Seeing How Deep the Rabbit Hole Goes

So it’s a patch instead of a red pill, but I’m seeing how deep the rabbit hole goes.

The meeting with the hormone doctor was both pretty uneventful and eventful. The vast majority of it was standard new patient intake stuff. He then moved on to taking a brief trans-related history, and asking what my expectations were for what hormones would do. And that was kind of that. Patches first at a very conservative level, and then I’ll start spirolactone later on, so that if there’s any unexpected effects he knows which one is responsible.

I was a bit surprised that he didn’t ask me to sign an informed consent form — I’d seen ones online that were pretty detailed in lisitng the expected effects, what they wouldn’t do, and the possible risks. Admittedly during our conversation it was clear I was already well-informed.

Unfortunately, I can’t actually start them until tomorrow, since while my primary doctor ordered a testosterone levels test, he forgot to ask them to check my estrogen levels as well (so that there’s a baseline) and that test is best done before 10 a.m.

The other nice thing is that he gave me referrals for a couple of gender therapists near me — he was also puzzled by the dearth of them on the Peninsula. (There’s lots in SF and Berkeley/Oakland, but they’d be a real pain to get to on a weekly basis.) All the referrals are people he knows, which was especially useful because apparently a number of therapists in the area put gender issues down as a specialty because they find it interesting, but they don’t necessarily have actual expertise in it.

Afterwards, I a bit of celebratory dinner with a co-worker, Y., who I came out to a few weeks ago. She asked if she could bring another co-worker, S. who’s she’s friends with. S. works on my team and I suspected already kind of knew I was trans (turns out she didn’t, she just thought the nail polish, etc. was my personal style). It’s funny, both Y. and S. are far more excited than I am, probably because they don’t have the accompanying twinge of fear about the future.

There was an interesting generational difference (Y. is probably early 30s and S. is probably under 30): I was talking about how I need to talk with HR next month about putting together a transition plan, and they wondered why it such a big deal that HR even needed to be involved, and were sure no one would have a problem with it. When I mentioned the bathroom issue, among other things, S. vowed to throat-punch anyone who hassled me about it.

Posted about my co-workers comments on Facebook (without naming names), and yet another co-worker offered to clothesline anyone if needed. It’s like I’ve got my own personal squadron of protective superheroines (everyone I’ve come out to at work so far has been a woman). I’m really fortunate to them as colleagues.

It’s nice to have allies. Oh and they want to throw a coming out party at the appropriate time. (I did tell them that if there’s any “It’s a girl!” balloons I’d have to slap someone.)