look ambiguous enough, but with a beard growing in, the impression is very strongly of a boy.
Voice
My voice hasn’t been cracking as much. More importantly, I’ve started being able to sing in my new register better. It still takes some effort to find the comfortable range at times, but I CAN find it. For a while there, I couldn’t hit a note accurately to save my soul.
Body Hair
Pretty much where it has been.
Chest
So! We have turned a corner with this. While topless in the bathroom to dye my hair, I noticed that my tits were laying much flatter across my chest and belly than they previously have. I had been feeling like my compression bras were fitting a bit looser than usual, but I hadn’t been able to see any change. Now it is obvious that I’m deflating a bit.
I had a little moment of panic at the realization. Because as far as tits go, this is not a particularly good look. So there was a kick of shame from the ingrained sense that my tits need to be “good.” Then I remembered that I’m going to get them snipped off, and it doesn’t matter. I am more tempted than ever to try one of the custom binders (the only ones I’ve ever found that can accommodate my dimensions) to help me get through the next, say, year--they might actually be able to do something now.
Speaking of getting snip-snopped: I have a consultation date! March 27th, which was as early as I could get with the surgeon I want. Between that wait time and the delays that insurance approvals will take, I’m going to overshoot my estimate for when I could have surgery. I was close! But it probably will not end up happening until early next year.
I am moderately distraught about this. I could have gone with another surgeon in the same group, who had shorter wait times for both consultations and surgical dates. But the person I picked has lots of results photos available, and he makes a point of being willing to work with fat people. There are plenty of people with bodies that look like mine, ending up with chests I would want. So I’ll be patient.
I’ll definitely be posting separately about this whole process. There’s...a lot.
Junk
Nothing particularly new going on here.
Energy and Strength
Well, current head cold and exploding sinuses notwithstanding, nothing exciting. Winter, much as I like its cold and damp, is very hard on my joints. So I’m doing okay, under the circumstances. But I definitely haven’t been feeling any surges of energy lately.
Jeez, I really need to start lifting weights again (as though I don’t enough at my job…) ahead of surgery.
Mental
I sent in my request for a consultation on the first. Since then, it has been a total roller coaster of emotion daily. Logistics is the biggest issue for me. Scheduling stresses me out. Needing to fill out forms and submit documents makes me anxious, convinced I’m going to mess up and get sent away. The prospect of needing to negotiate with my insurance both stresses and enrages me. The prospect of needing to stay in an unfamiliar town for a week post-surgery terrifies me. Taking pictures of myself topless for the surgeon brings up all kinds of shame and dysphoria. Hell, having to measure myself for various purposes makes me feel gross.
There are so many potential gatekeepers between me and this thing I want so badly. Part of me still, still wants to just say “fuck it” and pay out of pocket. I have the money. I could do it. It would wipe out my savings, but I wouldn’t have to ask permission. I fucking despise having to go begging authority figures to please let me do things with my body, like some cringing dog.
I just want to look like Jack Black and go about my business. Is that so much to ask?
Is this late? Yes, because I had exciting developments to deal with on the 8th. Also, I’m sick.
Face
I finally got to spend a full week not shaving my face, owing to holiday time off from work. That was long enough to see how it fills out across my cheeks, which is patchily but pretty well for this stage of HRT. It was also time enough for my stubble to grow out to the point of being soft instead of prickly. Which was pretty fun just as a novelty. But it also does a lot of heavy lifting in masculinizing my face in general. Clean-shaven, I still look ambiguous enough, but with a beard growing in, the impression is very strongly of a boy.
Voice
My voice hasn’t been cracking as much. More importantly, I’ve started being able to sing in my new register better. It still takes some effort to find the comfortable range at times, but I CAN find it. For a while there, I couldn’t hit a note accurately to save my soul.
Body Hair
Pretty much where it has been.
Chest
So! We have turned a corner with this. While topless in the bathroom to dye my hair, I noticed that my tits were laying much flatter across my chest and belly than they previously have. I had been feeling like my compression bras were fitting a bit looser than usual, but I hadn’t been able to see any change. Now it is obvious that I’m deflating a bit.
I had a little moment of panic at the realization. Because as far as tits go, this is not a particularly good look. So there was a kick of shame from the ingrained sense that my tits need to be “good.” Then I remembered that I’m going to get them snipped off, and it doesn’t matter. I am more tempted than ever to try one of the custom binders (the only ones I’ve ever found that can accommodate my dimensions) to help me get through the next, say, year--they might actually be able to do something now.
Speaking of getting snip-snopped: I have a consultation date! March 27th, which was as early as I could get with the surgeon I want. Between that wait time and the delays that insurance approvals will take, I’m going to overshoot my estimate for when I could have surgery. I was close! But it probably will not end up happening until early next year.
I am moderately distraught about this. I could have gone with another surgeon in the same group, who had shorter wait times for both consultations and surgical dates. But the person I picked has lots of results photos available, and he makes a point of being willing to work with fat people. There are plenty of people with bodies that look like mine, ending up with chests I would want. So I’ll be patient.
I’ll definitely be posting separately about this whole process. There’s...a lot.
Junk
Nothing particularly new going on here.
Energy and Strength
Well, current head cold and exploding sinuses notwithstanding, nothing exciting. Winter, much as I like its cold and damp, is very hard on my joints. So I’m doing okay, under the circumstances. But I definitely haven’t been feeling any surges of energy lately.
Jeez, I really need to start lifting weights again (as though I don’t enough at my job…) ahead of surgery.
Mental
I sent in my request for a consultation on the first. Since then, it has been a total roller coaster of emotion daily. Logistics is the biggest issue for me. Scheduling stresses me out. Needing to fill out forms and submit documents makes me anxious, convinced I’m going to mess up and get sent away. The prospect of needing to negotiate with my insurance both stresses and enrages me. The prospect of needing to stay in an unfamiliar town for a week post-surgery terrifies me. Taking pictures of myself topless for the surgeon brings up all kinds of shame and dysphoria. Hell, having to measure myself for various purposes makes me feel gross.
There are so many potential gatekeepers between me and this thing I want so badly. Part of me still, still wants to just say “fuck it” and pay out of pocket. I have the money. I could do it. It would wipe out my savings, but I wouldn’t have to ask permission. I fucking despise having to go begging authority figures to please let me do things with my body, like some cringing dog.
I just want to look like Jack Black and go about my business. Is that so much to ask?
