Saturday 20 May 2023

A confusing smorgasbord of antipathies

I was born in the 70s. That gender could have a separate definition to biological sex wasn't a question that had hit the general public consciousness, so I grew up in a gender normative environment at a time when biological sex and gender were considered to be the same and immutable.

Sixty years after the suffragettes started the feminist movement, my mother's generation pushed the cause forward. My mother taught me to ignore society's sexist prejudices. I learnt from her to not limit my ambitions or accept being treated as lesser.

Fast forward another two generations and sexism is still ubiquitous, if less blatant, and it still blighting women's lives around the world.

The place we find ourselves in now, where we are challenging the notion that biological sex and gender are the same or that is gender is immutable, has been a long time in arriving. If it mirrors the slow progress made by the feminist movement, there could be many decades of struggle ahead, and still further to go beyond that.

I have a confusing smorgasbord of antipathies to both my biological sex and my gender: childhood sexual abuse; a deadly disease linked to my biological sex; the risk reduction surgery that removed my breasts, ovaries and fallopian tubes; being treated and paid less favourably than male colleagues; my disinclination to conform to the gender stereotypes of how I'm supposed to dress or behave; and my disinterest in supposedly feminine interests.

It's not that I want to be male either by biology or by gender.

If gender is a social construct, it is a shitty one. Who would choose to be respected less, paid less, and have fewer opportunities than the other gender? 

My sexual biology is sucky too. Who would willingly choose to bleed one week out of four for 50 years? Who would choose the pain and hormonally driven emotional flux which accompanies that cycle? Who would choose a decade of hot flushes, joint pain, brain fog, or the other symptoms that follow the end of that cycle?

I didn't choose the genetic defect that disables several of my body's defences to cancers that can develop in the organs and glands related to my biological sex. I didn't rush to have those surgically removed. Arguably I hung on to them too long. Two cancers too long.

They're gone now and honestly I don't miss them. 

In fact when my breasts were removed I reconnected with my pre-puberty self. I rediscovered the joys of sleeping face down, running without boobs bouncing painfully and embarrassingly. I was freed from wearing that most horrendous and tortuous support garment - the bra. 

I remember puberty clearly. It was awful, and I didn't welcome any of the changes it brought.

I'd be happier having no biological sex and no gender.

I suspect I'm not alone.


Tuesday 20 October 2020

One way journey into history

Six months have washed by, on their one way journey into history. The river of time flows inexorably, sometimes meandering placidly, often in full spate - turbulent and roiled by events. 

I find it usually manages both at once, which I dub the "slow/fast duality of time". 

In an "At-Risk" category, I've spent the majority of my time sheltering at home. 

The metronome of work still ticks and tocks, back and forth. 

Start work, finish work
Start work, finish work
Start work, finish work
Start work, finish work
Start work, finish work
Weekend
Weekend
...

The days waltz by, working from home, with the odd day of annual leave to break the rhythm. It is all somewhat muted without the hurly burly of the commute and the hubbub of the office. 

The constraints on my activities external to the house seem to constrain me within the home. I'm oddly stilled. Held quiescent. Time slows.

Blink. It has been 6 months. It went by in a flash. Where did the time go?

Monday 13 April 2020

Pigeons come home to roost

My earliest fears were of nuclear war. Born during the cold war, I was afraid, especially at night whenever a bright light flooded my room. Was that the flash of a nuclear explosion? Was the catastrophic shockwave about to hit? No - just a car turning in the street - its headlights flashing past my window. I was not yet 10 when I became aware that scientists were starting to predict climate change. This worrying prospect was ignorantly laughed off by one of my primary school teachers, who nonchalantly said it would be nice to have warm summers. Concern about the destruction of the ozone layer came next.

Optimism flowered during my late teens. There were signs the world was becoming a better and more tolerant place. The fall of the Berlin wall and the subsequent break up of the Soviet Union made the spectre of nuclear war fade. International bans on CFCs began the healing of the ozone layer, and raised the hope that nations might cooperate to stop climate change. During my early 20s there was a growing acceptance of diversity, a move towards multiculturalism, and the feeling that national borders were becoming less relevant.

One day, in my late 20s, that optimism was wiped out and never returned. The pigeons had come home to roost. Consequences of the arbitrary partitioning of Arabia at the end of WWII, and the subsequent proxy wars fought between the USA and the Soviets in the Middle East. For decades planes had been hijacked and the passengers held to ransom, but in 2001 there were no demands - instead the hijacked planes were deliberately crashed into buildings. Fear of terrorism spread around the world. Intolerance grew. Wars followed.

Through my 30s my concerns grew to encompass exponential population growth, pollution, climate change, sea level rises, food insecurity, drinking water shortages, and ironically peak oil.

In my 40s I saw the election of populist leaders. Protectionism. Nationalism. Racism. Them and Us. This re-emergence of tribal identity - the collective subconscious return to a survivalist mentality?

The news in the last 12 months has had a tinge of the biblical. War, mass refugee exoduses, huge wildfires, widespread flooding, plagues of locusts.

Now we face the pestilence, Coronavirus, against which we are as defenceless as our grandparents were against the 1918 Spanish Influenza, or our ancestors were against the Black Death of the 1300s.

