The Girlification of Tibby
Have you ever woken up and wondered, is a sex change right for me?
I’ll let you know. That seems to be the path I’m on.
I’ve been a happy dude. I’ve been happy as a dude. But apparently I need to do what I’m doing in order to hang around a little longer, so this is a bit involuntary.
BEING TRANSFORMED=TRANSFORMER=SUPER-HERO?
As the wheel of life keeps spinning, I’ve landed on… cancer again. But a different one.
Hey, I haven’t had them all yet. Let’s roll.
I wasn’t going to take this one public. Cancer and me are old news, after all. Then treatment got real interesting.
My doctors have determined the best way to treat my prostate cancer is to starve it, cut off its food supply.
And what does this cancer feed on?
Testosterone. The stuff that makes a man a man!
Have you figured out where this is going?
If this was a 1930s gangster film, I’d be tied up, and the boss would say, “Turn him into girl!”
In the medical profession they call it hormone therapy.
There’s more than just hormones involved, there’s radiation. But here’s a big difference. While radiation treatments have a known beginning and end date, hormone therapy does not.
This cancer has jumped ship and begun roaming around my body. Hormone therapy will be ongoing for a few years .
No more testosterone for you!
It’s the end of an era. Or depending on how you view my life, the end of an error!
I imagine every girl I have ever dated has a smug little smirk on her face right about now. I guess that’s fair.
I’M STILL HOT. OH, SO HOT!
Taking hormones, I sorta hoped for something fun to transpire. Boobs, maybe.
Not happening.
How about no more shaving? Most guys detest shaving their faces as much as women hate shaving their legs. And pits. And anything else.
I haven’t gotten that wish, either. Although I must admit I failed to initially see the sunny side of radiation during my throat cancer treatment a few years ago. There’s a goodly portion of my neck that no longer grows whiskers. I’m not sad about that. Makes shaving quicker.
No, the only thing I’ve gotten from hormone therapy is hot flashes. Genuine, bonafide, certified, french-fried hot flashes.
I’m menopausal, y’all.
GIRL TIBBY: SHOULD WE HAVE SEEN THE SIGNS?
In recent years, we’ve made getting pedicures our thing before we travel. More recently, I’ve started adding flags of the places we’ll visit.
Perhaps another sign: I’m also prone to wear colors that manly-men tend to avoid.
I’m pretty in pink. And peach. And sea foam.
Wandering down a street in St. Louis a few years ago, my wife Beverly wanted to step into a Lululemon store.
Normally, I’d simply hang out in the sunshine and watch the world go by while she shopped, but this day was a little windy and chilly, so I went in with her.
People, I had no idea Lululemon had shirts for men. And they are so soft!
These days, a Lululemon store is like a siren song. “Hey, let’s just pop in and see what they’ve got.”
I get no argument from Beverly.
Wearing Lulu lavender while visiting a lavender store. Ironic? Nope, iconic!
“WELCOME TO MY WORLD”
What else I’m not getting from my wife is sympathy for the hot flashes. In fact, she’s mildy amused. It’s as though life just evened things up between she and I.
“You’re 15 years behind,” she said.
Okay then, if this is some sort of contest, I’ve got an ace up my sleeve she doesn’t know about.
With my current radiation being applied to the same general area as my colon cancer radiation many years ago, I fully expect to emerge from this with certain body parts that glow in the dark.
Let’s see if she can top that!