Injection Reflection

Day 8… we keep occupied every moment like a cameras shutter speed – each frame filled up with something new. Any attempt to break tedium. But we converse and philosophize.
We look forward to our confessionals and challenges. We nap.
I stepped on Alyssa’s retainer. Its purple like some other things she owns (purple is the up and coming color, I heard from a fashion fore-caster). It looked like she bit my foot, which provided five minutes of something new. She then proceeded to create a fund for her broken retainer and I believe we raised over two dollars.
Huge dance off with the YMCA campers. Somewhat entertaining – nearly disastrous as I, for a fleeting second thought I could do a handstand on a collapsible chair.
We played pool. Ate Wendys.

I decided the best way to inject myself would be to do it without making a big deal of it. Usually it’s not even the needle breaking through my skin that hurts – but the only part that bothers me is the anticipation. So I sit on our plush sofa, and everyone gathers around sitting like kindergartners on the air mattresses. I roll up my shorts a bit and disinfect my upper thigh with an alcohol prep pad.
I begin to over-analyze the scene. It’s strange enough to go against what your brain tells you “it’s wrong to push a needle through your own skin!” I was never a fan of self-inflicted pain. So I then realize my environment. A intramuscularly injected substance, under the most suitable conditions – in a mall.
Adam said he might pass out. I’m glad he didn’t, although if he did, it would have taken up some more time.
So I flip the vial upside down and push the needle through to begin drawing out the testosterone. Air bubbles float in and I flick the syringe to get them to shift upwards. The hormone is thick and takes a while to drain and my hands begin to shake.
I think in the long run it sort of helped me get the injection over with by having everyone watching. Usually I’d have to psych myself up more and be like, OK PUSH!
But when I have pressure put on me, like ok I gotta do it now that everyone is waiting, it just happened. Rested the cold needle on my skin, began to plunge through – there is one moment when you know you’re in the muscle – the flesh sort of retracts up back around the needle and you are able to easily navigate the needle while its inside you.
I begin to squeeze the plastic and I feel the syrup escape. I steady my breath and think of how much progress I’ve made in just five months of hormone therapy. How much my confidence has gone up. How rare it is for anyone to question me (who and what I am). I think ahead to my top surgery and how great it will feel to be able to never second-guess my image before setting foot outside.
I look down to see the syringe is empty and I yank the needle out.
I supplied ten more minutes of something new for everyone else.
And we go about our day juggling beach balls and observing people.

For some unknown (but miraculous) reason, we have been granted the gift of guitar hero tonight J and Melda and Scott showed up and Cassandra gave me a high five. Who knows what tomorrow holds in store.