Mission Accomplished

A happy resolution with the doctor means that I just popped my first dose of finasteride. I had to talk to the nurse two separate occasions before she was clear about the nature of the problem: insurance. The doctor must not have had to deal with this situation before, but to his credit, he fashioned a plan. I am to take one half of a 5mg tablet on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. No, this won't result in a constant level in my bloodstream, but it will total 7.5mg per week. I'll count this as a victory.

The title I chose for this post is intended to carry the negative connotations associated with the infamous George Bush banner. I know that my war with my inner nature is far from over. I cannot say that armed conflict has been completed. This is but one more stop on my march to nowhere. I'm trying to march in place, but some forward momentum sneaks in from time to time. I am attempting the slowest transition on record, pushing the envelope just enough to feed the beast.

My therapist, astute observer that she is, pointed out the reason for my delayed girl fog this year. I had literally been carrying this prescription around in my hip pocket for two months. As I pinned more and more hopes to this slip of paper, it gave my mind something positive to hang onto. When it was abruptly pulled out from under me by the insurance company, the walls of my own little alkaline sludge pond collapsed, and the corrosive waters of my dysphoria soaked me.

I am mentally ready for my fall harvest. I broke out the epilator yesterday. The hair on my legs is gone up to mid-calf now. I also worked on the back of my hands for the first time, and I like the look. I'm not taking off every hair there, but I would like a sparser, more feminine look for my arms. I will complete the legs before my November meeting, which is our Transgiving potluck dinner. I plan to wear a skirt for that. Makes my heart pound to consider it...