Megathread SRS and GRS surgeons and associated horrors - the medical community of experimental surgeons, the secret community of home butchers

[UselessRubberKeyboard]

Did they find the fistula at the hospital post op or after dickhead had been "dilating" and ripped it through?

The latter. Hilariously. Which means it’s all his own fault.

 

[Cuckoman]

Lmao. That's not vaginal lubrication, pal.

Someone should tell them;

You remember when you used to have a penis, how wet did it use to get when you got hard? It didn't get wet at all? Because penises don't get wet that way?

That is how wet your penis gets when it is inverted.

Also please stop this talk about "a hole is just a hole". Never say that. Never even think that. That kind of thinking is what leads to the stoma-shit we read about in these threads.

 

[Mad_Dog]

Also please stop this talk about "a hole is just a hole". Never say that. Never even think that. That kind of thinking is what leads to the stoma-shit we read about in these threads.

My brother has a nurse friend who gets people (men) at the ER who "accidentally" end up with things in their butt. One such specimen, put a condom over an entire coconut and shoved it up his ass. When had done pleasuring himself with the fruit, he accidentally broke the condom attempting to pull it out. He went to the hospital, and they had to sew his butthole shut due to the extensive damage caused by the coconut fibers in his rectum, and they had to give him a stoma. A few weeks later, that same guy came back to the ER with a cucumber stuck in his stoma.

Spoiler

Now, I don't know how real that story is but said nurse friend also mentioned a man who got his penis stuck in a hammer head and had to have his dong amputated. She took pics and sent them to my brother, which he promptly showed me, so my BS meter leans towards "might be true." And if it weren't for the utter depths of human depravity I've witnessed for the past decades, I wouldn't believe it, but crazier things have happened. Every time I used to say to myself "That's it, I've officially seen it all" something worse shows up.

 

[Aunt Carol]

I'm scheduled for bilateral cochlear implants, orchitecomy, and voice feminization surgeries.

Wait what

Did he somehow autocorrect "breast" to "cochlear," or did this dude lose his hearing in adulthood (way too late for born-deaf, and types fluently)?

And if he is deaf, they could do voice feminization surgery the same way as FFS always looks like it's done: just put him out, punch him in the throat a few times, and let wishful thinking take over.

 

[Larry David's Opera Cape]

Wait what

Did he somehow autocorrect "breast" to "cochlear," or did this dude lose his hearing in adulthood (way too late for born-deaf, and types fluently)?

And if he is deaf, they could do voice feminization surgery the same way as FFS always looks like it's done: just put him out, punch him in the throat a few times, and let wishful thinking take over.

I was thinking he was just a freaking moron using fancy words he didn't understand, but it looks like he's for real:

https://www.reddit.com/r/Transgender_Surgeries/comments/1hfy4b2/ffs_after_cochlear_implants/

Profoundly deaf and age 43:

https://www.reddit.com/r/ASLinterpreters/comments/1ecjd97/options_for_cdi_training_in_oregon/

I’m profoundly deaf and am a native ASL signer. I’ve been using ASL since I was a kid and I’m 43. I live in Salem Oregon.

My audiograms show that I only have hearing marginally better than a rock. Emphasis on marginally. My ability to speak/lipread is as existent as my ability to invent cold fusion.

And for those wondering, in spite of my best efforts, I’ve had no success with inventing cold fusion. My most sincere apologies for that abject failure. Maybe I’ll have better luck winning the lottery. Be right back, heading to the gas station for a ticket.

What are my options? For being a CDI, I mean. Unless you’re from the future, in that case tell me tomorrow’s numbers, too!

Also autistic:

https://www.reddit.com/r/MtF/comments/1bskyt7/autistic_hrt_impact_on_emotional_range_when/

Wondering if autism plays a strong factor in emotional range when HRT is introduced. Before HRT, my emotional range was minimal. Four months into HRT, still minimal. A friend of mine who's not trans but is intersex commented their hypothesis; they think it's because I'm autistic and that it likely would mean the emotional range I have may not change much.

