'Begin "laser" ignition sequence!'

New layout! I like redecorating.

Perusing support forums I often see women--particularly young women--asking about laser hair removal. "Should I do it?" "How much is it?" "Does it work?" There have got to be a lot of girls out there wondering what it’s like and if it’s worth the money. Now before you read this post, allow me to insist one more time that each lady is different and may get different results. It seems to depend on the root cause of your hypertrichosis. Mine is yet unknown. But hopefully my experience will help you to make a decision you can feel good about.

Now, in 2004/2005 when I finally decided to try the procedure, there weren’t any of those commercials you now see on TV. Not for hair removal. It was all scar and cellulite reduction. I originally went to my family doctor a couple of years before that and said, “Look, I’ve got this hair in places I shouldn’t. What’s up with that?” He referred me to a dermatologist, who in turn referred me to a laser clinic in the same building. A laser? For hair removal? How was that going to work?

It was a nice-looking place, almost spa-like, and the consultant was sweet and sensitive. She gave me some publications and tried to describe the process to me, and what I would be expected to do, and how it was supposed to feel. "Like an elastic snapping against your skin, at most," she said. She even offered to zap my inner elbow once so I could see what it felt like. Now, I’m terrified of needles, and her putting a mysterious machine in the same spot you get pricked for a blood test intimidated me far too much, and I gave a nervous laugh and declined. But she zapped herself in the arm like it was nothing, which heartened me. Still, I said I’d think about it.

But I was getting sick of shaving, and I was getting older. I left high school; met a guy. Well, I met a few, but one of them was particularly special. In my second year of college, I started thinking about living life as a couple--even though the relationship didn’t work out, it awakened in me the awareness of that eventuality. Was I going to have to sacrifice half an hour of each day for the rest of my life to this? Besides, how much easier would it be to tell a boyfriend about my hirsutism if I could refer to it in the past tense? I knew there were no guarantees on the permanency of laser hair removal, but I was finally willing to try.

I got another referral. I met with the same consultant. She commended me for the effectiveness of whatever hair removal method I was currently using (shaving and slathering on the make-up)--said I was very good at hiding it compared to some of the women she’d met. It was a welcome tonic, but my eyes welled at the possibility of waking up one day and not having to spend half an hour in front of a mirror shaving/bleaching/plucking before doing anything else. We went over the procedures together once more, and I booked my first appointment.

I won’t go into how laser hair removal works here, because plenty of places already do that. Like here, for instance.

There were a few stipulations before treatment. I had to avoid the sun for 4-6 weeks before and after treatment, and use a sun block of SPF 30 or higher even for short trips out of the house. I started treatments in September, so that was not a big deal, but I’m extremely fair skinned, so I wore SPF 45 all the time. Darker skinned women might have to begin a bleaching regimen 4-6 weeks before treatment can begin, which may be more of an imposition. And if I’d had cold sores, I would have also had to take a course of anti-viral pills starting the day before treatment and for one week afterward.

Also, there was to be no bleaching, plucking or waxing for six weeks prior. I was at a shaving stage of my life then, so it made no difference to me. This may freak a lot of girls out, but it’s for the best. If you remove the hair from the root or lessen its pigmentation, the laser can’t get at it to damage the hair follicle. The area to be treated had to be shaved 24 hours before treatment, and no later.

I was also told that after treatment, I could continue with my day right away. There could be some redness and swelling, but makeup could be used immediately. She recommended not using hair removal products like depilatories that could aggravate the area afterward, but I was allowed to continue my shaving regimen as normal.

