Look What the Cat Dragged In or A Scientific Chin Wag

Some cat owners don’t neuter their toms until after a certain amount of puberty. They like the fullness of the cheeks, the fat face toms will develop if left testicled for a time.* I swear I am getting this face. My face is thicker, down where it meets my neck. I’ve been hitting the gym hard and my neck and shoulders are thickening…so is this fatty face a result of that, or is it testosterone? Certainly my capacity to lift more is T – I’d pretty much maxed out my ability there as a 47 year old perimenopausal CHICK, much to my chagrin. It was really depressing, that I couldn’t pound more iron without hurting myself.

I spent my evening with two scientist friends, who wanted “scientific information, dispassionately.” “Tell me what’s changing! Do you drink milk straight from the fridge!?” Duh. I don’t even mop that shit up when it hits the floor, much less my greasy shirt.

I offer my chin for tactile inspection. “I don’t feel anything” states Mattie. “You’re totally emasculating me Dude!” I pout. This is the thing: people ask for evidence and when you give it to them they’re routinely disappointed. They want, even more than I do I suspect, a full beard, a merkin. I proffer my (fat) chin again. “Look” I say. Hadley, attempting diplomacy, says “oh yeah, I see! Is that more than before?” because we lived together and she knows I was a bewhiskered woman. Kee-RYST. This is what I get for presenting myself as a human freak show. Nonetheless, the changes are there. They’re both subtle, and immense.

For most transguys, the evolution generated by imposed hormones come too slow. K says “I wanted sideburns! I was fixated on sideburns!” I am amazed that after 3 months, there are differences at all, and while they may not present themselves to others, to me they are stunning and significant. Imagine you are sitting on the toilet, and you look down and realize there are hairs on your legs that weren’t there a week ago. Fancy that you are in your car, playing that last Shins album and you can no longer hit the high notes. In a matter of weeks. My voice cracks crazy when I’m singing; I’ll sing high just to hear it and cry myself out of hysterical laughter. In a matter of weeks. Hormones are a powerful, powerful thing.

I cried yesterday. I needed to, and hadn’t been able. There’s a plunge, days before my dose, that dips me into an old depression so deep I cannot tap an outlet. An hour after I shoved that needle into my leg I wept and wept and wept. So much for stereotypes.

*"left testicled for a time" Isn't that DELICIOUS!?