Hi! Followup to a previous post, I had my nose surgery on January 3rd at the start of the new year (picture related). It was the full package. Not just any surgery. A revision rhinoplasty and septoplasty. In the surgeon's words, he had to take off my nose and build me a new one.

It was many years in the making but now it's done.

Recovery... is okay, I guess. I've had worse surgery recoveries for sure. The big painful thing for a while was my rib, which was grafted to build my new nose. I had a lot of pain when crunching or bending my torso, which, as it turns out, is part of a lot of basic movement. It's also just felt mildly weird sitting at my PC again, not just mentally but physically. Something about the way my head is oriented, especially with my new chair, makes me slightly... dizzy? I don't know. I hope it fades.

I've experienced a pretty significant miracle though. Since surgery, I've been able to sleep. Like, deeply. I've always had severe sleep problems since I was little, since the same time as my nose injuries. I've always been a slave to my body clock, only able to sleep when it demands, sometimes I'd get no sleep at all for no good reason. During school I always had to skip a night of sleep every week or two just to reset my body clock. Not anymore. I've got a strange new ability to fall asleep in minutes if I'm even mildly tired or sleepy, I just have to be willing to. It's legitimately amazing. I've slept so much recently and dreamed so deeply and I want more. Deviated septum is hell for your sleep, as it turns out. Fixing it is nothing short of phenomenal.

Some extra information about my surgery and what it means:

• This was an extremely delicate procedure. Apparently, above my actual nose, inside my head, there's "nothing" now (surgeon's words).
• Thus, I'm forbidden from ever having another surgery in my nose area, unless it's extremely medically necessary or life-saving.
• It's still unknown whether my sinuses have been positively affected by the surgery.
• If I ever pick my nose or get bacteria in my nose, it will supposedly cause "major complications." They didn't specify what that means. The surgeon's exact words were, "assume that if you pick your nose, it'll fall right off your face."

I do have another surgery coming up this month, though not one requiring general anesthesia. On January 21st, I'm getting carpal tunnel surgery, at least assuming everything goes to plan. The steroids I was given helped a lot, and still do, but they're rapidly losing their effectiveness. Sometimes it's been harder to lift my arms outright, sometimes the pain in my wrists is still so bad I can barely use my phone. Everything is still leagues better than it was before, but it's deteriorating, and I'm frankly worried... will I survive long enough to see it through?

But I also need to talk to you about the post-op visit I went to today for my nose surgery. This is where the "venting" part of my post comes in, so strap yourself in.

First thing that happened is the doctor sat me down to explain why he took my case. Despite my strange appearance and delusions of grandeur the first time I saw him, he still wanted to see me again the second time, and when he saw my improvements, believed he could help. He told me he wanted to "help me get control of my life" and that this is a "tool", not a "recipe", for my success. Fair enough. But then he started transitioning into how I need to grow big and strong to take care of my mom in her old age.

Hold up, what? Why? This is a plastic surgeon. What business does he have...?

He went on as his assistant entered the room. He talked about taking care of his own father in his declining health at an old age. This was already kind of triggering to bring up for me as I've previously had to help take care of my father on his deathbed a few years prior. He went on about how I'm young and healthy and should be grateful to my mother for taking care of me for all these years thanklessly.

I mean I guess he has a bit of a point that I don't show appreciation to her. It's only because aside from all the deeds she does to take care of me, emotionally, she's a narcissistic abusive piece of crap. She puts in a lot of effort to keep me fed, bathed, clothed, sustained, only to destroy my mental well being any time I need support. My bond with her is exceedingly negative, as with any boomer-millennial relationship. I think the surgeon knows this.

He left the room and his assistant started rambling on about how her own three children don't listen to her, how frustrating it is, and how one day they'll see she was right all along and they were wrong to ignore her. She started talking about how I'm young, so I don't need medication and doctors, and should seek "organic solutions" if possible (we all know what this means, I'm sure). She explained that everyone here is prescribed going for walks outside to recover faster, no exceptions, and added, closing in for emphasis:

"Your Netflix and Chill days just ended today. Because I bet that's all you've been doing during your recovery, isn't it?"

She's right... but... what on earth? Who cares how I spend my recovery? Maybe there's some credence that my recovery will speed up if I exercise a bit, but there was no need to guilt trip me over watching my favorite shows to stay comfortable while I recover from an extremely dangerous and volatile surgery.

She went on to explain in great detail about how the more medications are listed on your permanent record, the higher you're charged for your own car and life insurance as an adult. It was terrifying. And maybe she's right - I wouldn't put it past one of the most fascist places on the planet to do this. But what she said next struck a chord. She said she had to fight off a doctor over the phone for an hour because he wanted to prescribe her daughter antidepressants she "didn't need".

The context she gave was that her daughter had been treated for migraines once at a young age and they were trying to give antidepressants that "might help with migraines". However my issue lies with the fact the daughter wasn't allowed to make a choice for herself, and her helicopter parent prevented any medicine from being sent at all. What if she really did need antidepressants? Lots of people do, hell, I need antipsychotics. I shouldn't have to explain why her story upset me so much.

