#and you finally got a binder and you might get top surgery within the next year and you're finally starting hormones soon and you survived

[nothorses]

Top Surgery Journal

I figured it was time to share my top surgery experiences, so folks can potentially learn from them! I'll be updating this as I have more to add.

For context, I am in the U.S. (specifically Washington state), and a legal adult. A lot of my process may not apply to everyone.

Getting Coverage

The first step to scheduling top surgery is getting insurance coverage for it. Talk to your insurance first to figure out if they do cover top surgery, and what you need to do in order to obtain coverage. Oftentimes it won't be listed officially on your plan, but you can get coverage as long as you can prove you need it.

I was lucky enough to have good insurance with trans healthcare included, so all I needed was a letter from my PCP, and a letter from a behavioral health counselor specializing in gender dysphoria. I didn't need any diagnoses, any specific length of time on HRT, any particular presentation, etc.

(If you live in Washington, state law requires that top surgery be fully covered under Medicare. It might be worth it to check your state's laws as well!)

Referrals

I tried to schedule with a surgeon myself, thinking it was my responsibility to get the documents sent over and everything, but my PCP actually referred me when I first told her I had gotten coverage from my insurance.

I ended up going with that referral because the other surgeon was so hard to get ahold of, but my PCP did also send a referral to the surgeon I'd chosen before. I recommend going through your PCP for referrals first, as it takes a lot of the workload off of you- and they'll likely write a referral anyway when sending the documents needed for coverage over.

You may also find that the surgeon you talk to has different requirements than your insurance before performing top surgery. A referral from your PCP might bypass these requirements, but be sure to call them yourself and double-check. Your surgeon's office is supposed to call you to schedule a consultation, and they may not call you at all if you don't have all of those documents in- which means you can be left in limbo indefinitely, not knowing you need to send them more than you already did.

The Consultation

I was able to get a consultation about 5 weeks after calling, which was great! The consultation is your opportunity to ask the surgeon any questions you have, for them to evaluate your chest and what methods might work for you, and for you to see their results (most surgeons do not post result photos online for privacy reasons).

Come into the consultation with all the questions you have written down somewhere, so you don't forget. I asked:

If I could see photographs of his top surgery results

Which incisions he thought would work for me, stressing the things that were important to me: minimal recovery time, no free nipple grafts (I wanted to keep mine, but without risking a failed graft), and minimal chance of needing revisions

What my recovery would look like for the recommended incisions

Whether I will be getting drains (ideally, yes: drains reduce recovery time and the risk of needing revisions)

If he's had patients who have had complications (failed grafts, infections, need for revisions, etc.) and what he's done to reduce the chances of that happening again

My surgeon's results looked good (scars were even and symmetrical, healed nicely, etc.) and he answered my questions really well, so I was happy to go with him!

He recommended the fishmouth method for me, because recovery time would be minimal, there would be no need for nipple grafts, and my chest was small enough for it to work really well.

Scheduling the Surgery

My surgeon didn't have a very long waitlist, but it still took about 3 weeks for the clinic to process my request with my insurance (yes, even though I already had coverage). Once they'd processed that, they called me with a window of time I could schedule within; after a few months, insurance would no longer cover the surgery.

I got an extension, as I was working an intense summer job that I couldn't really take a few weeks off of to recover, then scheduled my surgery over the phone. They asked if I wanted a pre-op appointment, and I declined, as it'd mostly be information covered in the consultation or that could be given to me over the phone.

Preparing for Surgery

I wasn't given a check-in time for the hospital until about 2pm the day before, but they finally did call me and give me some instructions, including:

My check-in time and place

The hospital's phone number, to give to my ride/caretaker in case they had questions

That I was not to bring visitors (cause covid)

To bring my ID, insurance card, and credit card

That I was not to eat or drink anything after 12am that night (I did drink a bit of water with my meds, which they seemed fine with)

To shower with antibacterial soap the night before, and the morning of the surgery

Not to wear hair or skin products like deoderant or gel

Not to wear any jewelry, or anything else removable that wasn't just a clothing item.

When I checked into the hospital, they had my fill out some paperwork including the name and number of my ride and caretaker (which could be the same or separate people; they called the ride number when it was time to pick me up, and the caretaker number with detailed updates on my progress). Then they had me change into the hospital gown and answer some medical history questions, prepped me with an IV, and had a nurse, both anesthesiologists involved in my surgery, and my surgeon check in with me for more information and to answer any last questions I had.

I was told to use the bathroom about 20 minutes before I would be going under for my surgery (to avoid needing a catheter), and once I did, they injected some anesthetic into my IV and I passed the fuck out.

After Surgery

I showed up to the hospital at about 9am, and the prepping ended around 11am. The surgery was scheduled to end at 2pm; I wasn't conscious until about 3pm.

They had me use the restroom again (I passed out on the floor of the bathroom because it was way too soon, lmao), and I was in and out of sleep until I finally used the bathroom on my own at about 5pm. At that point I was a lot more lucid; I had some toast and pudding, and the nurse called my caretaker to go over post-op instructions with us both.

