Well that was an intense couple months.

The grant got in. I was really proud of how it turned out, and could not be more excited about the work we proposed. As soon as that was in, I left town for a week for a big work conference. Once I got home, we immediately headed out of town for a weekend with several families with kids via the same sperm donor as our kids (a great group that needs a shorter/better name). Monday night Gail & I and many friends heard Coyote Grace and Ty from Girlyman in concert (two sets!)

Yesterday was my birthday. I’m 35.

I was supposed to have a doctor’s appointment yesterday at the big-famous-GLBT-clinic, a first step for going on testosterone. I scheduled it a couple months ago for as soon as possible after my grant was in. I got a call last week that the doctor was going to be out that day and I needed to reschedule. When I rescheduled, they told me there were no appointments until late November. My heart sank. Despite already holding off for a few months while work required all my concentration, and apparently being OK with it, the thought of waiting another month, and then whatever the inevitable delays after that for lab work and the like, suddenly felt utterly impossible. I started crying on the phone.

I hate coming face-to-face with my desperation.

After briefly considering seeing another doctor in my neighborhood who could get me in faster, but who I don’t really click with, I decided I can stick it out.

The delay did give me a chance to figure out if, as part of this clinic’s mental health clearance, I was going to have to get a GID diagnosis, which I really don’t want (the clinic claims to practice by an informed consent model for hormones, and while they do seem generally smart and reasonable about trans health issues, they aren’t really informed consent — i.e. you still need a therapist letter and you have to get “approved” — hurdles that should be easy for me to clear, but hurdles nonetheless). Facing my gender head-on has been one of the healthiest things I’ve done in, I don’t know, maybe my whole life. My gender is not disordered. If anything, it’s finally ordered, so to have to sign on for a diagnosis of mental illness right now, when I’m finally actually dealing with this in a healthy way — that would suck.

As it turns out, it looks like I don’t actually need a GID diagnosis, even though two of the three people I talked to, including my own therapist, thought I did, so it pays to ask around.

In the meantime, I’m trying to keep crawling back out of this black-hole where I let all sorts of things go in deference to work (let’s see — time with kids, time with Gail, a million things at home, exercise, eating reasonable food, sleep, time with friends…). I biked to get to work this morning instead of taking the subway. Gail and I are getting caught up at home. I got a haircut. I had a great weekend with Gail and the kids and am back on my usual schedule of taking one day home with them per week. I still need to work on the sleeping thing. I can make it until the end of November. It’s good to be back.