If you're autistic and on HRT, when did it change your emotional range noticeably?

https://www.reddit.com/r/MtF/comments/1bpnb59/four_months_into_hrt_hormones_are_good_and_within/

Before HRT, crying was an alien concept. After starting HRT, still is an alien concept. Was raised with the toxic "boys don't cry" crap and was taught to just be a rock. Got pretty good at it unfortunately, and I hate it. Wish I could cry, but I'm clueless how to.

My hormone levels are within female ranges (376 pg/mL estradiol, 29 ng/dL testosterone, at trough). I've been on HRT for four months now. And still nada. I watch sad films, sappy films, saw heart-wrenching stuff, gotten real stressed to the point where I was quite emotional, and yet, not. a. single. tear.

I'm worried that all of that bullshit conditioning to be a rock is proving to be stronger than my hormones. I'm worried that my emotional floodgates will never open.

My question for y'all: how long did it take you to finally experience emotional release? Am I pretty screwed at this point since it's month 4 and still nada?

Edit: editing the post five months after this initial post for those finding it via Google; finally am tearing up from time to time. Ugly cried once even. So it looks like the eight month mark is when my ability to cry started breaking through, although it's not very often. It looks like we just need give it time, to get in touch with our emotions and allow ourselves to really feel it, to let it have its way.

Sperging out because his doctor is afraid he is about to stroke out and wants him to reduce his hormone dose:

https://www.reddit.com/r/AskMtFHRT/comments/1ba251j/depression_after_cutting_dose_per_docs_demand/

My estradiol valerate dosage was 5mg/week, taken at 2.5mg 2x a week (every 3.5 days) via subQ injection. No other meds (monotherapy). After two months, I got screened during my trough and doc found my level was at 376 pg/mL. The doc (Dr. Stephanie P. Detlefsen at Gender Pathways Clinic via Kaiser Permanente in Portland, Oregon) freaked out, said it was way too high, that I was jeopardizing myself putting myself at extreme risk for stroke, DVT, and so on. She told me that "NO doctor will work with you with your range being that high and continuing your current dosage. We will NOT prescribe you any further estradiol until you get your dosage DOWN and your levels DOWN below 200, preferably at 100's range". I also got charged $700 for lab screening (this is in addition to paying nearly $400/mo for Kaiser individual medical insurance).

Prior to that appointment, I was feeling pretty great, moods were good, depression and anxiety was gone. Body changes were happening although slow (I'm 3mo into HRT).

I wasn't happy with her demand, but I didn't want to lose my prescription. So I cooperated and cut my dosage from 5mg/wk to 3mg/week. I'm now taking 1.5mg 2x a week (every 3.5 days). Originally I cut it to 2mg/wk. That was a very bad idea, I felt like shit after two days. So I upped it to 3mg/wk. I felt some improvement, but it wasn't as good as before cutting it. I was able to ride it out until the next dose. After taking the next dose, I was still OK, not as good, but still OK. Today, it's two days before the next dose and I'm depressed as hell. I'm trying to hold myself together, stay focused on life and not drown in the depression. The depression is much more intense than BEFORE I started HRT. In other words, the depression and anxiety is now back.

I'm now regretting HRT -- and get this, when I was on 5mg/week, I was loving HRT and was happy. I know if I simply stop HRT, it'll be hell of a lot worse, which is why I'm staying the course with HRT. And I also know that regret is not true regret, that it's just a symptom of depression, because I honestly don't want to stop HRT, I just wish I was FINISHED transitioning. If I could fast forward two years, hell, I'd be mashing that "fast forward" button for all it was bloody worth. But reality is, it is what it is. I gotta wait. But I miss how I felt before the dosage was cut.

Maybe it's just my body adapting and I have to wait a few weeks before my body finishes adjusting to the change and will go back to feeling what I felt before dosage was cut.

I'm also concerned; I'm doing monotherapy; the intent was that my estradiol would be high enough to suppress my testosterone enough so I wouldn't need to take any other medication. But I'm worried that by cutting my dosage in nearly half, it'll result in my testosterone spiking and reducing feminization and increasing masculization which is the absolute last thing I want. And I don't really want to take any other medication.

I'm confused as to how to best handle this. I'm feeling pretty aimless, although I'm blaming that on the depression. I originally signed up with KP because I heard they were great at covering all of the costs from medically transitioning including surgery. But if it's going to be like this, I'm not so sure...

