Struck A Nerve

Nominally I’m not in the habit of reblogging (nothing against it; I just prefer to create myself) but Nick is not only an incredibly talented artist, he’s also an amazing human being and deserves so much love!

Collection of Nick Robles Nightcrawler, for…uhh…art reasons.

Unexpected HRT side-effect #2: addendum

I have covered before the exciting world of nipple rotation. Well: now they are rotating back! I suppose it stands to reason; that the early stages of breast development result in a certain lopsidedness that self-corrects as the girls fill out.

The only reason this is noteworthy for me is that unlike most female pubescents, I have nipple piercings (acquired without moral hazard) and thus had a very visual gauge by which to observe this entire tilting process!

Hell hath no fury like a woman whose mother!@#$ing bangs were just sucked into the wrong end of the mother!@#$ hairdryer, goddammit

Identity crisis

I came across an interesting article recently, of the “Ten signs your self-esteem is in the gutter” variety. My self-esteem has indeed been in the gutter these past few days, so it was certainly a topical read.

A major reoccurring theme was: “Self-esteem should be a function of how you see yourself; not how others see you”.

This makes a lot of sense: self-esteem is, by definition, the measure of the value we place on ourselves. However, only we can truly know what is in our hearts, our minds; each and every facet of our person; who we truly are.

This unfortunately poses a challenge for me; as I do not, in fact, know who I am.

A person in my orbit once told me that he felt as if he had a mask for every occasion; a performative persona that he would adopt depending on the audience. However, he could not discern the person behind the mask; and this troubled him greatly.

It’s a sentiment I can sympathize with. I feel as if my personal identity is not a unified whole, woven from many individual threads; but rather, a fractured collection of parts that do not interrelate.

Matters have of course further been complicated by my gender upheaval; because one of the foundations of my character was that of a man, a husband, a father. I am none of these things now; and while I have technically replaced these epithets with woman, wife, mother; I don’t feel as if I actually have the requisite underpinning of experience to claim them.

As my friend Abigail wryly noted: we are women, born yesterday.

For now, I default to a measure of self-worth familiar to many raised male: that of one’s utility. As I am stretched rather thin at present, this does not seem to be working well; and alas, brings us full circle: it is a function of how others see me; and not how I see myself.

Well woman

A few week’s ago I had an annual check-up; the first in two decades. (Hooray for America’s dysfunctional healthcare system!) I wasn’t particularly concerned ahead of time; but then I received an automated reminder from my provider that had the appointment listed as a “Well Woman Exam”. This lead me down a bit of a rabbit hole as to exactly what that entailed; and then I proceeded to freak the fuck out. Even now, I’m not entirely sure what the problem was - there was definitely some anxiety centered on the more intimate aspects of this kind of exam; but having spent a significant amount in analogous settings (e.g. laser hair removal), I didn’t think this was the issue. (There’s also the matter of my PTSD cranking up in some medical settings; but again, there doesn’t seem to be a particular rhyme or reason as to why and when that fires off... or doesn’t.) A friend suggested that perhaps the issue stemmed from having to speak to my provider, openly and honestly, about my transgender status. My provider is a very nice fellow, and has a fantastic bedside manner (something of a rarity in the US); but even so, transitioning is in many respects a form of magic, and pulling back the curtain on how the trick is performed is not fun. When the actual day rolled around, my heart was racing; and I had to apologize repeatedly to the nurse practitioner for my ridiculous pulse. Thankfully everybody was very understanding; and my provider made the necessary conversations about as straightforward and easy as they could be. (It actually turned out that between various changes in recommended screening guidelines and where I am in my transition, that there’s basically nothing to screen for for the next five years or so; so no poking or prodding there.) I did elect to get caught up on some immunizations while I was there; including getting the HPV vaccine (which is now recommended for everyone, up to the age of forty-five). The administering nurse was perfectly nice; but her technique was slow and methodical (not what you want when getting needled); and the HPV vaccine in particular stung something fierce (which I guess is a known issue with whatever they put in it). In the end, everything worked out okay; but I worry that there will be more of this sort of thing in the near future - I’m out, and as far as the majority of big ticket items are concerned, transitioned; but I feel far from confident in my newfound place in the world as a woman or my ability to pass, and it’s going to be quite some time until that changes.

I'm looking through the notes; and predictably, there are a small number of posters acting as if the introduction of a canonically female Custodian character heralds the end of civilization as we know it.

