I'll be honest; I assumed I'd be jumping for joy afterward. But I didn't and continue not to. My mind has simply quieted. Getting on T consumed me for so long that it's as if my brain now doesn't know what to do. My reaction to knowing I'm on T is difficult to articulate. All I can manage to say is that I think I'm simply calm now. My quad surprisingly hurt like hell and I was completely exhausted by that oh-so-bewitching hour of 4pm, but beyond that I didn't feel anything significant. I simply went home, ordered a pizza, made a box of brownies, watched "Spider-Man 2," and struggled to stay awake until a decent hour. I continued to wonder about my body's reaction to this sudden spike of hormonal substance, imagining it sitting there staring and it and going, "Hmm..."
I've definitely had some literally overnight psychological changes, though. I'm only aware of these due to significant changes in my deeply-dug thinking patterns, the details of which I'll be completely forgoing here, but they're definitely positive signs. Beyond this, changes will come as they come. Average transition time has it that I'll likely need a new driver's license photo by the summer (six months or so), but I'll pretty much be sitting back and watching in the meantime. I'm sure the fact that I woke up today with two very prominent pimples--which is very unlike me--is just an amusing coincidence. For all I know, I fell asleep on the pizza.
Yessir, my only remaining struggle regarding T, it would seem, is to get over my needle phobia. I was very comfortable taking care of all the preparation and preliminaries up until the actual injection, and apparently executed it all quite well, but once the injection happened--in which the nurse took over--the nurse insisted I lie down for a few minutes when she so much as turned back to face me after disposing of the needle. Apparently I wasn't looking too good. I didn't feel too good, either. It doesn't matter how much I try to gear myself up; every time, right after a needle, I get this intense, warm rush of what I can only describe as faintness due to a lack of terms. It's like I'm a totally different person for a few precious seconds, automatic and hardcore disassociation happening the moment the needle enters. I usually make a complete recovery within five minutes, but a lot of important things can and do happen within those five minutes. I really hope time and practice will help me get over this. I'm very determined to become independent with my shots, and the fact that I still dislike Fenway fuels me further. The sooner I'm independent, the sooner I see them significantly less and have the option of moving my business to another practice.
And I guess that's the note I'll end on: my continuing disclaimer for all transpeople to avoid Fenway Health at all costs. Was this past experience worse than the first? Thankfully no, but it wasn't any better, either. Same shit from a different dog. No transperson deserves to go through what I have and continue to. For details I'll save you from this time around (unless somebody asks me in e-mail, in which I'll gladly tell you), I indeed make the claim that Fenway's treatment actually and continually attempts to compromise a patient's health and/or outcome(s). And I'm not talking about the psychological "wah-wah I didn't get my way" stuff, I mean actual physical health. That's just not cool. We deserve adequate care from adequate people, we deserve respect, we deserve to not be bullied by a monopoly, we deserve the comfort of knowing that we're being looked after, that we don't have to stay on our toes like Russian ballerinas for when the mistakes and carelessness happen. But yes, I realize how much of a hypocrite I am by saying these things and yet still going through Fenway. Don't be a Milo; be a Gallant. Only choose Fenway if you have absolutely no other options, and in such an unfortunately likely case, make sure you are so well read that text comes out of your ears when you sneeze. Don't be afraid to speak up and stand your ground when you feel uncomfortable, neglected, or what they're saying or doing is wrong in any sense of the word. Odds are you're right. And if you're unable to do this and yet have to go through Fenway anyway, I'll gladly be your bulldog.