After that I dressed myself, was wheeled out to pick up my pain meds at the in-hospital pharmacy, then hopped in the car with my ride (the wonderful @lillia-pad) at about 5:30pm.

Recovery

I have a pretty high tolerance for anesthetic, so I was mostly just tired during the 36-ish hours the anesthetic continued to wear off. I didn't experience any nausea or lightheadedness either, but I was given an anti-nausea patch behind my left ear, plus some anti-nausea meds, just in case.

My post-op regimen sort of looks like this:

Take 1-2 tablets of oxycodone every 4 hours (for pain)

Take 2 tablets of laxative meds twice a day (cause pain meds cause constipation)

Empty drains twice per day, and record how much was in them

Get up and walk around every couple of hours to reduce the risk of blood clots

Ease into eating again: start with clear fluids, and work up to crackers/bread/etc., to avoid nausea and vomiting.

Lay down propped up on plenty of pillows, and only on your back (no side-sleeping!)

Keep the compression binder/gauze on for the first 48 hours, then remove them to shower as needed (but put them back on after!)

I was pretty lucid by the third day post-surgery, and was able to scale my pain meds down pretty quickly from 2 tabs on the first day, to 1 tab for the next two days, to 1/2 tab. Meds are much more important at night, when there's nothing to distract you from the pain- don't be afraid to ration them for nighttime.

Oxycodone also definitely causes drowsiness, so I took a lot of "oxy naps" about 45-60 minutes after I took my meds, which last between 20 minutes and 2 hours depending on how tired I am.

I have my post-op this week, so I will update this post with more details on my scars and healing then!

[keiththespacekitty]

"We were supposed to think you were a boy?"

Trans Klance fic.

Tw: dysphoria, fear of rejection, Lance deadnames himself because he feels comfortable to do so.

It had been in his head for a while now- ever since it happened. Keith wasn't the type to get anxious, so the ball in the pit of his stomach was unfamiliar to him. He was pacing around, going for jogs around the castle, punching a punchbag, anything he could to satisfy his fight or flight response long enough to manage to put down some food without nausea rearing its ugly head. The words kept repeating over and over in his head- however benign they may have been, they still filled him with panic. 

"We were supposed to think you were a boy?"

It wasn't aimed at him- it was aimed at Pidge. But the idea that she'd kept her agab disclosed and had explicitly been using he/him pronouns, and still was seen as a girl, made Keith feel like everything was futile. The years of confusion and self discovery and finally gaining the confidence to start identifying as he truly felt- they all felt unravelled with that single sentence. It didn't matter who he was or what he did or how he felt. She, she, she. It was like a mantra in Keith's head, a constant intrusive misgendering. 

Keith felt sick and trapped. He felt like everybody was waiting for him to reveal he was a girl- that no matter what, that's how they would always see him, like it would have been easier to give up on himself. He didn't want to give up his identity. He was trapped in space and trapped in an awkward void of identity versus perceived identity.

He avoided everyone for the next few days. He couldn't bare it. Couldn't bare knowing everyone saw him as strikingly female. That no matter how much he would bind, no matter how many times he'd stabbed himself with a needle, no matter how much he let some stubble grow or how deep his voice was, all people would see him as was a walking womb- because that's exactly how the world saw women. He was a feminist- of course he was. He wasn't transitioning because he thought ill of womanhood- he was doing it because womanhood simply wasn't his to grow into and he loved himself enough to be honest about his identity. 

He knew that people found that hard to understand. He knew people found it hard to accept. He knew that everyone saw him differently, that everyone was waiting to bombard him with personal questions about what's in his pants, if he's had "the surgery" (which one? There's loads), how people like him have sex or kids. Everyone was always waiting like vultures to cross his boundaries and ask him questions and chastise him for "mutilating" his body and "ruining" his beauty and his chances at love. 

"We were supposed to think you were a boy?"

Keith couldn't get the words out of his head. 

And they weren't even aimed at him.

Pathetic. He thought of himself as pathetic. Lying in his bed with his face pressed into his pillow fighting back tears. This wasn't just pain. This was existential pain. This was his entire identity and he felt like his world was crumbling away. He knew who he was, and he was screaming out, but it wasn't right, his body wasn't right, the way people saw him wasn't right, because it didn't match. It didn't feel like his. Objectively he knew his body was great. It would be amazing on someone else. Except it wasn't on someone else. It was on him and his skin was crawling and writhing with the ghosts of expectations and the tendrils of dysphoria and incongruence that gripped him tightly and made a home under his skin. 

He read the Map Woman. Sure, the poem was about a woman, about her origins staying with her, but he could relate. He could relate to feeling like your past was branding you, he could relate to the urge to cover and shed it, but he also knew that it shaped him, painted him- his past was a part of him that he couldn't erase and it was important that he make peace with who he was and where he comes from in order for his skin to settle. He knew that his journey was important, and it was home- his past and his future didn't need to be at odds. They weren't two parallel lives- they were a map of who he was, the experiences that shaped him and his identity- his past and his present would shape his future, where new valleys and roads would embed themselves onto him. His past would remain deep within his bones so that his future could thrive beneath his skin. The old gives way to the new. Identity was a tower. You couldn't take away the deep roots of your past without the top collapsing down. His past, his pain, his journey- was important to him. Even if painful, it was significant because of that pain. He couldn't erase where he came from, when it led him to where he was now. 

