FIRST WEEK

It's been a productive week, this first one in 2015. Joe and I both decided to eat less, with the hope of losing weight. I'm down three pound so far, which makes me happy.

I had two doctor appointments January 5, one a checkup with my regular MD, a pretty Southern young woman, a resident. I've noted in the past that she always wears makeup. I don't know why that surprises me. The second appointment was with the cardiologist, a charming, handsome, Italian-American with a drawl and a sense of humor. Lately, I see a technician and a nurse practitioner before I get to the real doctor. They always ask a bunch of questions, which elicit in me a sense of gratitude for my good life. "Are all your needs being met?" "Do you feel safe in your household?" The nurse was a young woman named Amalita, with an Italian accent. I didn't want to talk to her at first, but then I noticed she was wearing something lacy under her white lab coat. I asked if her mother was Amalia, and she told me she was named for an opera star her mother admired. She was charming and beautiful.

I finally admitted to Dr. Renzelli and Amalita that, yes, I did sometimes have chest pain, not like my heart attack nearly twelve years ago, but more a tightness, coupled with breathing hard. I noticed it riding my bicycle up some of the steeper hills in Morgantown. And sometimes, when I walk to the convenience store in the morning to buy newspapers, I stop walking back up the hill to our house, because I feel out of breath. I don't know that a totally in shape 65-year old can do better than I do.

They've been worried about me. I have a stent in my left anterior descending artery that was designed to last eight to ten years. February 9 will be twelve years since it was installed. So I'm going to do a stress test Friday next week to see if everything is working the way it's supposed to. If not, they have to go back into the artery and unclog it.  I don't have any illusions at 65 about life expectancy and things that can go wrong, but if there is a blockage, and they can clear it, I'll be better off.

Tuesday Joe and I went out in snow and cold weather to run a bunch of errands. We bought Bubbie's Pickles at Mountain People's Co-op, sourdough at New Day Bakery, checked my post office box, picked up Joe's dry cleaning at Massullo's, bought groceries at Kroger, stopped at the bank and the gas station, and found me a new gym.

The gym is in the shopping center with Kroger. "Brad" greeted me at the door. He's a big blond hunk, maybe 25, wearing a three-inch long silver cross on a huge chain around his neck. He's a graduate of the program at the gym I just left, and spoke fondly of two of the faculty there, one of whom couldn't say "Hello" to me in the twenty-eight months I worked out there. I signed up for a year, with two months free. I asked about working out a few times with a trainer. Brad mentioned two graduates of The Human Performance Lab, probably my two favorite ex-grad students. I'm sorry they don't have better jobs, with their masters degree in Exercise Physiology. I'm meeting with Ariel, a thin, pretty, talkative native West Virginia woman tomorrow. We were actual friends at HPL.

Joe and I came home from more than two hours in cold weather, and I fell asleep for over an hour. We had been talking about going to a trivia night at a local restaurant that people in the congregation go to. I was exhausted and not feeling well, so I let Joe go alone.

Now we are in the grip of the Polar Vortex. I took the car yesterday to buy papers in the morning, and ran out to the street to pick up the mail in the afternoon. That was it for outdoors. It snowed on and off all day. Today, it's clear and pretty out, but in the three hours since sunrise the temperature has only gone from -1 to +1 F., and the wind chill is steady at -10. It's supposed to go up to 19 later this afternoon. Our intrepid cleaning woman is driving over the mountains from Garrett County, Maryland to be with us this afternoon, so I'll be heading to the mall to get out of her way. I may go to a swing dance class tonight at the University. It will be my first time there.

Both Joe and I are working on our health and our social life this year. We've taken steps in the last week. All that's keeping us from being out more socially and walking outside is the bitter cold weather.

Gender

Last week, Joe and I attended a presentation at WVU by Dr. Colt Meier about transgender issues and how to make transgender people welcome at West Virginia University. I felt we should go because I am on the LGBT Equity Commission for the University, and because we are always trying to meet gay people in town, in the (so-far unsuccessful) attempt to create a gay social network for ourselves.

Dr. Meier is young, blond and pretty with stylish stubble. He spoke rapidly and covered lots of ground. Ultimately, he told us that he himself is transgendered, lucky to have had understanding parents who worked as professionals in education and psychiatry. I would add that he was lucky to be so young. In our day, he might not have survived.

Although Dr. Colt was upbeat throughout, he managed to sneak in some terrifying statistics. I don't remember the exact numbers, but a majority of trans kids are kicked out of their homes or beaten by their parents. Homelessness and unemployment are rampant, and even those with jobs are often discriminated against or harassed by coworkers and supervisors. College students have issues about sports, dormitory arrangements and prejudice from teachers and fellow students. Dating can be problematic.

We learned a new word: "cisgender." It describes people who feel that they really belong to the gender they were born into. That would describe me and Joe. We are both hairy-bodied, balding older men. We don't manscape or hide our gender characteristics. And yet...

At the break, we asked someone to take our picture with Dr Meier. I asked him "What if you look really male, but you don't do really male things?" I told him I have no interest in sports, don't drink beer or hunt, can't fix a car, like to dress flashy and secretly wish I had a collection of Barbie dolls. I didn't have to mention that I'm married to another man. Dr. Meier suggested I was "gender non-conforming." Well. I'm glad we have a name for that. Another phrase he used was "gender dysphoric." That means you are unhappy with the gender you have. That one doesn't work for me. Yes, it would be nice to have beautiful long hair like my sister, but I'm generally happy to have a man's body.

I found Dr. Meier charming and kind of hot. Of course, I was curious about how much he has changed from his original female body, but I learned from him that the answer to that question is "None of your business." Until it is. But in my case, it isn't my business and won't be.

A crowd came to hear this talk. Most of them were required to show up as part of a course. They left after the formal presentation. A faculty member signed their little cards to prove their attendance. The people who stayed for the question-and-answer were more interesting. A woman said her lover was trans, and she wondered how to tell people. A young man with curly blond hair said he understood the concept of "passing" as he was not "white" although people who met him thought he was. There were a lot of uncomfortable looking young men and women there, some trying to "pass" as the gender they were born into. It's hard to imagine how difficult that must be. I remember myself in college, trying hard not to look "gay," but already aware that I was. In those days we had to hide. Hopefully, things everywhere, even at West Virginia University, are getting better.

Joe and I with Dr. Colt Meier