Binding

Burning Down the House ~ Talking Heads

For shits and giggles, taking a quick detour from my friendships and relationships for a moment. Transitioning is a huge part of my life, and I'm always up for a chat about it. My goal is to shed some light on a topic that many people might not fully understand or relate to. While I can talk about it casually in person, writing about it feels like a whole different ball game. Even though it’s a serious topic, I can’t help but add some flair and drama. I tend to find humor in everything, which might be a flaw of mine. When I'm nervous, I feel the need to crack jokes or smile, which can sometimes drive people nuts. Old habits are hard to break.  Humor is my coping mechanism!!!

The truth is, I took a giant leap of faith and chased a need that had been nagging at me since I was young. It's like having an itch you can't scratch because you're worried about what others will think if they see you do it. The emotional toll was like carrying a two-hundred-pound bag of bricks, day in and day out. Whether to stay a lesbian or transition felt like a no-win situation. It was either to continue being someone who didn’t quite fit in their own skin or embark on a quest to find my true self. Deciding to transition felt like choosing between a rock and a hard place, and trust me, both options were heavy!

As I continued to age, I kept waking up feeling like I had run a marathon in my sleep. I was tired of feeling like I was letting myself down. Each morning, I’d give myself a mental smackdown and sink into a funk because I wasn’t happy with who I was. On top of that, I felt like I had to keep up the charade to avoid disappointing my loved ones. I needed to find my authentic self and make a change to match how I saw myself, not how everyone else saw me.

Looking back, my transition was a long journey rather than a quick change. It took me several years to fully commit emotionally, mentally, and physically. In hindsight, I wish I had started younger, but back then, I didn’t have the capacity to process the pros and cons and wasn’t quite ready to tackle the hurdles in my path. Also, the times were different and less tolerant of change. My transition turned out to be gradual, with me slowly realizing I was paving my own path to transition all along.

Since I was 15, I'd been using a big ace bandage to flatten my chest, and for almost 15 years, that was my life. Binding for so long while my body was still growing meant my chest ended up being quite the spectacle, not in a good way. Getting me naked was like trying to pull off jeans that were four times to small, talk about insecurities, my boobies looked like cow udders dangling around with a mind of their own.  It was incredibly embarrassing and humiliating.

In my mid-20s, my girlfriend at the time Lisa, finally convinced me to stop binding my chest. One day, she surprised me with a couple of extra-small sports bras. They didn’t flatten my chest as much as I'd hoped, but I was so exhausted from the daily chest-binding routine that I figured it was time for a change and I would give it a try.  It was a real workout to wake up every day, grab the ace wrap, and wrap it around my torso like a human burrito. All this just to make sure my shirts fit perfectly without the noticeable lumps on my chest and to hide the fact that I had boobies.

Given the state of my chest, it being deformed and all!! I decided to seek out a plastic surgeon to deal with the cow udders.  I still hadn’t made peace with my emotions regarding transitioning, so I was clueless about the medical support available to the trans community. Finding a plastic surgeon and paying out of pocket seemed like my only option, an expensive one, to say the least. I vividly remember my consultation with the surgeon. He suggested the best course of action was a breast lift and reduction. Sitting there with Lisa, who had joined me for the appointment, I decided to ask if he could just flatten me out completely. She was not amused by my suggestion and made it clear she thought it wasn’t the best idea. Needless to say, breast lift and reduction it was.

For the next twelve to thirteen years, I relied on sports bras as my go-to. I was never going back to binding again. I was relatively happy after surgery since they no longer resembled udders swaying beneath a cow's belly; they were upright and much smaller, so I had no complaints. However, in the back of my mind, I still wished they were completely gone!  This would weigh heavier and heavier as I got older.

In 2014, I made the decision to get a full mastectomy.  At that time, I still wasn't fully aware of all the benefits available to the trans community and hadn't yet decided to transition, but I was determined to get my boobs removed one way or another. As a result, I had to invest significant effort into navigating the system to get my insurance to cover the cost of my mastectomy. Although I eventually found a way, it still resulted in considerable out-of-pocket expenses, less than a plastic surgeon but still costly.  On February 14th my surgery was scheduled.  Yup, Happy Valentine’s Day to me! My wife Sara (ex-wife) was not thrilled with me in the slightest at that time, not about the surgery itself, but because she thought I ruined her Valentine’s Day. Honestly, I wasn’t too concerned. It was a now-or-never, do-or-die situation, and I couldn't wait another day. I was absolutely thrilled, my nerves were steady as a rock until the moment I was being wheeled away. Then I saw my mom, my sister, and Sara saying their goodbyes, and that's when the jitters hit. I started thinking, "What if I don’t wake up to see the outcome?" Surprise, surprise always with the dramatics!  Shocker!

I stayed in the hospital overnight, and as I was coming to, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief. My first thought? “Let me see, let me see” then "Time to torch the bras!" I never want to see another sports bra in my life, on me or anyone I'm dating.  Sara picked me up the next morning, drove us home, and I immediately dove into bed for the next 24 hours.

The next day, I was feeling like a champ, just a bit sore, but nothing I couldn't handle, although it did feel like an elephant sitting directly on my chest.  The doctors instructed me to keep the bandages on until my follow-up appointment to ensure everything looked good, at which point they would remove the drainage tubes, that would be several days out. But naturally, I have zero patience. I couldn't wait to see what was under those bandages, so I asked Sara to help unwrap me. She, of course, gave me a lecture about following the doctor's orders bla bla bla….  but I was way too excited. She finally gave in and unwrapped me like that stale burrito from years ago. 

Man oh man, those stitches stretched from one side to the other like a crazy zipper. I asked the doctor to take the nipps too, so they were out of the picture. I knew I’d be getting my chest tattooed, so I wasn't losing any sleep over it! The drainage tubes were stitched around my skin to keep the drains secure. Curiosity got the best of me, I had to tug on one just to see what would happen, and it gave me a zinger of a sensation I wasn't expecting. Nope, I didn't try that again. Lesson learned!

I had these drainage tubes hanging from me, and for a second, I couldn't help but think of cow udders from my farm days, talk about flashbacks! I ended up grabbing a zip-up hoodie, stuffed the drainage balls into my pockets, and strutted around like nothing was wrong. I was ready to venture out into the world, no boobs, new me! 

I visited my doctor, who gave me the all-clear and proceeded to remove the drainage tubes. Let me tell you, that was an experience! As he pulled out what felt like a ten-foot-long tube, I was sure I was about to pass out, I turned pale and got dizzy in no time. "Cold washcloth, please!" You'd think with all the tattoos I have, this would be a piece of cake, in and out. I was hoping for a quick yank but oh no, it was more like watching a worm slowly wiggle its way out of the ground, I'm pretty sure my eyes glazed over as I started swaying back and forth. It seemed like an eternity, but it only took a few minutes, probably longer than expected since I was the one acting more like the worm.

Everything went according to plan! This definitely ranks in my top ten happy moments. The sweet relief of no longer being trapped in boob jail was overwhelming. Each day felt like a step toward healing and freedom, and let's not forget the epic emotional and physical bonfire of torching those bras, talk about a freeing experience!  It was quite liberating!

The next journey was on the horizon …………..