NOTE: If someone can recommend better insurance that has excellent coverage that will result in me paying very little to no out of pocket costs for surgery, please let me know!

Check out the crazy eyes on this one too:

https://www.reddit.com/r/TransLater/comments/1f6uqo4/boymoding_how_am_i_doing/

 

[Brain Power]

AllEggedOut laments that Dr. Liu in Seattle won't do facial feminization on him due to his shit health. As trannies are prone to do, he downplays the apnea events he experiences and believes he knows better than doctors.
Link | Archive

This one shared his face. Let's see...

Spoiler: Facial feminization recommendations?

Link | Archive

I’ve been on HRT for 8 months. Pre-op everything. My facial feminization consultation is coming up in a couple of weeks with Dr Tommy Liu. I’ll be asking for work on my eyebrow ridge and my nose. My goal is to pass. I’m already feeling happy about myself but would love to put an end to the misgendering or at least cut down on it substantially. Anything else I should ask about?

Included pictures of me without the wig. I’m already going through laser hair removal for my beard and am planning on getting hair transplant after facial feminization surgery is finished.

Spoiler: Skin care starter?

Link | Archive

I haven’t taken care of my skin at all and I’m now 42. I don’t have any skin issues that I’m aware of. But I’d like to start taking care of it. What’s a good starter routine?

Included photo to show my current skin condition.

He has children

Spoiler: Early in transition, how to swim if one has breasts but still look pretty masculine?

Link | Archive
NOTE: I don't have breasts yet, starting HRT soon. Just wondering as I love swimming and I wanted to think of a solution before my breasts came in (so weird to see myself typing that, but I love that!).

I'm pretty masculine still -- think bearded and bald, complete with a bodacious dad-bod (mom-bod?) topped off with a marvelous beer belly. Think Homer Simpson with a beard -- yeah, that's pretty much it, minus the radioactivity. Sexy, right? I thought so too! Rawr!

I've socially transitioned and legally transitioned -- driver's license, social security, passport, bank, the works, friends/family/work all know. I'm on Finasteride & Minoxidil but that'll take a while (and if it doesn't make a difference in a year, I'll look into grafts). I'm boymoding until I boyfail, then I'll switch to going as myself full time.

If I put on a shirt, I'm thinking when my shirt gets wet, it'll be obvious I have breasts. I can't go topless like I currently do because -- well, people, yeah - they lose their minds if they see thar boobies!

I can't wear women's swimsuits because I don't look femme enough yet -- I could say fuck it, but I'm not mentally/emotionally ready to be constantly clocked while wearing that while swimming. I'm pretty self conscious enough already, that'd be just putting it on steroids.

I could just not swim but that's a nonstarter because I LOVE SWIMMING! And this is usually with my kids at the local YMCA. Cue the gasp -- yep, YMCA -- judgey people alert.

The one thought I had was to put on a binder and wear a black t-shirt/tanktop while swimming. Even if it got wet, it wouldn't be see through so it wouldn't be obvious. It'd be uncomfortable, but at least I could swim without dealing with the judgey looks from others. And it'd be just until I'm more comfortable with my body enough to wear women's swimsuits.

But before I look into getting a binder and a black t-shirt/tanktop for swimming, I thought I'd check with y'all to see if y'all came up with solutions I could use. I'd love to not have to wear a binder and swim in comfort.

Wait what

Did he somehow autocorrect "breast" to "cochlear," or did this dude lose his hearing in adulthood (way too late for born-deaf, and types fluently)?

And if he is deaf, they could do voice feminization surgery the same way as FFS always looks like it's done: just put him out, punch him in the throat a few times, and let wishful thinking take over.

He really meant cochlear. He made another post about the same thing.

 

[Aunt Carol]

My ability to speak/lipread is as existent as my ability to invent cold fusion.

...jeez, does this guy hear himself?

But seriously: as of five years ago, he was reporting that he couldn't speak. Or lipread. But somehow he was going to be an ASL interpreter--from ASL to what?

Why does this man need vocal feminization if he doesn't speak? What's his plan to rehab from that? What kind of dysphoria could his voice possibly be causing that he can perceive, and if it's social, how could he tell it's his voice and not every other way he doesn't pass?

This is like one of those pooner asexuals who are gearing up for a six-figure phalloplasty. I'm so confused.