Our medical expertise can only give us a little extra time for our immune systems to generate antibodies. Meanwhile we quarantine ourselves, to slow the spread of the disease, to gain time for our scientists to develop a vaccine or a treatment.

This feels like the beginning.



Monday 22 October 2018

Why, oh why, am I puffed up like a balloon after my operation?

I'm swollen around the chest area as I'd expect after the double mastectomy - there are some sloshy seromas building up which I've been told not to worry about - the seromas should self-resolve, and if not they can be drained with a needle.

I was particularly aware, as I woke up this morning, that my face and neck feel quite puffy. My eyes feel all crowded in by swollen eye lids. I feel like I've gained 10 pounds around my middle too.

This swelling has been developing since my operation three days ago. I thought it was my imagination until I looked in the mirror and saw a big round moon face looking back at me.

Why, oh why, am I puffed up like a balloon after my operation?

Thank goodness for the internet. While it can on occasion lead us down dark alleyways, often it can take us straight into the light...

It seems evolution provided a way for injured animals to lay up for a few days to recover from traumatic injuries. With an injury hormones are released which amend how many of the body's organs and systems work to facilitate survival.

So the post-operative swelling away from the surgery site is fluid retention - a deliberate strategy on the part of my body to conserve water - and the fluid will be released in a few days as my recovery progresses.



The stress response to trauma and surgery

J. P. Desborough; The stress response to trauma and surgery, BJA: British Journal of Anaesthesia, Volume 85, Issue 1, 1 July 2000, Pages 109–117, https://doi.org/10.1093/bja/85.1.109

"The stress response is the name given to the hormonal and metabolic changes which follow injury or trauma. This is part of the systemic reaction to injury which encompasses a wide range of endocrinological, immunological and haematological effects."
"Although it seems that the stress response developed to allow injured animals to survive by catabolizing their own stored body fuels, it has been argued that the response is unnecessary in current surgical practice. "
"The overall metabolic effect of the hormonal changes is increased catabolism which mobilizes substrates to provide energy sources, and a mechanism to retain salt and water and maintain fluid volume and cardiovascular homeostasis."
"Arginine vasopressin, which is released from the posterior pituitary, promotes water retention and the production of concentrated urine by direct action on the kidney. Increased vasopressin secretion may continue for 3–5 days, depending on the severity of the surgical injury and the development of complications."

Sunday 21 October 2018

Brimming with possibility

The day after my last post I fell ill with flu, which delayed my operation by two weeks.

I'm now two days post-surgery, back home, and recovering.

I had breast cancer operations in 2001 and again in 2008. Those were traumatic experiences, my post surgery recovery was tainted with feelings of loss, and fear for the future. Each of those operations were just the heralds of more debilitating treatment - the long hard slog of chemotherapy and radiotherapy.

Following on from that were the yearly scans and tests to check for new cancers and secondaries, a regular cycle of building tension as each appointment came due, plunged back into the medical world for the tests, then the gruelling wait for results, hoping to hear those precious words "all the tests came back clear" and feel the giddy relief once more.

This has framed the last 18 years of my life.

I allowed it to box me in.

I focused on getting through each day.

I made no long term plans.

I did not peer into the future.

I did not allow myself to have big hopes and dreams.

Now I have set the agenda. I picked the time and the place to start my new journey. With this operation I've released myself from fear and risk. I'm calm, confident, and positive.

Tomorrow is a new day, brimming with possibility.

Tuesday 2 October 2018

Both breasty-dumplings

A little over 18 months ago I had my ovaries and fallopian tubes whipped out. In two days I'll say goodbye to both breasty-dumplings, with a double mastectomy.

Image result for blackadder breasty dumplings

8 years ago I wondered on this blog:

How would I feel if I went down the free-martin path and said goodbye to ovaries and breasts? Once done there is no turning back. Answers on a postcard to...

I'm now on the verge of finding out. Will I wake up one morning suddenly feeling released from fear when the cancerous Sword of Damocles hangs over me no more? Will I mourn the loss of my breasty-dumplings? Will I revel in being free of the bouncy bits and take up jogging? Or will life continue much as before?

Cancer in 2001 reduced left-breasty dumpling to a B, whereas cancer in 2008 resulted in right-breasty dumpling growing to a FF. So I'll certainly be glad to lose the lopsidedness.

I'm going flat - no reconstruction for me. I will not subject an innocent part of my anatomy to the surgeon's knife in order to construct a pair of foobs. I feel no need to conform to societal expectations regarding my shape. Flat will be fine for me, thank you very much.

I've been thinking about my gender identity recently. Not what dangly bits I have or my genetics, but who I am. I certainly don't feel my gender is being changed by the oophorectomies and mastectomies. The surgery is just triggering an internal debate about my gender. Up to press I've simply allowed society to decide for me - I was born female - I've led my life up to now as a woman. I've not been a very "girly" person. I've been more tom-boy in behaviour and dress. While I haven't wanted to be a man neither have I felt overwhelmingly glad to be a woman. So this surgery is making me ponder. Can I be neuter?