Others have responded in-depth to their arguments regarding established lore (and the marketing decisions that precipitated said lore); so I will forgo doing the same.

Rather, I would like to focus on this particular sentiment:

"Retroactively changing lore is a surefire way to alienate long-term members of the fandom."

I'm a very long-term member of the fandom. I grew up near Games Workshop's headquarters, and made regular trips to their stores at the height of the Rogue Trader era. I have Jes Goodwin's signature on my Games Day program; and my artwork has been published in White Dwarf.

I'm not going anywhere.

For one thing: this is a storm in a teacup. There is no actual retcon here; for there was no prior prohibition on female Custodians. What we are witnessing is the exploration of a hitherto undocumented narrative space.

(Firstborn vs. Primaris Space Marines? Now that's a retcon!)

For another: it did not take long to determine that the handful of posters leading the charge against canonically female Custodes are also Americans with conservative-aligned views.

As you might imagine, it took some years for Games Workshop - a niche British company - to penetrate the US market. It is certainly not impossible that some of these people might own a cherished copy of the Rogue Trader Compendium; statistically, however, the odds are not in their favor.

I therefore question their qualifications for speaking on behalf of long-term members of the fandom.

It has also been my observation, interacting with American conservatives, they they frequently presume that their views are indicative of the majority.

(One could infer this not to be the case, given that Games Workshop opted to introduce a female Custodian in the first place; which is precisely why these same posters are quick to hand-wave this choice as pandering to the unsavory mob du jour (in this particular instance, 'gentrified lore tourists'.))

To end as I began: these posters are a vocal minority; but they must cast themselves as heroes, staying the hands of giants, less they perceive themselves as madmen, tilting at the windmills of progress.

Per Games Workshop:

You will not be missed.

YESSSSSS. UPFRONT CONFIRMATION

Ah, the Custodes superiority continues

Carrying

I was talking to my spouse in the kitchen the other day; and to be cute, I hopped up onto the counter. Apropos of nothing, they picked me up and carried me around for a bit!

(I was somewhat worried that it would be too much for them - I’m not the lightest girl - but nope, they made it look easy!)

It’s another one of those moments where I got to experience a long-overdue moment of alignment between mind and body. I cherish it.

Another Test

It came to my attention this afternoon that a colleague had left the office on Friday, feeling unwell; and come Saturday had tested positive for COVID. This individual is someone that works two offices down for mine and is often in close proximity.

This meant, of course, that it would be wise of me to go get tested again. The last time I was tested, it triggered a lengthy flashback.

(As always, I stress: my response to these kinds of medical scenarios is a result of my PTSD, and not an indictment of medicine. Get tested, get vaccinated, protect yourselves and others!)

Anyhow: I wasn't super thrilled about this turn of events, and let my boss know that I was heading out and most likely would not be back for the day. He did very kindly point out that we had some test kits in-office (allegedly; nobody seemed to know where); to which I countered that the last thing my coworkers needed to see was me in tears.

Fast forward: the system for registering an appointment at the test site worked well this time; and apart from a small hiccup (they had moved a mile down the road to a new location), everything was pretty much the same. The technician asked me to sit in the car and came back with a swab and sample vial.

Now, here's where things differed slightly: when my spouse was initially tested (all the way back at the start of the pandemic), the swap took the form of an elongated Q-Tip. Having this pushed all the way to the back of the sinuses was unpleasant; but I understand the discomfort subsided quickly as soon as the test was completed.

When I was tested for the first time, the swap had clearly been updated with comfort in mind: there was a thin, flexible plastic stem with a small, soft, sponge on the tip. It wasn't inserted fully into the sinus, and frankly, there was no pain or discomfort to speak of.

This is what I was expecting to see again; so imagine my unpleasant surprise when the technician withdrew from its sterile wrapping what I can only describe as a fiercely-bristled pipe cleaner.

The technician proceeded to tell me to hold my breath for five seconds, which was also a new and highly discouraging change in procedure.

I warned her that I might be somewhat unresponsive after the test was administered and not to take that personally; and she understood. Then came the part where I tilted my head back, closed my eyes, and felt this monstrosity enter my left nostril. The technician counted to five while sawing this thing back and forth along every side of my sinus cavity.

To be clear: I am no stranger to unpleasant sensations (which I will note shortly). This, however, was absolutely misery-inducing. I broke down crying the moment the technician turned away from me.