"We were supposed to think you were a boy?"

Yes.

It was as simple as yes.

Yes, they were supposed to think he was a boy, because he was a boy, and only he got to decide his gender. They didn't get to force him into a box that wasn't his to sit in. 

He was allowed to put his foot down. He was allowed to set boundaries. Of course, he understood that people were allowed to be curious and confused, but he was still allowed to define his own identity and have it respected. He was allowed to fight for himself.

It was scary. 

Gods, it was so scary. But Keith knew that if he wanted to control his identity, he had to face the source of his insecurity. He had to leave his room.

He found himself on the training deck first- fight or flight, to quell the anxiety. He knew he'd be alone, so he could train safely without his binder trying to suffocate him for his stupidity. He managed to get in a good hour or so of training, before letting his feet carry him to the one place he knew everyone would be- at lunch.

He knew that lunch was the best time to rejoin the group. Hunk would immediately greet him with a "welcome back, buddy," and an extra large helping of food goo, and he could focus on eating and keep his head down and over the next few meals Hunk would gently coax him out of his shell and encourage others to engage too until it was no longer awkward. Hunk was good at understanding Keith's anxiety. 

So Keith did his best to work through the deep churning feeling, the unsettling writhing in his gut when the tendrils of anxiety gripped him tight and settled there. He walked in, and avoided eye contact, and sat down at the table. But Hunk didn't welcome him back in a casual tone.

"Keith?"

"Hunk."

Hunk gently set his food in front of him. "I saved you the best bits," he said, but he lingered.

"What?"

"Keith, buddy, we're all worried about you."

"I'm fine," Keith said, but he immediately regretted it. No, he was not fine, and he was screaming out for help inside, trapped behind the prison of his fear. 

"Keith, we both know that was a lie here. This isn't you."

"Isolating myself isn't me?"

"Well I mean- fair point. But we all know something's wrong, Keith. And it's okay if you aren't ready to trust us with what yet, but if there's anything that we can do to help or support you through this, we want to know. We're here for you."

The words swirled around in his mind again. 

"We were supposed to think you were a boy?"

He couldn't push them away.

"I need you to-... remind me who I am, again," Keith forced out quickly, "I need you to tell me how you see me. I just… I need to know."

"Keith," Hunk began firmly, "what's going on?"

"Nothing, I just-" Keith sighed awkwardly. He wanted to say, he needed to. But his fear stopped him. He sat there, tense, trying to keep his breathing steady and trying to push down the lump in his throat. Keith didn't cry. Not like this. Not for himself. Never for himself. Especially- especially not in front of a crowd.

"Keith, buddy?" Lance was looking at him in a way Keith couldn't recognise- at least, not on Lance's face. Lance looked like he hadn't slept out of concern. Keith had never seen him like this before. He felt guilty for causing it.

"It's just- it's hard," Keith managed. Of course, Lance's face lit up with mischief- he'd always try to lighten the mood.

"It's hard, huh, am I that attractive that my mere presence-"

"I'M NOT SOME GIRL YOU CAN FLIRT WITH, LANCE!"

Keith regretted snapping almost immediately. Lance was shocked, scared even, and Keith hadn't even realised he'd stood up and balled his fists. Lance finally began to stammer out an apology. "I- I'm sorry, I- I won't-"

"Look, I get that you might not wanna be flirted with," Pidge began firmly, "but maybe you could have worded that better."

"I'm not a girl, I'm not like you," Keith practically growled out. He realised too late why Pidge seemed angry- it wasn't because they thought he was a girl. It was because they didn't know. They didn't know he was trans. And Lance was flirting with him anyways. And it sounded like Keith was implying that Lance should only flirt with girls.

"If you don't wanna be flirted with, that's fine, we understand, but if you have a problem with Lance liking guys then get out of my sight!"

"Pidge, that isn't what I-"

The words haunted him yet again. 

"We were supposed to think you were a boy?"

But this time Keith felt ready to confront them. 

"Pidge, I'm not-"

"Not what?!"

"I'm not homophobic. I- I reacted the way I did because-"

"Because why?"

"Because I didn't realise Lance was gay. So I thought he was flirting with me because he saw me as a girl."

"That doesn't even make any sense!" Pidge countered. 

The fear gripped Keith again. He was afraid of hearing those words again. 

"We were supposed to think you were a boy?"

But he needed to scream out his truth.

"I'm trans." Keith was met with silence. "That's what I meant by I'm not like you. And that's what I meant when I snapped at Lance. Because I thought he saw me as a girl. And- that's why I've been hiding in my room, since… since you revealed your agab. Because- because Coran said- 'We were supposed to think you were a boy?'. Like- you- you hadn't given us your deadname, Pidge, you hadn't- you hadn't stopped using he/him pronouns. You were outwardly identifying as fully male. And yes, you aren't, and it really was just a disguise for you, so it probably didn't hurt you to be told you weren't very convincing as a boy."

