Where do we go from Here?

My first post of many, I hope.  This blog is not for political debate, or religious views.  Its more like a personal diary, displayed for anyone to read.  I hope my story provokes thought, generates interest and inspires some in the area of self healing.  I probably should introduce myself. I am Adora, a work in progress.  You may ask what does that mean. Well, to tell you the truth I honestly don't know.  I'm not a professional, nor do I profess to be an expert at anything.  I am, however, someone who, in their short life, has become adept and wise in different things, and the discovery of how the world works on many different levels.  First, I am a cancer survivor of thirty years, defeating four very different cancers and currently in a battle with my fifth. I have experienced many challenges in many matters of  health and well being;  type-two diabetes, sixty percent lung capacity resulting in chronic respiratory infections.  I have genetic birth defects. My aortic heart valve stiffened also, soon requiring surgical replacement.  Additionally, I have developed blinding cataracts, poor circulation, neuropathy in hands and feet, nerve damage throughout the body, and many other maladies, all attributed to life-saving total body irradiation, and extremely aggressive chemotherapy, at the age of thirteen. Surgery is a way of life for me, so many procedures ( all invasive ), endoscopies, top and bottom -not a few- scopes, contrasts, continuous banding of veins in my esophagus, round after round of chemotherapies treating whatever cancer I have at the time. The first to arrive was cancer of the bone throughout the body, then cancer of the thyroid, soon followed by lymphatic cancer. The fourth came in the form of breast cancer - breast removed - one in one thousand men get it! Then finally, on the very day that I completed the last infusion for breast cancer, the very day, I was diagnosed with liver cancer. Bummer!

I sometimes feel like a big, hard-to-get-rid-of polyp, and as always, and as all polyps go, I will not be removed. I'm still here!  Get this. I'm not a drinker, never have been, nor have I smoked, or used illegal substances. You might say; I have lived the clean life!  Hell I'm even a vegetarian.

Let me touch on the mental stuff.  I have a condition known as gender dysphoria. My brain and my body don't match up. I'm transgender, not gay. Let me break it down a bit. When I was little I had no concept of gender identity. No child does. Truthfully, the only obvious difference in little children is that between their legs. Few little ones are so aware. Fundamentally, children are unisex for the first few years of their life. They give no thought to such things. They're too busy being happy, content to explore the world. Toys, dolls, action figures, tricycles, monster trucks, tea sets, puzzles and the like. None define the gender but, eventually, their gender will define them. Little ones, both sexes, have not the concept. In little minds, boys and girls are the same. Parental teaching enters in. They should be our children's guide. Little ones! How amusing! They are their parent's entertainment. A child's thought processes are simple. They simply do what children like to do. 

As a child grows and as they develop a self-awareness, they stumble into the knowledge of the private nature, the difference between male and female. By the time a child hits puberty, every thing begins to fall into place. Set in concrete, life and the lessons learned soon define who they are, and who they were meant to be. But there looms many dilemmas. Should the male child choose to wear a dress, enjoy the company of one of the same sex, or engage with, or interact with, things that are not particularly masculine or feminine, how might it be perceived?  I vividly recall my own childhood. I was 13 years of age, smack dab in the middle of puberty, learning who I was, where I fit into society, and as I sat in a doctor's office awaiting my bone marrow transplant, I heard the doctor tell my parents; "Well, this process will make him sterile. We could have saved his seed." But my condition was dire and immediacy dictated. Too late! With chemo the point was quickly moot". I was like, "OK, yea sure! I had no inkling of what it all meant. I looked to my mom and asked what the doctor was saying. What did he mean? "It means that you will never be able to have children, ever". My brain backfired. Reality shattered into a million pieces. I balled my eyes out.  Ok, at age 13, we are not thinking of having children, not looking past the next few hours really. The realization soon hit me! I saw an image of me as an older person. The thought of having children was wiped away. But, and this is a big but, these pictures within me were not visions of me, a man, but to the contrary, I saw myself as a woman. What came natural to others, would not be so with me. My future unraveled before my eyes. 

As time progressed, survival became the issue, months of isolation, chemo, and radiation. Mentally, I tried to block it out. Then, as treatment proved successful, after about two years, and as I was about to rejoin my classmates in high school, I began to think of it all. I had been cured of cancer, the doctor said, that brand anyway, but strange things began to happen. I remember sitting in my bedroom on the floor playing with my action figures and I suddenly stopped. Like in a trance, I awoke staring blankly at the floor.  My father came in and saw me. He asked what was wrong. He too had noticed. Those episodes became more and more frequent. With tears in my eyes, I looked at him. I could not answer. How could I explain?  He asked if I was worried, maybe depressed that the cancer might return. I   nodded.  Life took a toll. Eventually a therapist got involved but being somehow embarrassed to talk about that past, I clammed up. Stranger things yet! In time, more and more memories began to come to me, some nightmarish. I recall a toddler who had brain cancer. Her name was Katie, and I fell in love with that little girl. We were both isolated in separate germ free rooms. Things got more strange, even  eerie. I'm in a sealed room, connected to seventeen pumps with twenty seven manifolds, wires, tubes running to me and through me, yet  at some point in this night, I awoke, rose out of bed and walked down the hall to Katies room. The oncology/pediatric division was staffed by special nurses, mostly women, and with children in mind, each dressed in many-colored scrubs. But in this night, as I approached Katies room, I was confronted by a nurse dressed totally in white. She was not familiar, as I recall. The hallway was dimly lit and the entire scene had an odd, etherial feel to it. The lady in white blocked my way. She asked where I was going, to which I answered - Katies room. I tried to argue. I wanted to visit Katie, but I was sent back to my room. The next thing I remember was waking up with medical staff working on me. I had died in the night. I knew! Now awake, I turned, looked at a nurse and made an astounding statement. "Katie is gone isn't she?" How could I have possibly known? The nurse was both surprised and astonished. I was informed. Little Katie had passed away just a few hours prior.  I felt remorse, I felt cheated, I was wanting to be a part of this lil' girls life, and she was taken away from me.  

Since the events and episodes experienced, I have tried to live a normal life, to be the guy that I had been taught to be by society.  At the age of twenty four, I married a summer camp sweetheart. She too had childhood cancer, Like me, she too was treated in-house at St. Judes Children's Research Hospital in Memphis. It was a fairy tale, I thought. Soon, certain urges and varying thoughts came alive. Gender dysphoria flared up, gradually at first, then more and more frequently. Why? Was it because I had access to my wife's clothing, her make-up and such?  Was it because we had a new computer, thus a feeling of empowerment, a way to talk to others, and talk as the woman that I should have been? To do so is therapeutic, and actually, as I use my computer as an outlet to quell my dysphoria, I take my place among the many like me. I am now better able to keep certain thoughts at bay, and though I have searched for more information, and more explanations, some questions will go unanswered. It took years, but in the year 2020 I took a stand. I have quit the false life I was leading. I'm true to myself, and, I have a voice. This is where my journey begins. Where do I go from here?