I brought up the possibility of me needing future surgery, recommended by an ENT, to grow my sinus passages, which are notably extremely thin as seen through an x-ray. She talked down to me about how "there are just some problems you need to live with", how life isn't fair, and she has to take sinus medicine every day because "nose surgery isn't for her". She guilted me for "not looking for organic solutions." I called her bluff and asked her to list some. She listed several over-the-counter medicines. Zyrtec. Allegra. Ayr. Sudafed. I've tried several of these before but had mixed results.

The reason I'm really bothered by this one is that, after previous nose surgeries, I actually did have freedom from sinus headaches for a few weeks, and it felt nothing short of fucking amazing, and then it stopped. I know it has to be possible because I've lived it. And here she is telling me to stop searching for a solution. It's true, the surgery did so much to my nose that now I'm forbidden from ever having another nose surgery, so I'd at least need a surgeon who can bypass my nose to grow my sinuses. It's true that my nose and sinuses have already been through so much trauma that touching either is risky. But I've touched freedom before. I had it. So why shouldn't I keep trying?

She stopped at one point to apologize for constantly misgendering me, but here's how that went. She said "Sorry, it's just so confusing because your name is [deadname]." I said, "my name is Eir." Both her and the surgeon know it and have been calling me it already. She said, "your name is [deadname] on your papers and you haven't changed it." She immediately changed the subject after. I didn't even get a chance to explain that name changes are no longer allowed in Texas. I personally take this as veiled (hardly) transphobia.

They also brought up my dietary needs. I need to give a bit of context. According to the surgeon, the cartilage produced by my body is so thin, it's equivalent to that of a child who's been starving for three months in a third world country (his words, not mine). That's certainly cause for alarm. But I knew already it would be impossible to explain my side of the story to him. Boomers seem to believe that any mental illness or struggle reported by kids or millennials is some kind of made up excuse. This has been the case with my own mother for a lot of my life.

For the record, my problem is an eating disorder, specifically ARFID. I struggle immensely with food of varying textures, especially anything liquidy or soupy, anything spicy, and anything with little "chunks" or "pieces". I can't do smoothies. I can't digest soft drinks. Steamed veggies are hardly filling. Sometimes food tastes different on different days, like scrambled eggs, and it greatly disturbs me. I have no control over any of this. It's plagued me for my entire life and caused me to be this nutrient-deficient. If I could've solved it by now, I would've.

But, as usual, I got the same old boomer lecture about eating my greens, eating from all the food groups, the food pyramid, stop eating junk food, stop eating snacks, put effort into your diet, etc. etc. etc. It's just white noise to me now. If it was that possible and easy for me to improve my life, wouldn't I have already tried it?

Anyway, the last nail in the coffin was at the end. I was already going nonverbal and feeling extremely talked down to and insulted by these adults. My mom was in the room with me and, being a boomer herself, obviously saw no issue. The assistant starts asking her again about how my diet is. She starts to explain that I "eat very little" and "ate more as a baby", some triggering phrases for me. I snapped at her. I said, "Can we not?! Please?! Not right now?!" The assistant took note of that and pried deeper. I went nonverbal again. The surgeon walked back into the room, surprised we were still here. His assistant filled him in. He continued to lecture me about how I'm extremely underweight and malnourished for my age and height, I'm in danger, and I need to take his words very seriously. I'm so sick of it at this point. All I could do was shut off my mind and nod after every sentence like a robot. Nod nod. Nod nod.

As we were finally leaving, his assistant dared to ask, "Are you okay?" When I ignored her, she asked, "Are you upset about something?" I said, "I'm fine," between gritted teeth. She pressed, "are you sure?" I insisted, "yes," and we finally left.

My next appointment is in April. Needless to say, I'm not looking forward to it.

I realized I was having an RSD response to being talked down to and guilt tripped like that. When I got home, I remembered I hadn't taken my antipsychotics the night before, so I took one and napped. When I woke up, I drove out to get some lunch, but it turns out the antipsychotic's restlessness hadn't faded with the nap, and was still hitting me. I made it home okay and took a second nap. When I awoke, I heard some kind of distressing news about it being okay to call queer people mentally ill on facebook now. I really tried not to despair, but with everything compounded, I was reminded of the fact this is 2025, we have a bad man in power here in the US, queer hatred is extremely rampant, and if anything, it could be argued I encountered two (slight) transphobes today.

...So in other words, I don't feel good about my future. The price of survival is already absurdly high over here. It's only going to get worse, isn't it? The only saving grace I really have is the possibility it'll become so impossible for anyone to afford anything that the entire US economy collapses and starts over. But what are the chances of that happening when the current situation benefits all the gross, rich old men in power?

I'm aware that my fellow queers are living in the same world I am. We all know the score. We all know how dangerous it is to be queer these days. I don't know. I want to put this somewhere. I'd like some kind of hope or assurance that I won't be mandated out of existence or hunted for sport. Moreover, I'd like some assurance I won't be left homeless by the time I'm 26, scrambling for funds because of health and car insurance, or other fees. I've barely made $1k in my lifetime. My mom has to pay tens of thousands of dollars every year just to keep us all provided for.

I hate to despair so openly here but, I just really badly need some kind of way out. I've been down this road many times in the past. What will I do for a job? It depends entirely on my recovery and upcoming surgery, I think. If I can at least get more accustomed to my new PC setup and get my wrists back in order, I can reopen figura commissions. Any further work - I'm leaning towards some kind of mail delivery - remains to be seen. Especially in... freaking Texas.