Keith glanced around the room. They were silent, but it seemed to be because they were genuinely listening. 

"But it hurt me," Keith continued, "because it felt like those words applied to me too. That- everyone somehow knew, and that everyone was secretly seeing me as female. That people felt like I was just faking it. That in everyone's heads was 'oh that weird girl still thinks we see her as a boy'. That everyone could see right through me. That everyone saw me as a ruse, and an unconvincing one at that. And I'm not. I'm not- I'm not like you, Pidge. I'm not pretending to be a guy to sneak into school. It doesn't fill me with relief to hear people knew how I was born like it did with you. I'm trans. And I'm scared. I'm scared because my agab follows me around and I feel like I can't escape it. I felt like you all saw me as a girl, like you were all waiting for me to come clean. And I couldn't stand it anymore, so… yeah."

He looked around the room again.

"You were supposed to think I was a boy."

Keith finally took a deep breath, attempting to relax his body, but it immediately clenched up again. He felt so stupid. He must have been passing excellently and now he'd just outed himself and now they really would think he was a girl. He took a shaky breath, fighting the tears. He didn't want to cry, not like this. He froze up when Lance stood too.

"Keith, buddy…"

Keith forced out a breath that was threatening to spill tears, but the breath came out all too fast and all too shaky. 

"I'm sorry I made you so uncomfortable with my flirting. I guess I- I never felt a need to come out. I mean I know you've seen me flirting with Allura and Nyma and… a lot of alien chicks, but I'm actually bi. I didn't realise that you didn't know I was flirting with you because I'm actually bi and into dudes too. I didn't know that you thought I only liked girls and that you'd think I saw you as a girl, otherwise I would have clarified. I've just always been open about it, you know? I haven't exactly tried to hide it, I just genuinely thought that everybody already knew. And I know that it isn't my fault, before you say that, I know you don't blame me and I know I'm not at fault. I'm just apologising for the way you got hurt."

"Why would you even flirt with me," Keith asked brokenly, "why now?"

"I've kinda been flirting with you since the garrison, Keith," Lance began awkwardly. Keith heard a crunch- Pidge had fucking popcorn for this. 

"I didn't know you at the garrison-"

"Taylor."

"What?"

"You remember Taylor, right?"

"I mean yeah, she was always behind me in class with some stupid rivalr- ooohhhh."

"I started transitioning just after you left. So everyone here already knows I'm trans and knows my deadname. I assumed you did too. When I met you again I kinda assumed you'd recognise me so I brought up our rivalry and my name in the hope you'd like. Not call me my deadname not realising I was a guy. Then you didn't recognise me so a part of me was really glad but the other part was kinda disappointed. So yeah… I'm also trans and I may have a teensy crush on you."

"You have a what now?"

"I mean I'm kinda relieved you're trans too because like I was scared that- well I'm sure you understand the fear of dating as a trans person with the whole people seeing you as your agab thing or the very very tiny possibility of someone being attracted to you-"

"Lance."

"What?"

"You said you have a crush on me."

"I very suddenly have training to do-"

Keith grabbed Lance's arm before he could leave, and Lance flamed bright red. Keith wasn't one to confront his feelings, at all, but he was upfront and he wanted answers. "Lance."

"Okay, fine, yes, I happen to think you're very attractive and somehow I like your dumb personality too! I've been trying to flirt with you but you're oblivious and I'm scared and I know you're Keith and you don't feel things other than 'Keith smash face with sword' so I know you don't feel the same about a nobody like me-"

"Shut up, Lance!" Lance immediately shut up. "I don't mean like- don't talk about your feelings. I do want to listen to you and address these insecurities. But I need you to be quiet and I need you to push those aside for a moment because I need you to be direct with me here. When you say you have a crush on me, do you mean from a distance, or do you mean you'd pursue a relationship with me if you thought you had a chance?"

"My answer depends on if- on a scale of one to ten; one being a stab in the face and ten being decapitating me and slicing me into cat food sized chunks, how violently will you stab me if I say yes to the second one?"

"Lance…" Keith sighed, and lowered his hand on Lance's arm until he was holding his hand gently. He didn't know what to say- but Keith was impulsive and brash, so he didn't- he grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him as hard as he could. He would have regretted it if he didn't know Lance felt the same way. When he pulled back, Lance was puce across his cheekbones and to the tips of his ears. Keith only registered where he was when he heard the crunch of popcorn from Pidge. And then Keith turned scarlet. 

He was suddenly very aware of his surroundings and the audience, and very aware of the fact he'd just kissed Lance. "Gross," Keith protested, "do it again."

"Kiss me yourself you lazy quiznack," Lance protested. 

"Well I'm not kissing you again until you kiss me first!"