 

[No Batty Boys in Jamaica]

Spoiler

 

[Larry David's Opera Cape]

...jeez, does this guy hear himself?

But seriously: as of five years ago, he was reporting that he couldn't speak. Or lipread. But somehow he was going to be an ASL interpreter--from ASL to what?

Why does this man need vocal feminization if he doesn't speak? What's his plan to rehab from that? What kind of dysphoria could his voice possibly be causing that he can perceive, and if it's social, how could he tell it's his voice and not every other way he doesn't pass?

This is like one of those pooner asexuals who are gearing up for a six-figure phalloplasty. I'm so confused.

Ugh he groomed both his kids too.

https://www.reddit.com/r/TransLater/comments/1frv5sg/are_there_any_mtf_parents_here/lpg7it9/?context=3

I’m MTF. Single momma of two kids aged 10 and 12. Over a year ago, they found my wig, so I came out to them. They seemed unconcerned. They simply asked what to call me and that was the end of it. I was surprised at how well they took it.

A year later, my youngest came out as transgender. I suspected it was a phase or copycat thing, but I didn’t say anything. I supported my kid and put them in therapy with someone skilled in gender affirming therapy and made sure that the therapist was neutral and wouldn’t push my kid one way or another. Six months later, my kid is still hellbent on transitioning and has been demanding medication to do it. They even got upset over the realization that puberty would increase their secondary gender characteristics and increased their demand for medication. I asked them how long they were feeling like this. They told me they already felt this way for about two years before coming out to me. I asked them to cite instances. They mentioned events that helped them to confirm their gender identity. Everything checked out. That pretty much clinched it.

My other kid identifies as nonbinary and has no interest whatsoever in transitioning and is completely comfortable with their body.

Now that I think of it, my kids being trans and nonbinary explains why they took my being trans so well. Ha.

It’s surreal being a trans parent of a trans kid. But I wouldn’t change anything for the world.

I just wish it wasn’t so hard protecting them from the world. It’s hard enough being targeted, but harder to see them trying to target my kid. I’m doing my best to equip them for this reality but wish it wasn’t necessary. I love my kids so much. They’re two awesome kids and I’m incredibly grateful and lucky to be their momma.

https://www.reddit.com/r/asktransgender/comments/1e95c14/deleted_by_user/legejyq/?context=3

My kid is 9. She’s a trans girl. Started identifying as a girl since 7, was interested in girls stuff before 7.

Being transgender myself, I wanted to make sure it wasn’t an attempt to be more like me. I came out as trans a year ago. My kid told me that she knew she wanted to be a girl two years before I came out. I asked her to cite examples of how she knew two years before. She cited events that I remembered. She said that the only reason why she came out was because I did and that she felt safe to do so. So as hard as it was for me to believe, I accepted that my being trans wasn’t why she was trans. She just was.

What helped me determine how to best support her was by asking her: “boys can dress in dresses, play with toys associated with girls, use makeup, girls can dress like boys and play with boys toys, nothing belongs to a specific gender. is it about the clothes, toys, or being referred to as a girl, or is it wanting the body of a girl?”

My kid said “all of it” so that’s what she gets.

Just to make sure she understood, I walked her through medical transition and told her about how long and hard it could be, including up to surgery when she turns 18. I also educated her about transphobia and how rampant it was. I told her I would support her every step of the way, but that she had to be absolutely sure that it was what she wanted. She unequivocally said she understood and yes, could she start immediately. I love my daughter so much just as they are and am in awe of her bravery and courage regardless of her gender.

She knows better than I do in what it feels like to be in her body/mind, and I’m not about to second guess her. Plus seeing how happy she was when she got to dress up, be referred to as a girl, and knowing she’s starting meds soon, totally worth it and this proud momma bear will protect her and nurture her into adulthood and beyond. I love her for who she is and her well being and happiness is all that matters to me.

 

[gampboonerisms]

since this contains a chick with a mutilated genital area, i think it fits best in this thread..
straight porn a little bit differently kek

Spoiler

View attachment 6788604

Even I know that real men will grab their dick and pull it out. Not grab the area to wrap the boxers around the dick (so that the dick doesn't rip off).

