In Soviet Union, T Take You
Today's laugh: "Our pets' heads are falling off!"
Today's song: Hans Zimmer - Discombobulate
I seem to be having a very bad week. The entry point to the rest of my life has been manhandled, my emotions have been toyed with in more ways and reasons than I care to mention, and a few people I thought I knew seem to be getting increasingly insulting. Is there a full moon?
But I won't be clarifying most of these things. (Ha! Made you click.) It's not proper to air dirty laundry, let alone so consecutively. All I will say is in regards to the continuing hormone consultation disaster, of which death seems to be a refusal. I've received several calls since that appointment, most from the nurse practitioner (who continues to win points with me) and one from the doctor. Forgoing all details, her call agitated me further; I don't at all appreciate how she handled the situation. It was classic Splenda, and while I was fooled initially (I wanted this to be behind us so freaking bad), the more she talked, the more I saw the real side of her. Gentlemen, if you're looking at T options, please permit me to share my detailed experiences with you. Really. You'll want to know.
Anyway, the "good" news is my relevant bloods have already come back and the "trans team" has already reviewed my case and given me the green light, thereby officiating my Janurary 3rd, 2011 T shot day. Bad news is my complaints probably expedited that through the two weeks I was told this would take; perhaps that news is more insulting than bad, actually. Either way, I've already learned that Fenway cannot be trusted; or, at the very least, a certain doctor can't. I'll believe I'm getting my first shot when it's in my ass. (Depending on how surly I am that day, I may even demand to see the vial to ensure it's the right drug and the filled syringe to ensure it's the correct dose.) Once I'm on T and independent with administration of the shots, I will likely be giving Fenway the finger and venturing off to other potential venues, all the while sharing the holy doctrine of Fenway avoidance. It's always harder to find somebody to start you on T than to oversee you on T, so I just need to hold out maybe two more months with this dilapidated establishment. How horrible is it that I'm walking to the happiest day of my life with a heavy heart, to consider it something I just have to close my eyes and get through instead of trying to bronze every detail. I honestly feel violated; something massive has been taken from me and I'll never get it back.
But that's enough of that. The semester is nearly over for me; I just have a final on Tuesday (don't ask) and I'm through. After all I've dealt with this semester in various environments, I'm actually quite proud of myself for getting through. I'm particularly proud of myself for getting in my term paper on time. It was due this past Friday and the hormone consultation issues in particular robbed me of any chances of concentration. Emotionally skewered and my dysphoria kicked up, it became impossible to finish a paper on, well, dysphoria. And yet I did it. Don't know how, but I did. This may have been a classic bootstraps moment.
For any prospective students reading, especially those that have expressed anxiety to me in the past about academic intimidation, don't be worried; some of my turmoil wasn't school related. Assignments and classic semester stress simply added on to what I was already dealing with. The moral of the story here is this: if I managed to survive this semester, with all the additional stuff I had/have going on, you surely can. Yeah, I probably don't know you, but I know you still can.
As much of a hell this semester may have been, I'm (trying to stay) quite optimistic about next semester by all accounts and purposes. And for anybody who wants to know, yes, I'll likely be blogging over the break despite the (assumed) lack of pay. I guess you'd call this a dream job, then; the type you'd enjoy doing no matter what.
Hidden Sweets, located near the Harvard Square station, should be ashamed of their lack of blue-raspberry goodness. I went there the other day in the hopes of rewarding myself, but it was in vain outside of some sour belts. I'm still on the hunt for an accessible sweet shop for my daily fixes; you know of one, give me the skinny.