"Fine! Well I'm not kissing you until you kiss me, whoever caves first owes the other a week of laundry and I haven't done my laundry since we first arrived here!"

"That's gross, Lance," Keith said, "and you're on. I haven't done my laundry in a month." 

"Oh quiznack, you guys are gonna be so annoying," Pidge sighed. 

"Can we eat now that's all sorted," Hunk asked awkwardly, "because the sooner we eat the sooner I can bake like- a huge cake to celebrate you guys-"

"Hunk, no," Pidge sighed. 

"Hunk yes, because love is beautiful and love deserves good food to commemorate it- hey where'd Lance and Keith go?" That was the last thing Keith heard from the kitchen as he pulled Lance towards the training deck.

The words repeated one more time in his head.

"We were supposed to think you were a boy?"

Except this time, they didn't bother him. 

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

Royal Growing Pains - Chapter Seven

Warnings: Homophobia, transphobia, misgendering, sympathetic Deceit

Royal Growing Pains Tag

They continued for about half an hour, Remy just humming and writing things down and muttering to himself, and Roman just thinking. Thinking about how he would finally get to look and feel like a man. Thinking about how he’d be able to go by Roman and have no one question it. Thinking about how he’d get to medically transition, at least with top surgery, because he knew he wanted that for himself.

...Thinking about how his family would react when they saw what the Byrons did. Thinking about how furious his mother would be. Thinking about how glacial his father’s reaction to Roman would be. Thinking about Remus. Would Remus be allowed to visit him? Or would his parents cut him off?

He knew the second option was the far more likely one. And if Remus ever snuck out to see Roman and just hang out for a few hours, and he got caught, Remus might wind up in a situation painfully similar to Roman’s: stuck with a wife who would keep him from being able to leave the castle at any time without either dragging her along or telling her where he would go. And of course, it didn’t matter that Remus was asexual, and demiromantic, he’d get someone he was doomed to never know or trust as a spouse.

Roman couldn’t breathe. Tears were falling down his face and he was trying to suck in a breath but it wasn’t working, and he was feeling impossibly light-headed because of it.

In an instant, Remy was in front of him, pulling the binder off of Roman, and holding him close, shushing him gently. “Hey, Roman, it’s okay, it’s okay, breathe for me? In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. Can you do that for me? Just breathe. It’s gonna be okay. I promise.”

Roman sobbed into Remy’s shoulder, his own arms up trying to cover his chest, so he didn’t have to remember it was there, so that he couldn’t see the two heaving mounds of flesh when he tried to suck in air. It wasn’t working. He was too aware of his body, too obsessed over the fact that he wouldn’t get to see his brother, too tired to do anything except bawl his eyes out in front of a virtual stranger.

Remy guided him to the floor, and slowly helped rehook Roman’s bra on him and pull his button up over his arms, doing the buttons with expert efficiency. Roman just continued to cry, sobs tapering off some now that the panic of not being able to breathe was gone, but he still couldn’t fight the hollow feeling of being truly and utterly alone, alienated from his entire family.

“Babes, tell me what you need,” Remy said. “If you can. Do you need water? A snack? Comfort? What has you panicking?”

“I’m...I’m...I’m...” Roman took a deep breath. “I’m going to be alone for the rest of my life. I won’t be able to see my brother ever again once my parents realize what’s going on.”

“Not true, babes,” Remy said. “If nothing else, Damien can kidnap your brother and bring him over here if you really want to talk to him. But your brother is his own person. No matter what your mother threatens, or what your father says, no one can stop him from coming here if that’s what he wants.”

“They can, though,” Roman whimpered. “They could kick him out, and I don’t want him taking that risk.”

Remy sighed through his nose. “Listen, babes, we can argue all night over whether or not you’ll get to see your brother again. But at the end of the day, I don’t think that’s going to make you feel better, is it?”

“No,” Roman breathed.

“How about this,” Remy said, patting Roman’s knee. “I go find someone who knows you better than I do, and knows about you being trans, and you can talk with them?”

“Sure,” Roman said. “Do you...do you need more measurements, though?”

“Hm? Oh, no,” Remy said. “I already double-checked everything. I just really like having a captive audience, and I’ve been known to talk for hours at a time, so I could keep you here the rest of the night, but I don’t think that would be the best idea.”

Roman sniffled and laughed weakly. “Okay,” he said.

“I’ll go grab someone better equipped for this than me,” Remy said.

Roman grabbed Remy’s hand as he stood up. “Can you get Damien?” he pleaded.

Remy looked briefly surprised, before he nodded. “Yeah, of course, babes,” he assured. “Deep breaths, okay? I’ll be right back. Play on your phone, if you have it. Keep yourself occupied, and try not to think too much.”

Roman felt at his pockets before he realized his mother must still have his phone. “I’ll have to ask my mother for my phone tomorrow morning,” Roman said miserably. “She confiscated it after my coming out.”

Remy growled. “She’s certainly not endearing herself to anyone in this castle, that’s for sure. Hang tight, babes. I’ll be right back.”