 

[A succulent Chinese meal]

Can't quote Brain Power's post but:

AllEggedOut:

NOTE: I don't have breasts yet, starting HRT soon. Just wondering as I love swimming and I wanted to think of a solution before my breasts came in (so weird to see myself typing that, but I love that!).

I'm pretty masculine still -- think bearded and bald, complete with a bodacious dad-bod (mom-bod?) topped off with a marvelous beer belly. Think Homer Simpson with a beard -- yeah, that's pretty much it, minus the radioactivity. Sexy, right? I thought so too! Rawr!

I've socially transitioned and legally transitioned -- driver's license, social security, passport, bank, the works, friends/family/work all know. I'm on Finasteride & Minoxidil but that'll take a while (and if it doesn't make a difference in a year, I'll look into grafts). I'm boymoding until I boyfail, then I'll switch to going as myself full time.

If I put on a shirt, I'm thinking when my shirt gets wet, it'll be obvious I have breasts. I can't go topless like I currently do because -- well, people, yeah - they lose their minds if they see thar boobies!

I can't wear women's swimsuits because I don't look femme enough yet -- I could say fuck it, but I'm not mentally/emotionally ready to be constantly clocked while wearing that while swimming. I'm pretty self conscious enough already, that'd be just putting it on steroids.

So.. AllEggedOut looks like a man, has a beard and Homer Simpson beer belly and thinks people will stare at his "breasts"? Mate, you have moobs because you look like every other fat middle-aged Barry, Harry and Larry. NO-ONE is going to think of whatever growths you manage to sprout as breasts, even when you think you've "boyfailed". You're definitely a failure as a man and as a father, but not in the way you think.

Can't wait for him to eventually experience that self-consciousness on steroids when he looks an utter prat in a woman's swimsuit with that gut and five o'clock shadow though. His fetish will get him there one day.

 

[Brain Power]

Can't quote Brain Power's post but

READ NIGGA READ

 

[A succulent Chinese meal]

READ NIGGA READ
View attachment 6792724

Edit: was retarded, now marginally less so

 

[Helvetia]

So.. AllEggedOut looks like a man, has a beard and Homer Simpson beer belly and thinks people will stare at his "breasts"? Mate, you have moobs because you look like every other fat middle-aged Barry, Harry and Larry. NO-ONE is going to think of whatever growths you manage to sprout as breasts, even when you think you've "boyfailed". You're definitely a failure as a man and as a father, but not in the way you think.

he has a blog, as well

https://alleggedout.wordpress.com/

https://archive.md/wip/0Ugtx

he wrote a fanfiction about his FFS surgery being denied due to high blood pressure

Complication for FFS​

Hit a roadblock for FFS. It’ll delay my ability to put in effort for getting FFS by a few months. I was gonna share what happened from my point of view, but I tend to emotionally process stuff better when I tell it as a story from a third party perspective. So I whipped up the story. One thing to keep in mind: this literally happened to me this morning, every last bit of it. I changed my name in the story, and the name of my dog was changed too. To protect my privacy and all. Aside from that, everything in it is how it was.

Without futher ado, enjoy the story and a brief insight into my head and my life. It’s a trip!

Alta blearily woke to her phone vibrating under her pillow. She groaned, pulled it out, and squinted at the screen. “DOCTOR APPOINTMENT IN 1 HOUR” was emblazoned across it in bold, unforgiving letters. She shut her eyes tightly, grimaced, and poked the dismissal button. The phone slid back under the pillow as she buried her face into it, as though she could muffle the reality pressing down on her. For a few minutes, she tried valiantly—and failed—to deny the inevitable. With a sigh that felt like it carried the weight of a thousand mornings like this one, she rolled out of bed.

Her legs shivered in the morning chill as she shuffled to the bathroom, the cold tile against her feet a cruel reminder that she was, indeed, awake. She steadied herself on the sink, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Her messy hair stuck out at odd angles, the bald spot at the front of her scalp mocking her with every glance. Her masculine face seemed to leer back at her as if it enjoyed her discomfort. Faint pillow creases still marked her cheek.

“You look fantastic,” she muttered sarcastically, her voice rasping out the lie as if it could soften the harsh truth staring back. Her eyes flitted to the bald spot again, and a wave of frustration welled up. Why does it feel like everything about me is working against me?

