Flux

I am cranking out about 2000+ words a day between work and my own private writings. Clearly, not enough are making it here, but I am going to work on that.

Many of you know the story of Zack and I, have read many of my stories about us through the years, from nursing our babies to his transition from a female body to a male body. But, it is time to get it all down in one place. A book? Maybe. Magazine article? Perhaps. I do not know where it is going to end up, but it feels like the story needs to see the light of day.

I’ve been writing for a couple of months and the words are flowing. I talked to Zack a couple of days ago and let him know what I was doing, that I was going to talk about the really painful and hard parts, too. He said it was painful… it was hard… to write everything I want and need to. It feels awesome having his blessing.

What I am writing is a love story. More than anything else, it is our love story.

It is called State of Flux (at least as for now) and I have the most amazing website address: http://www.StateOfFlux.ink – how freakin’ cool is INK for a writer?!? I LOVE IT!

Here are the first few tentative paragraphs. Something you would read?

Zack was resting comfortably after his double mastectomy, called Chest Surgery in the trans world. He was on his back, his mom sitting with me in the same room he was in before the surgery and would remain in for 24 hours before we were sent back to our home 45 minutes away into the US. I’d been talking to the doctor, in Spanish, about the surgery, how it went and how Zack would be feeling for awhile. The doctor’s eyes lit up, hearing I was a midwife, and asked if I wanted to see the operating room. I was tired and somewhat bored, Zack was doing well and I would be across the hall if he needed me, so I said, “Sure,” and followed him the 50 feet away.

The room was on the small side, but most operating rooms are far smaller than people would imagine, so I was not terribly surprised. I’m not sure why I was actually in there… did I think a Mexican O.R. would differ that greatly from an American one?

Then the doctor said to come look at this and I walked to the counter where, very quickly, he removed the green surgical cloth from a stainless steel tray. A tray that held my precious Zack’s two breasts. His breasts, now dead on a tray, stared up at me. The very same breasts I’d made love to hundreds of times, the breasts that fed two of our four babies for more than two years. These were the breasts he’d hated since puberty, but were so beautiful to me I took dozens of pictures of them throughout the years. And here they were, lifeless in a Mexican operating room on a cold metal tray. Dizzy, I grabbed the counter so I did not fall.

Zack’s recovery went very well. He is the most compliant patient ever and did exactly what he was supposed to do when he was supposed to do it. Compression bandages? On until the doctor removed them a couple of weeks later. Binder? On until told otherwise.

His incisions were really wonderfully done, not that I had a lot to compare it to. I’d not looked at the surgical pictures Zack tried to show me that were in his private transmen groups online. I could not get myself psyched enough to do it, so, as with most of the process, I stuck my head in the sand. When his bandages came off, he was flat chested, as he had always wanted to be. I felt punched in the gut the first time I saw the scars that went from mid-chest around his back, not meeting on either side. I missed his breasts terribly already.

While his outward physical transition had begun, my own inner transition would be a silent blip inside for quite awhile more. No matter, we were both on our way… to our permanent state of flux.