Roman nodded and when Remy left, Roman tucked his knees under his chin and wrapped his legs in a vice grip. He was still crying, but he felt hollow rather than impossibly sad, now. The worst of the storm had passed, then. Unless this was actually the eye of the hurricane, in which case Roman had better grab a box of tissues.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, just staring off into space. The sun had set during dinner, so the room was bathed in the warm, albeit faint glow of artificial lighting, but the moon wasn’t within Roman’s sightline even if he looked out the window.

The door opened softly and Remy gestured inside. Damien walked through, murmured a quiet, “Thank you,” and Remy closed the door to give them privacy as Damien approached Roman.

Roman looked up as Damien approached, and sat down next to Roman, wrapping an arm around Roman’s shoulders. “I don’t want to be alone,” Roman rasped. “I don’t want to be here the rest of my life and never see Remus again.”

“My dear, I would never allow that to happen,” Damien assured.

“You can’t promise that!” Roman exclaimed. “You can’t promise that Remus will be able to see me! You don’t know my parents! They would cut me off from the family, never speak to me again, and if Remus was caught communicating with me he would...he would...he would meet the same fate they planned for me. Hetero ever after.”

Damien gave Roman’s shoulders a squeeze and murmured, “My dear, I could request for him to come over for conferences. I could invite him to dinners. To ceremonies. They couldn’t refuse him coming over to those events without risking me raising hell. And I would raise hell, my dear, purely because you love your brother and want to see him.”

Roman swiped at his eyes and whimpered. “I don’t want to be here,” he whispered. “You’re very sweet, Your Highness, and I’m pleased to be your friend, but I would rather be at home, somewhat miserable being in the closet around my parents. I don’t want to be forcibly shoved back into the closet by my mother and have her lock the door and throw away the key. It just...Your Highness—Damien...I just...I know that in a week I will get my way. And they can’t take back the marriage. But...knowing what I have to go through to get to the end of this week, and knowing that the consequences will last much longer than that...it hurts.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Damien said. “I know you can get through it, my dear prince. I know it will hurt like hell, but you can get through it. Because you’ve come this far. I don’t want you coming this far just to give up.”

Roman’s chest ached. “I can’t do it, Damien,” Roman said softly. “I can’t.”

“You can,” Damien said. “However...that does not necessarily mean you should. You shouldn’t have to hide who you are. Right now, though, it is necessary as a safety measure. But believe me, Roman, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you will get to see your brother. Whether you are out of the closet or not.”

Roman’s chest still ached, but his heart did warm some at that declaration. A cute guy reassuring him that everything would be all right, and that he would get what he wanted in the end, even if there was a while to go before he could get to it...he felt like he was in a romance novel. “I hope you realize you sound like the male protagonist in a stereotypical rom-com,” Roman said to Damien.

Damien laughed, his nose wrinkling as he tried to stifle his giggles, putting a hand to his mouth. “Well, I am telling the truth,” he said when the giggles subsided. “Most men in romantic comedies are gentlemen in the traditional sense by the end of the movie. And I may get into mischief, my dear, but I am nothing if not a gentleman.”

“A gentleman who just so happens to get into paint wars,” Roman giggled.

“Precisely,” Damien said with a soft smile.

Roman shook his head and laughed softly, so softly he could barely hear it himself. “Thank you,” he said. “That made me feel just a little bit better.”

“I’m happy to help,” Damien said, giving Roman’s shoulder another squeeze. “You do all the hard work, though. All I have to do is remember to use she and Veronica around your mother. You’re the one who has to bear the pain that brings.”

Roman sighed. “Yeah. And it’s not a light sting, either. It’s a dagger through the heart. Because it reminds me that for every person I know who accepts me, there are at least two more who won’t. And two of the people who matter the most are among those who would prefer me dead to being a man.”

Damien shook his head, and Roman was surprised to see unshed tears in his eyes. “The sheer amount of times you must have felt that pain, by my own hands...it’s unacceptable.”

“It’s okay, Damien—”

“—No, Roman, it’s not,” Damien said, cutting Roman off. “I know that using your deadname is a safety precaution for the next week. I am referring to when your mother brought you over here.”

“You didn’t know any better,” Roman said. “There’s no way you could have known.”

“My knowing or not is not what matters,” Damien said. “What matters is whether you were hurt or not. And you were hurt. I’m not trying to make this about me, but I can’t help but feel upset knowing that I hurt you the same way your parents have.”

Roman looked at Damien, really looked at him, and noticed the slight trembling in his body, the stiffness in his posture, the unshed tears in his eyes continuing to build up until he blinked and they started to fall. Roman swiped the tears away with the pad of his thumb. “But that’s the thing, Damien. You didn’t hurt me the same way my parents did. When I came out to you, it was like a switch was flipped and you instantly started using my real name and pronouns. You may have tripped up, but you made the effort. Something that my parents never did. You may have inadvertently hurt me this morning, but when I told you what was going on you stopped. The only reason you do it now is because the risk of injury is greater if you don’t do it around my mother, and even then you simply try to avoid using my name, rather than simply deadnaming and misgendering me, and expecting me to grin and bear it. You didn’t hurt me the way they did. You never would.”