She groaned, tearing her gaze away from the mirror. Half-walking, half-staggering, she made her way to the toilet and sat down. As her bladder finally began to relax, she couldn’t stop herself from internally berating her choices. Five hours of sleep, Alta. Five. Fucking. Hours. You’re an idiot.

She shook her head, caught between exhaustion and frustration. After a few moments of sitting there, lost in self-pity, she jolted. She’d finished relieving herself a while ago. God, get it together. She wiped, pulled on her underwear, and looked forlornly at the shower. The thought of hot water was tantalizing, but the clock was unforgiving. Sighing, she resigned herself to the reality of skipping it and stalked out of the bathroom.

As she passed the mirror again, her eyes flickered toward her reflection, the pull of self-loathing magnetic. Her steps slowed, but she forced herself to keep walking. Don’t. You’ll just hate it. Focus.

Back in her room, she grabbed aimlessly at a random T-shirt and socks, her gaze drifting blankly out the window. Her thoughts began spiraling. Stage two hypertension. No meds, no clearance. No clearance, no surgery. But I can’t take meds. I don’t want meds. Isn’t there another way? She grasped at threads of hope, trying to weave them into a plan. Every potential solution unraveled before she could hold onto it.

By the time she finished dressing, her brain felt like an engine trying—and failing—to turn over. She glanced at the clock: 25 minutes left. It was a 15-minute drive to the clinic. No time for breakfast.

Fuck it. Eat later. Nice, Alta. Five hours of sleep, no coffee, no breakfast, and stressing first thing in the morning. Perfect conditions for a blood pressure check. She grimaced, shaking her head as if she could shake away her frustration. With a sigh that bordered on a growl, she bolted downstairs.

Her elderly Great Dane, Moon, lifted her head at the commotion, her gray muzzle twitching as her tail gave a tentative thump.

“Shit,” Alta muttered. She’d forgotten Moon needed to go out. The clock ticked in her mind, each second a reminder that she had no time for delays. But Moon’s eager, trusting eyes stopped her from rushing past.

In a singsong voice that belied her panic, she cooed, “Hey, Moon, time for potty, let’s go!”

The old dog groaned as she rose, her hips protesting every movement. Watching her struggle, Alta’s chest tightened with guilt. I need to get her to the vet for painkillers. She bent to clip the leash on Moon’s collar, smiling despite herself at the excited wag of the old girl’s tail.

They stepped into the backyard, the crisp air biting at Alta’s face. Moon sniffed around, taking her time, as Alta glanced at her watch. 20 minutes left. Shit. She urged Moon back inside, gave her a treat, and grabbed her water bottle. She had just enough time if nothing went wrong.

Sliding into her tiny white Smart car, she cranked up the heat and pulled out of the driveway. The cold air stung her lungs, but with every passing block, she felt a little more human. Maybe the appointment wouldn’t be so bad.

Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat. A reminder flashed for her co-parent’s church session. They’d asked her to come for moral support, and she’d promised to think about it.

“Later,” she muttered, brushing the thought away. She needed to focus on the road.

The clinic loomed ahead, a sterile monument to practicality. Alta parked, took a deep breath, and stared at the building. Her fingers drummed a staccato rhythm on the steering wheel. Exhaustion and apprehension warred within her, each vying for dominance.

“Alright, Alta,” she murmured. “One foot in front of the other.”

Inside, the antiseptic smell of the clinic hit her, faintly undercut by a weak attempt at floral air freshener. It did nothing to make the place feel less sterile. Alta walked up to the front desk, her boots clicking softly against the floor. She took a deep breath and said, “I have an appointment at 9:45,” her voice low and tired but clear enough.

The receptionist smiled, looking at her computer. “Alright, you’re all set. You can go right in,” she said, motioning toward the hallway.

Alta’s shoulders relaxed slightly in relief. She glanced at her phone: 9:40. Five minutes early. Just enough time. She followed the receptionist’s instructions, heading down the hall with brisk but quiet steps.

“In here,” the receptionist said, gesturing toward an open door before walking back to the desk.

The exam room was typical: a small table with crinkly paper stretched across it, two stiff chairs, and a counter cluttered with medical tools. Alta sat down, gripping her water bottle tightly. Her nerves coiled tight in her chest as she waited. Just get through this, Alta. Don’t lose it.

