Last night I pulled into Quincy’s Dunkin’ Donuts, where I am now, and had a bunch of texts from my wife, who was being brought by ambulance to Melrose-Wakefield Hospital for chest pain. I immediately started driving, and wound up at the hospital after sitting in traffic for nearly two hours. As it turns out, my wife did not have a heart attack, or at least, the doctors do not think so judging from the EKG, blood work and scans. Still, her pain persists. She has so much pain that she cannot sit down, and has a hard time breathing. Tomorrow she has an appointment at eight, but for today she has told me to go into work, and as a result I have gone in, and now I worry about her. I know we have our ups and downs in this marriage, and I still have problems with how she desires to manage so much of my thoughts and abilities, but she is still the woman I married and I am still her husband, transgender or not. It is my sincere hope that we can get to the bottom of this before the summer; I don’t think that I can handle having to ferry her back and forth to the hospital all summer. I have one class for this summer term, and it looks like it will be starting at the end of May. I have to get it set up before Jury Duty starts, double check the links and everything.
Did some more gardening stuff today; there are so many new things popping up in the garden and backyard that it is truly incredible. Butterfly bush looks nice and full, and in the far back up in the rocks there are all kinds of stuff blooming. I have a few lamb’s ear to plant, as well as daylilies, etc., and there is much to do with cleaning up the yard from all the leaves, but I am sure that I will begin taking care of all that soon.


Apr. 15th, 2017 05:59 pm
My search through my medical records was not entirely fruitless; the period between when I started going to Lahey, around 1982-1983 and when I sopped the medical record date, roughly 1989, around my birthday, is at least two or three hundred pages thick, and I honestly want to weep for the little boy I once was. I don’t see anything that really stands out to me as evidence of me being intersex. But I do see that I had a lot of problems. There are some reports that I did well in one-on-one settings, but in groups I was often the person either left out or rarely allowed to talk. I remember that I would be struggling in groups. My behavior certainly was different, and it was certainly inappropriate. Now we’re thirty or more years later, and things aren’t much different. I don’t mean that I haven’t developed skills that are helping me or whatnot; I mean that I am still suffering in the sense that I am often at the receiving end, am always interrupted, and consistently dismissed.
I have this nagging feeling that, if it were up to those in my life, I would likely have every aspect of my life policed and monitored, from my thoughts to my actions, every day of every hour. I am not surprised that people thought so little of me; while I am aware of my own limitations, I have to wonder how others view themselves. Few, I think, have gone through as much as I have and emerged unscathed. I was naïve to think that I had somehow survived without being impacted mentally.
Tonight I’m going to be doing some work around the house, cleaning, and obviously listening to Bethany. Right now I’ll check into Liberty and Quincy for a bit.



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