Damien laughed and Roman sent him a quizzical look. “We’re both miserable right now,” Damien explained. “And I predicted that the both of us would be miserable for at least the first day, if not for longer, although it was for an entirely different reason. I thought we’d be miserable over the marriage, not over the fact that your parents are trying to kill you slowly.”

Roman laughed. “Oh, yeah. I could imagine that. Both of us sulking in our rooms that night, you because you’re forced to marry a woman you can’t love, myself because I’m forced to marry a man who doesn’t know who I truly am.”

Damien offered Roman a weak grin. “I’d say this is a better way to be miserable, however.”

“True,” Roman laughed. “Oh, and I will warn you for tomorrow morning...I can’t dance. Like, at all. I constantly trip over my feet and step on other people’s toes. The dance lessons we both know our mothers will force us to go to, in order to decide what we want our first dance to be, are not for you, but for me.”

“That’s quite all right, my dear,” Damien said with a soft smile. “I don’t mind if my toes get stepped on a couple times. It would mean that you’re safe, and that is enough to get me through any pain from crushed toes.”

Roman offered Damien a smile. “If I didn’t know any better, Damien, I would say that you like me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Damien said. “You can make gay jokes all you like when we’re alone, but that does not mean I’ll humor you with them. You will have to be enough to amuse yourself by.”

Roman heaved a put-upon sigh. “Oh, all right,” he groaned. “But if I see you crack a smile at one of those jokes, I will be calling you out on it.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Damien said with a smile. “Do you feel better?”

“Marginally,” Roman said. “Laughter is good for the soul, and I think I would be able to sleep tonight without crying myself into exhaustion first.”

“Then shall I escort you to bed?” Damien asked. “You have been up here for a while, and I don’t know when you fall asleep normally...”

“I generally sleep around midnight, in my time zone, without exception,” Roman said. “I’ve never had to travel halfway around the world before, so I haven’t struggled with time zones there. But I will say that I believe our kingdoms are in the same time zone, and if I do fall asleep before midnight, it would be due to sheer simple exhaustion.”

Damien offered Roman a rueful smile. “Unfortunately, I believe that you’ll be asleep the moment your head hits the pillow tonight.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Roman sighed, before stretching with a yawn.

Damien stood and helped Roman to his feet, grabbing Roman's suit coat. “For what it’s worth, my dear, I’m very happy that you requested I be the one Remy fetch for you.”

“He told you that?” Roman asked, cheeks flaring red.

“He was a little panicked about your well-being, and therefore I was able to get a little more information out of him than usual. Had he gotten anyone else, I’m sure he wouldn’t have divulged even why you were panicking, but he must have assumed that I would understand why you were so distressed if you asked after me,” Damien said. “Don’t blame him.”

“I might still call him a snitch,” Roman said.

Damien laughed and walked over to the door, Roman trailing behind him. Remy was on the other side of the door, waiting. “The room is all yours, Remy,” Damien said. “Thank you for fetching me.”

“Next time, though, don’t tell him I asked for him specifically, snitch,” Roman said with a weak smile.

Remy offered Roman a smirk. “I make no promises, babes. Your hubby here might be flattered that you’re asking after him.”

Roman’s cheeks flared red again. “Listen, it’s slightly embarrassing, all right? I just wanted someone who I knew wouldn’t judge.”

Remy shook his head as he walked in the room. “That’s not embarrassing, babes, but I’ll keep quiet, I suppose.”

“Thank you,” Roman said.

Damien led him down the halls back to his guest room. Roman thought he was starting to get a handle on where everything was, at least somewhat. Even if he didn’t know what half of the rooms were for, he could identify which hallway they were in and how deep inside the castle they were.

When they stopped outside Roman’s room, Roman was reluctant to face Damien to send him off. He took a shaky breath. He would be okay on his own, he knew that. And Damien would need his sleep as well. Especially if Roman would be dancing with him tomorrow morning, like he suspected his mother had planned. “Thank you, again,” Roman said. “I suppose it’s somewhat silly to freak out over my brother—”

“—Not silly at all,” Damien assured him. “You were worried about losing someone you love. That is always distressing, without fail. You have nothing to be ashamed of for this.”

Roman offered Damien a soft smile. “You’re too kind,” he said.

“On the contrary, my dear, I believe you are too lenient in your expectations,” Damien said.

“Well, considering my family, are you surprised?” Roman teased.

Damien shook his head with a sigh. “No, unfortunately, I’m not.” He leaned down slightly and kissed Roman’s forehead. “Rest well, Roman. You have a full day tomorrow, my dear.”

Roman dazedly watched Damien walk away, too stunned by the forehead kiss to do anything except stare after him for a good two minutes. By the time Roman came back to himself, Damien had rounded a corner and was out of sight. He blinked rapidly, turning to the door and walking into the guest room, closing the door with a shaky breath. What about that made him so breathless, he didn’t know. Was it just the fact that a cute boy was giving him attention? That was probably it. Not Damien himself, per se. Just his looks. That didn’t make the butterflies go away, but it did soothe his brain into switching topics, namely getting to sleep. As Roman got ready for bed, he contemplated how early tomorrow morning he’d be woken up, and how long he could go without encountering his mother. He knew it wouldn’t be that long, but, hey. A man could dream, right?