The door opened, and the doctor stepped in, laptop in hand, her blond cropped hair tucked under a surgical cap. Her white facial mask obscured her lips, and Alta’s stomach sank. How the hell am I supposed to lipread like this? The thought of having to ask the doctor to remove her mask already felt like an uphill battle. Alta took a breath, opening her mouth to speak, but before she could say anything, the doctor placed the laptop on the counter and flipped it open.

The screen lit up, and a woman with long brown hair appeared, signing briskly. “Hi Alta, I’m your interpreter. I’ll be interpreting for both of you today. Any questions?”

Alta’s stomach sank even further. A fucking video interpreter. Fantastic. Impersonal, tiny, delayed, and another reminder of how much I hate this whole setup. Alta pressed her lips together, forcing herself to nod and sign back, “No questions,” her movements tight and controlled.

After that, Alta stopped speaking verbally, letting her hands take over. What’s the point? I’d just stumble over words anyway, and the interpreter’s already here. She signed everything, her eyes darting to the tiny, inadequate screen to catch the interpreter’s translation of the doctor’s words. The need for it gnawed at her, every glance fueling her anger. Why do I need someone else to speak for me? Why do I have to rely on this damn screen?

She wished—fiercely—that the doctor would just rip off their mask so she could lipread. But she knew, deep down, that even if they did, she’d probably miss half of it and still need the interpreter anyway. The helplessness of it all burned in her chest, her signing growing sharper as her frustration bled into every movement. She rearranged her face into a polite smile and signed back, “Nope, all good.”

The doctor arched her eyebrow briefly but didn’t comment, closing the door behind her. She sat on the rolling stool, placing the clipboard on her lap as she glanced at Alta. “How are you feeling today?” she asked, her tone professional but distant.

“Tired. A little stressed,” Alta signed, shrugging slightly. No point in sugarcoating it.

The doctor nodded, flipping through her notes. “Understandable. Let’s take a look at your blood pressure and go from there.”

Alta extended her arm as the doctor retrieved the blood pressure cuff. The doctor worked in silence, her eyes fixed on the task at hand—until they flicked briefly to Alta’s breasts. Her expression shifted almost imperceptibly: a flicker of discomfort, a slight frown that disappeared as quickly as it appeared. She immediately refocused on wrapping the cuff around Alta’s arm, but the moment hung in the air like a bad smell.

Alta bit her lip, her jaw tightening as her chest tightened in kind. Yeah, doc, I have breasts. Shocking. And yeah, they fucking hurt. The pain throbbed sharply, her nipples itching violently. Hormones, you better be doing your damn job. All this itching and stabbing better mean growth because otherwise, what’s the point of this bullshit?

Her spiral of thoughts was abruptly cut off by the beep of the blood pressure monitor. She shook herself, blinking back to the present as the doctor’s gaze turned toward the monitor.

“146 over 96,” the doctor said, her tone cool, almost clinical. She arched an eyebrow at the reading and turned her attention back to Alta. “Your blood pressure is still high. Have you given any more thought to starting medication?”

Alta sighed deeply, her frustration mounting. “I have,” she signed carefully, “but I really don’t want to. I’m trying other things—fasting, supplements, cutting back on sodium.”

The doctor blinked expressionlessly, her face unreadable. “I see. And how consistent have you been with those lifestyle changes?”

“Pretty consistent,” Alta signed defensively. “Weight’s been stable, and I just started Pioglitazone. I’m on omega supplements too. I’m trying, okay?”

The doctor leaned back slightly, her gaze cool as she tapped her pen against the clipboard. “That’s good progress, but with numbers as high as yours, lifestyle changes alone aren’t enough. You’re going to need to go on meds until you can manage your lifestyle. The longer you don’t take the medication, the more likely you’re already experiencing organ damage.”

Alta’s arms crossed over her chest as her gaze dropped to the floor. “I need a clearance letter for my surgery,” she signed quietly, her movements slowing as despair crept in.