Six hours later, and my sinuses still hurt. They itch, constantly; and my nose has been running all evening. I cannot possibly fathom which person thought it was a good idea to take what was already an invasive, annoying test - and make it infinitely worse.

Test

Last week I was at Minneapolis' very own CONvergence convention. A fantastic time was had! Obviously, attending a large public event in the current viral climate is not without risk; but I felt considerably more secure in matters given that (a) the organizers had capped attendance at 3,500 (half the size of the previous year), (b) required all attendees show proof of vaccination and (c) instituted a mask mandate.

Unfortunately, post-event, it was determined that an attendee has tested positive for COVID and had informed the organizers as such. They in turn notified all other event-goers, and provided information on the afflicted individual's path through the convention for contract-tracing purposes.

Unfortunately, it transpired that the two of us had attended a panel together; and despite the extremely unlikely possibility of having contracted COVID from this person, the sensible course of action was to go get tested myself.

This did not fill me with joy. As I have previously documented, there is a facet of my younger self - splintered by trauma - that bristles at certain medical interventions... And I knew this would be one of them.

At the start of the pandemic, my spouse required a routine medical procedure; and in advance of that, was required to get a COVID test. I drove them to the in-car test site, and my spouse rolled down the passenger-side window to talk to a fully geared-up nurse.

As many are no doubt aware, those first COVID tests required collecting a sample from the very, very furthest reaches of the sinuses; using what is essentially an extremely long Q-Tip. While not necessarily a painful experience, it can be irritating at best and deeply unpleasant at worst.

Both my spouse and I were a little taken aback when the nurse instructed them to tilt their head back and place their hands firmly on their knees because, and I quote, "Trust me, you will try to stop me".

The nurse swabbed my spouse's sinuses, and it was fine, and other than my spouse feeling like they had been somehow poked in the back of the eyeball, all was good. I, however, was a nervous wreck; because this act had in my mind overstepped the threshold of acceptable bodily integrity violation.

(How does that work? I can't say, as it isn't rational. I am pro-science, pro-safety, pro-vaccine; but the damaged part of me responds viscerally and insensibly to certain medical procedures - evidently of which, this was one.)

Later, my spouse experienced a terrible cold; and their general practitioner recommended another COVID test to be safe. This was at a walk-in clinic, and even though I remained in the car, I still ended up shaking at the thought that my beloved was being harmed in some way.

I have spent far too much time since then conceiving of how I might be required to submit to a COVID test myself some day, and how that would effect me. Fast-forward to that day.

There was a no-appointment clinic near our house. They have a rather slick online registration system; there were some issues completing the process, but a person met me at the parking lot and helped finalize matters. Then they went to retrieve their test apparatus.

Now, to the credit of the test manufacturers: they had clearly taken steps to improve the (deservedly-maligned) collection kit. The swab was a little shorter; no longer needed to reach the very back of the sinuses; featured a very slim, flexible stem (particularly helpful for deviated septum-sufferers); and the cotton tip had been replaced by a small, gentle sponge.

The technician was very nice and explained that they would gently hold the swab in place for the count of five, and in turn I explained that I'm sure everything would be fine and painless - but there was a possibility that I might become upset afterwards and that it was absolutely not their fault.

Then I scrunched up my eyes and held my hedgehog friend very tightly and the technician inserted the swab in my nose and ran it about inside my head and true to her word, the experience was not in the slightest bit unpleasant.

I then proceeded to thank her, albeit stutteringly, because as predicted this invasion of my bodily space had still had a triggering effect. I received my results less than an hour later and they were, of course, negative. Three hours after that, I stopped crying.

It's so strange - yesterday I had laser hair removal; and per my request, the technician turned the power up quite high. There were some moments when it really stung; but... nothing. Not a trigger. Likewise, in a few days I have to get my second HPV immunization; and despite knowing that it will sting (the manufacturer attests this to the "Virus-like particles" it contains), that should be fine too.

Why am I freaked out by some medical procedures, and not others? I really don't know. Probably there's a logic to it; but if there's a pattern, I've yet to discern it...

“We constantly battle the sins of the fathers, thought Guilliman. That is no less true on an eternal scale than it is within the history of a single world. We suffer because of those that have gone before.

Heaving a sigh, the Primarch resumed the protracted process of correcting his unruly VLOOKUP.”

- Guy Haley, Dark Imperium

It is kind of funny that the entire fandom have agreed that Perturabo’s nickname is “Perty”, when he in canon has a perfectly fine nickname.