Appreciating My Kids

A happier day: December meeting

Thursday night, in an email to a friend, I shared that I never wanted children.  I love them, they have enriched my life, but they were never my idea.  Even as I wrote it, as I hesitated to hit "send", I wondered whether that was something that should be shared.  Doubts persisted even as I committed to my message.

The universe took notice.

I sent my email at 3:30am.  I went to bed around 5am.  At 6:40, my middle child heard her sister fall, found my oldest lying unconscious on the living room floor.

My middle girl sprang into action, waking my wife and I.  My wife initially was in a bit of a dither, pondering whether to call her sister (a nurse), or to call an ambulance.  Middle girl came in with the phone, asking if we should call 911.  Of course, of course.  Wife was unsure if our girl was breathing, though the heavy rasp left no doubt.  A little labored, but breathing regularly.  Still unresponsive though.

The ambulance arrived within 10 minutes, and they could not rouse her either.  Putting her onto a very cold board to carry her out started to wake her.  My wife rode in the ambulance with her, and she was heartened when our girl said, "Watch TV."  Now, that's normal.

We spent 10 hours in the ER, and our girl got gradually better.  A couple of barfs, a CAT scan of her head, an EEG.  Around 5:00, they decided that she had suffered a seizure.  Take her home, watch her.  It was her first seizure, and we hope her last.

Midday, we started hearing the news coverage coming out of Connecticut.  That a young man had shot and killed twenty children for no apparent reason.  Not that any reason would've warranted it.  A massive tragedy, and another reminder that my family has value to me.

Middle girl was the hero of the morning.  She thought more clearly in the pinch than her parents.  Before I left to follow the ambulance, I found her crying and tried to comfort her.  She had passed her driving test the day before and gotten her license.  Now she would have to drive herself to school.  After school, we had her running some errands for us in parts of town she doesn't know.  She got lost several times, and wound up in tears again.  She had a really tough day.

Her brother, who was out of school, was left to his own devices at home, and he managed to stay out of trouble.  So, another good kid.  We took the two of them out to eat in the evening, wanting to reward them for their fortitude during a crisis.

They both exceeded our expectations, revealing an untapped reservoir of responsibility.

I was bedraggled as the day ended.  We had gone to the hospital after I had slept for a little over an hour.  At 10pm, after dinner with the kids, I laid down in bed, and didn't rise again for 12 hours.

Lesson learned.  Appreciate the blessings in your life.

Reconstruction of the Fables

A lot has gone down since I left all fifteen of you hanging.  The sad thing is that I'm reaching an age where putting a longish story back together after a few weeks is nigh impossible.  Luckily, I had a lengthy chat near the critical period, so I will try to reconstruct from that convo.  Wish me luck.

You will recall that I was very unhappy when last we spoke.  A chat with the above friend helped me gain some perspective, and two days later, I followed up on these with my therapist.  The gist was that I was finally prepared to walk away if things weren't going to improve.  I was out of excuses for carrying on with the charade, other than the financial excuse.  And I was ready to tackle that one on the fly.  My therapist did suggest that I might want to try couples counseling before dropping the hammer.

The missus had an appointment with her counselor two days later.  As it got closer I began to lose my resolve to  ask to be included.  The morning of, I made my play, fearing that explanations would be sought or fur would fly.  Quite the opposite.  "I was thinking I might join you in your appointment with J."  Matter of factly she responded, "So you're tired of this too?"  No tears, no raised voices.  We talked calmly for about twenty minutes, and decided that working on the marriage was worth the effort.

J was surprised to see me two years after my earlier visit.  She thought I should have returned before this.  I said that I hadn't been invited.  Anyway, we sat down and started to hash it out.  I no longer felt that I had anything to lose, so I didn't mince words.  I said that I had reached a point where I would prefer to be alone by myself instead of alone together.  That depression over the current arrangement prompted me to come.  That status quo was untenable.

J did a fantastic job keeping us on task, pulling us away from petty bickering that popped up a few times.  We both stayed calm throughout, outside of a brief bit of temper from me when hairless legs came up.  I barked something about an adult being capable of making grooming decisions for themselves, and the subject was quickly changed.

Anyway, I got to say a lot of things on my mind. Julie said that there was worry that I might be planning to transition. I told them that I think about it, and when I'm stressed and depressed I tend to think about getting as far from my present situation as I can. Nothing much further than changing genders, huh?

We talked about my passive nature, and that it wasn't likely to change.  i pointed out that I haven't been out in public in three years, the blog has been private more than two years, that I am not pushing the envelope out of respect for her.  And that I am seeing diminishing returns for my effort. 

We talked about the lack of intimacy.  I explained that intimacy does not have to lead to intercourse.  I have no such expectations.  I have made myself available, and still she goes to the recliner and the television.  

I'm sure there was much more, but that is the meat of it.  We both felt much better for having unburdened ourselves.  It was agreed that we would have a couples session once a month, while continuing our individual therapy as well.