The doctor’s expression hardened, her words clipped and deliberate. “Alta, I understand how important this surgery is to you. But my priority is your health and safety. If your blood pressure isn’t under control, you’re at higher risk during surgery. I cannot in good conscience sign off on this surgery.” She paused, her gaze steady. “In fact, I don’t think you should get any surgery until this is managed. I know my not signing off on the letter means no surgery, and I’m okay with that. Take the meds, and if your blood pressure goes down, we’ll revisit the letter.”

Alta felt her throat tighten, frustration and helplessness threatening to spill over. “I’m doing everything I can,” she signed, her hands shaking slightly. “I just… I don’t want to be on meds. The surgery will fix my face; it’ll address my gender dysphoria and reduce my stress and anxiety. It’ll fix my nose so I can finally breathe, which should help my apnea, my weight, and my blood pressure. I need this, doc…”

The doctor blinked, letting silence hang in the air for a moment before shaking her head. “I hear you. But you heard me too. No meds, no surgery. Perhaps you can find another doctor who will have a different opinion, but I’m not going to put you at risk. Once your numbers are stable enough, we can reevaluate the clearance.”

Alta nodded reluctantly, knowing the argument was lost. “Alright,” she signed finally, resignedly. Fine. I’ll take the bloody meds if it means I get my surgery. She’d do whatever it took; the surgery was too important to delay any longer. It was starting to mess with her head.

The doctor nodded and spoke with a dispassion that felt rehearsed. “Let’s start with 10 milligrams of Lisinopril and see how it goes. I’ll send in a prescription today, and we’ll schedule a follow-up in a couple of weeks to check your progress.”

By the time the appointment wrapped up, Alta felt a mix of despair and exhaustion weighing her down. She clutched the prescription tightly in her hand, anger and determination swirling in her chest. As she walked briskly to her car, her thoughts ran in circles, her resolve crystallizing with every step.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Alta gripped the steering wheel, taking a deep, steadying breath. “One step closer,” she whispered, her voice laced with steel. “Just keep moving forward.”

And that’s my morning in a nutshell. Funtimes, yeah? And if you’re wondering, I did make it to the church to support my co-parent; I was late, but I made it. Went straight there right after the appointment. Not too happy about the hypertension slowing my transition down, but it is what it is.

Just gotta keep moving forward.

See you next time!

 

[conodont]

https://www.reddit.com/r/Transgender_Surgeries/

This is whatever the opposite of a gold mine is. Here are some selections:

Spoiler: ONE MONTH POST OP, supposedly

Spoiler: Drake would like this sub

 

[UselessRubberKeyboard]

Why aren’t these men horrified about the idea of their dick being split in half and sewn down between their legs? That’s all I can see in these photos. Sheer body horror.

 

[RIPRhongoBongo]

Why aren’t these men horrified about the idea of their dick being split in half and sewn down between their legs? That’s all I can see in these photos. Sheer body horror.

The coom is a temptation most potent, most foul, and above all, most effective

 

[Chieftain Coke Peanut]

Medical Kiwis, is there a reason why pooners pass a bit better than troons do? It seems like testosterone does actually masculinize a woman's body a hell of a lot more than estrogen feminizes a man's. They're always short and small but that photo of the pooner grilling veggies almost looks like a dude. Meanwhile troons always are quite obviously a dude in drag.

I'm no doctor so I got no idea on any of that. Is it like a thing where you can go from estrogen to testosterone but not testosterone to estrogen? Like how babies start out as somewhat female or something?

 

[Helvetia]

59 year old male. salamacian.

Spoiler: FFS and Vagina

 

[Luigi Cadorna]

Medical Kiwis, is there a reason why pooners pass a bit better than troons do? It seems like testosterone does actually masculinize a woman's body a hell of a lot more than estrogen feminizes a man's. They're always short and small but that photo of the pooner grilling veggies almost looks like a dude. Meanwhile troons always are quite obviously a dude in drag.

I'm no doctor so I got no idea on any of that. Is it like a thing where you can go from estrogen to testosterone but not testosterone to estrogen? Like how babies start out as somewhat female or something?

I don't think it's as much medical as much as it is easier to hide feminine body features with male clothing than vice versa. A baseball cap and beard cover up the feminine brow and jaw lines respectively, baggy clothing (and obesity) obscure the hip and shoulder sizes. Meanwhile male troons dress with their fetishized version of women's fashion (i.e. tight and revealing) which just accentuates their male features.