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[thegastricadventure]

My Binder’s Origins

When I was getting ready for my first steps down the road of this surgery I had to go to a meeting. They went over the the different types of surgeries, the pros the cons and the amount of weight you might lose. It was a great source of information and right before they did it they gave everyone in the meeting a 1″ white binder that could be used to house all the information in.

It was a great starting point but I knew I would need more than 1″ worth of space. I went out and bought myself a 2″ binder and even that is too small. I am thinking I may have to upgrade again.

While you go through each meeting and class you are going to be given more and more information. As I have stated previously I would suggest you keep all of that stuff together. You have no idea what you may need again and again. Thus my binder in all it’s glory was born.

As you can see I kind of blurred out all the information about my doctor and the program. If you are serious about this procedure you need to contact your General Practitioner first and go over what your best options are. They will get you in contact with the right people to take the next steps. Plus, your GP and you should always be on the same page. They are the ones who do your yearly physical and are vested in your everyday health.

Now, my binder on the front and the back hold information, as well as something I got from one of my group meetings. I picked it at random, I closed my eyes and grabbed it out of a box of little supportive messages.

Remember The Now

To me this meant that the person you are now was strong enough to start this journey. When you think you are losing yourself to the depression or angry because you hit a wall you need to remember the person you where when you started the journey. 

Did they know you would get this far? How excited would the past you been at this moment knowing you’ve gone this far. You have already done so much, those classes, group meetings, support pages on Facebook, message boards have all added to this, step by step. This isn’t an overnight thing it takes time and is a lifetime commitment.

So remember the now, remember where you started, remember that feeling when you saw the potential to where you may go and who you hoped you’d become!

As we get into the meat of the journal I have a little pouch for all my pens to live in. You may not need this but I like color I like putting certain information I get in certain colors. I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again, I am anal retentive about this stuff. It’s how I am wired, I was like this in school too (primary, secondary and college).

So I not only have pens, but a highlighter and a pencil with extra led. It doesn’t hurt to be over prepared. Plus this way you know you always have a writing tool around.

Next, I have a list of all of my known allergies and how I react to them, medications (both prescriptions and over the counter) with their dosages and times you take them, vitamins with the times you take them and how much, medical issues and if you have it when they were diagnosed, short record and when you last got those vaccine boosters, past surgeries with month and year and finally broken bones also with month and year if you are able (I had two broken collarbones and an elbow before I was 7 I don’t really remember what month they happened in).

Spiral notebooks. I have two in my binder. One was for notes from the nutrition group and my actual group support meetings. The second was for notes that I took as I did my research and the lists I made because they were what I found out on my own. You can certainly use loose leaf paper for all of this too, but I find it is easier to keep things together in notebooks.

As you get farther along and get to meet with your surgeon for the first time they may give you a Patient Guide. This holds information on what to expect from the surgery, your mile stones, how to keep track of your food, portion control and exercises. Mine also has a lot of highlighted spots of things I thought was important. They want you to read through this book at least once before your surgery. I read through it 2-3 times so if I had questions I could ask.

Next I have folders. Yep plain old folders. I have one for my food information, such as sample meal plans to what to avoid. The next one was information from the support groups and from the initial meetings. There is a lot that gets handed out, it is good to keep on top of everything. The last folder is doctor and hospital information. You have discharge paperwork, proof of shots gotten (like the flu and other immunizations) you can even put your prescription information in that one.

Behind my food folder is extra things, such as recipes in plastic sleeves that I have created over the past couple of months to help with my portion control and protein intake. There is also food logs, these I suggest you start right away. It gets you into the habit and also allows your doctor and dieticians to know when and what you are eating so they can help you modify it as needed.

Behind my group meeting and classes folder I have the copies of the PowerPoints they gave me. It allows me to have quick access and I am able to reference everything as needed.

Finally in yje two inner pockets that are built into the binder. There I put the papers that have the questions I want to ask, also food labels of  stuff I want to make sure I am able to eat.

Above is an example of that. I brought in this empty bag when I had my preop appointment with my surgeon. This is pasta that is gluten free and have 4 g of protein in it. My doctor told me they want to to stay away from carbs but if I am going to eat a little bit of them, this is a good one to have. It adds to my protein, calcium and iron counts.

I also have in the back pocket information from Bariatric Advantage which has the endorsement of my doctor and dietician. They sell vitamins geared towards gastric surgery people and other protein packed supplements. I also keep my hospital release records papers in this pocket too, because you never know when or who you need to get information from or to. Never hurts to have it all together and filled out so all you have to do is sign and date it when you take it into the various offices.

So yeah this is where I got my binder and everything within it a bit more in-depth than the group of pictures I posted earlier.