Reaching the end of my rope finally allowed me to speak my mind without tempering things.  I won't be in that mental corner at the next session (presumably), so I hope I can sustain my bluntness.  Things have been much warmer at home the last two weeks, and the affection feels genuine now.  Good times.

Return to Form

Welcome back, my friends, to the show that never ends...

As always, I am composing this in a corner of the basement, home to our Dell.  The Closer is playing on the TV, the missus is snoring intermittently in the recliner facing the TV.  I find the noise distracting, but turning off the television frequently wakes her, and I want to get this done without interruption.

Since I am silently communicating near a full chair, why not steal a cinematic trope from the Eastwood files?

The Good:  Earlier this week, we finally tied up a bunch of legal stuff.  We now have wills, advanced medical directives, and a special needs trust for my eldest.  This has been nagging at us for the twenty years that we have had heirs, and it is truly a relief to have this off the table.  All grown up, right?  Yeah, sure.

The Bad:  The basement is no longer my refuge.  Our only cable connection is down here, and the missus falls asleep here every night.  The long implied, and more recently explicit, ceding of this space to me as a private haven is gone.  My resentment is growing daily.  Last week, I snapped at her about turning the TV back on while I was attempting to listen to a podcast.  Why do you get to decide that your slumber entertainment trumps my waking pastimes?  I was chapped, for sure, but the reason was a canard. 

I was actually upset about two things.  One, my sanctuary has been taken from me.  Two, next month it will one year since we shared any real intimacy.  We haven't spoken about either issue, at all.  I don't know if she is bothered about the latter.  I think she is oblivious about the former.  I almost~~almost~~broached the subject before she left for therapy last week.  I wanted to apologize for my outburst, and calmly share the real issues that were lurking beneath it.  And I couldn't do it.  Close only counts in dancing and hand grenades, and we are doing neither.

The Ugly:  My funk, my pink fog, is deepening.  I desperately want to change into a skirt and heels as I write, and that's with her in the room.  I am reaching the point where I don't care whether she sees something that she can't unsee.  This nasty bit of passive aggression would be much easier than actually having a frank talk with her, and far more destructive.  What makes me see this as a solution?  What prompts me to lash out like this, when constructive solutions are at hand?  I think I know what I need to discuss in therapy next Tuesday.

After a couple of pretty sane years, I can feel the walls closing in on me again.  I am thinking about my gender much more in the last month than I have for a great while.  It feels like I'm going back to that awful place I was in fall 2007.  I can't imagine that it could be that bad again, but it worries me anyway.  After such a long time of not pushing the envelope with my wife, over two years, I fear that I am going to feel the need to stretch Leslie out again.  My marriage won't withstand that, I believe.  I feel powerless to do anything about it.

Memory Lane Is a Slum

Earlier, I took a trip down memory lane unexpectedly.

I got a call from the missus in the afternoon.  It seems that my boy, just turned 14, had an incident at school that could be classified as bullying.  He was being actively shunned during assigned group work in science.  Maybe that doesn't sound awful, but he was distressed, and he spoke to his teacher about it after class.  Without giving her the details, he asked her if she ever felt that it wouldn't make any difference if she wasn't there.  She didn't give an enlightened response. 

When he came out to the car minutes later, he prefaced his tale by telling his mother that "I'm not suicidal, but...".

After hearing this story, my own mind spun back to dark corridors of my time in middle and high school.  I've touched on this in my earliest posts, but this was more visceral.  I just don't want to think that my boy is going to go through the same wringer that I did.  Normally, I remember only the incidents at school, the situations.  This time, I was reintroduced to the pangs of dread, the aching loneliness, the vulnerability and isolation.  Popular kids would have nothing to do with me, literally looking down their noses at me (and that's difficult when I am 6'2").  I was a homely, mumbling, slouching shell of a person.

I knew that I was different, and I was convinced that I was transparent in my differentness.  Surely, my inner weirdness must be visible to all.  How else to explain the treatment?  I have often wondered if the gender issues made me hide from the world even as I walked through it, or if my outsider status made me long to be different.  And what could be more different than being a girl?

My boy is sweet-natured, kind to people and animals, and he has the looks that I never had.  He will be a heartbreaker.  Yet, his peers insist on othering him.  He is socially awkward, though less than I was.  In short, he is vulnerable.  He wants to belong.  He wants to be appreciated for his brains and wit.  He is, largely, like his father.  He has shown no signs of having the gender issues that I have, and I truly believe that I would recognize them.  He has less guile than I did, tending toward truth-telling even to his detriment.

So, I need to talk to him about being on the outside.  Without going into the "whys", I will tell him about my own experience.  And I will let him know that he can ask me anything, tell me anything, and be confident that I will still love him.  He needs someone that understands his situation, and I have to be that someone.

Pro(pecia)s and Cons

A new follower sent me an email last week, and included a question that I thought deserved a broader airing.  Lucky you!  She was interested in the sort of results I was getting from taking Propecia (finasteride).

I have been on the drug for a year and a half now, roughly.  I cannot see that it has produced a single new hair on my head.  Maybe it has slowed the progress of my forehead.  Maybe.  My forehead believes in manifest destiny, and won't rest until it reaches the promised land at the crown of my head.  My scalp is plainly visible through my wispy locks.  If that were my only goal in taking the drug, I would drop it.

I see positive side effects in other areas.  My half-calf barely needs maintenance anymore.  Perhaps the credit for that should go to the regular beatings by the epilator, but I think the drug may be reducing the growth there.  Hard to know, but I like having a follicle-free zone south of my neck.

Of course, finasteride is also used as part of the hormone cocktail given to transwomen.  It is an androgen blocker, which I suppose is why it is used for hair growth.  Blocking androgens was really my ulterior motive in getting the prescription to start with.  My hair was too far gone for any realistic hope of revival.  Reducing the testosterone coursing through my veins was a very attractive side effect, and I think that has been accomplished.

I have written several times that my gender dysphoria has been less of a problem over the last year or so.  I keep expecting to be gobsmacked, but it has remained quite mild.  Only recently did I realize that this emotional leveling corresponds to my intake of Propecia.  I think that reducing the toxic T in my system has allowed me a measure of feminine feeling that my body no longer recognizes as the enemy.  Two thumbs up.

(Warning: Euphemistic single-entendres ahead!)  What about the bedroom, you ask?  The Senator does not have the same spontaneity that he had previously, and for that, I am appreciative.  He has not been invited onto the dance floor by a partner since last October, so it would be difficult to say if he can still do the mystery dance all the way to the coda.  He is still called upon to perform his one-man show from time to time, and he still hits his marks and knows his lines.  This is quite enough for me to support his reelection efforts.

Elixir

The pink fog comes on little kitten heels.*

As has become the norm, it snuck up on me again.  I don't even realize that it's there until I, um, notice it.  That my thoughts have been lingering continually on a very narrow area, and how very lonely I am feeling.  It's sneaky that way.  Like cooking a lobster: start with a cold pot of water, and it doesn't even know that the end is near.

The mini-crisis worked itself out by attending my monthly meeting, just the elixir that I have come to count on.  Our guest speaker was my therapist, and she had prepared a presentation this time around.  Previous times, she had moderated Q&A sessions, which were great, but this was more engaging for the group as a whole.  She has taught Sexual Development at the university, and this played out like a good interactive lecture. 

The company of my friends broke the spell of my dysphoria.  They have problems, too, and that pulls me out of my own self-pitying habit.  My issues are different, but are certainly no worse than many others.  It's a nice little reality check.  Zen and the art of motor-psyche maintenance.

5am and off to bed.

* (apologies to Carl Sandburg)

Clever Title Eludes Veteran Blogger

Odds, ends, out-takes, mis-takes:

• I am off and running, at least a little.  I did my first walk/run a week ago.  I then twisted my ankle the next day mowing, so the follow-up was delayed a bit.  Friday night I went again, and I was pleased to find it a little easier, perhaps because I was pacing myself better.  Just last night, I went a third time, this time joined by the missus.  She is in better shape than me, but running is not something she ever ventured into, worried about her knees.  It went well.  I find myself looking forward to my next run, thinking about it often.

• Our June meeting was a Friends and Family Potluck, encouraging our members to bring along the people that support them.  I invited my sister-in-law.  She had to send her regrets a few hours before it, as she was moving, and her help was only available at that time.  I also invited the missus, but she kind of blew it off.  I didn't expect anything else, but wanted to be able to say that she had been asked, in the event that her sister did attend and mentioned it to her.  Maybe we'll actually cross that bridge in the future.

• Both my daughters attended the school prom in May.  My wife was helping my middle child with her makeup that evening.  Near the end, my wife asked for our daughter's mascara.  She said that she had none, and had never worn it.  This sent my wife on a mad scramble for a tube, as she seldom uses it either.  (She also knows that one should not share a tube.)  As my wife was searching beneath her bathroom sink, I went off to my cache of cosmetics.  As I anticipated, I had several.  I came back up to wife, handed one to her, and whispered, "Unopened, never used."  She took it from me and used it, but I think she was a bit uncomfortable that I had the ready solution.

• We have been doing a massive cleanout of our bedroom for a few weeks.  The missus has filled seven huge garbage bags with (mostly) her clothes, to be carted off to the Goodwill.  We had to deal with some of my feminine things in the closet, mostly heels and hosiery and handbags.  She questioned the immense quantity of pantyhose I had on hand, but otherwise she was able to detach emotionally and deal with things without judging.  It was very nice to be matter-of-fact about such things without reprisal.

That's all that comes to mind tonight.  Thank you for persevering.