I bet you’re curious how much five courses of this was supposed to cost. Keep in mind, these quotes were rough estimates, in Canadian dollars, and given to me four years ago:

Sideburns and chin: $500
Stomach: $600
Lower back: $1200

Unfortunately, those are the only quotes I have. I don’t have quotes for chest, arms, or legs written down anywhere, but assume the larger the area, the more expensive treatment becomes. Now for a girl who went right into college after high school, completely funded by scholarships and student loans, how was I intending to pay for it all? Well, having the cushion of the student loan made me feel more confident in parting with so much money all at once. I went for the sideburns and chin only, which would eat up all the money I had ever earned in my life--from baby-sitting in high school. When you’re young, $500 seems like a lot of money to pay for any one thing. That, I think, was the most difficult part of the decision.

To keep this from getting too long, next week I’ll talk about what it was like, and how well it worked.

Boys, and Secrets

A girl at work jokes that I now have a fan club. And not one for being a bearded lady. Just one for being a lady.

Since my last update, I've been made aware of two young men who've made expressions more serious than humorous ruminations about my buttocks. Two admirers in as many weeks--I can't make that stuff up. One was in some of my college classes, and rarely spoke to me at all in the three years we spent in the same major. The other came into work to visit a friend and noticed me nearby.

The sad thing is that after the initial flush of pleasure at being noticed, my second or third thought invariably is, "I wonder if they know?"

We are our own worst critic. When we look in the mirror, we easily see our flaws. And no matter how little we study the people around us, we still expect them to see our imperfections before anything else. That's just the way it is. And so I figure that anyone who looks close enough can see through the make-up to even the faintest stubble, and will link what they see to being a beard on a woman. I know the likelihood of that is rather small, but there have got to be some incredibly observant people out there.

Would knowing influence their initial attraction? If they still tried to initiate the relationship, would it be because they really could overlook the idea of a bearded lady, or would it be because they like the idea of being the more attractive half of a couple?

These are separate ponderings from once a relationship has begun and how the revelation would influence his feelings then--but not totally unrelated. Just unrelated enough to go in a different post.

In the staff room today some of the ladies were talking about how their own personal emphasis on appearance affects their lives. One of them is an obsessive compulsive, and won't go out if she doesn't feel that she looks her best. She looked across the room at me and said, "Don't you be like that."

I smiled, sipped my soup and thought how much my appearance affects my life. It's more than just loathing going out in public. It's wondering if every human relationship has or will be influenced by the way I look. You don't have to have hirsutism to know how that feels.

But I wonder if it's actually better or worse when it's factor that is often well hidden, not readily noticable like other things society deems as blemishes? For the first while to seem normal, and then to reveal later that their impression of you is not entirely true?

Best to just think of the compliment of being noticed, even from a distance.

Care to Trade?

If we play six degrees of separation, I'm connected to a teenage girl who purposely tries to give others the impression that she has a beard. Apparently, she's the sort of lesbian who prefers to take on the masculine role. I really don't know her at all, but I was inwardly surprised and fascinated to hear about a young lady who tries to affix colored pencil shavings to her chin.

My own opinions about teen angst versus real gender dysphoria aside, I wonder how she'd feel if she were saddled with my--well, whatever it is that's causing my particular affliction? Would she be thrilled to wake up in the morning and have no control over what grows through her skin except to scrape it off and cover it with makeup if by chance, that day, she doesn't want people to perceive her as masculine? Basically, would she envy what I have, even on the simplest level?

It's bizarre to think someone would envy that. Obviously she's trying to look like a man and not a woman with a beard, but hirsutism could be like a permanent costume. While we ladies admire each other's figures or hair color or style, noses, lips, and eyes, even fingers and toes, some woman out there might wish they had my beard.

I can't say whether or not that makes me feel better, but it sure makes me chuckle.

Compliments

I received an astonishing, rather back-handed comment at work last week. It revealed to me that someone in the office has been observing my rear end, and not hating what they see. At first it stunned me, then my reaction swung from flattered to mortified for a full hour afterward.

It's fall, which means the weather turns immediately and inexplicably grey, and though the falling leaves are beautiful, the sky and air are filled with unfriendly frost. This is the time I resume zombie mode; sleeping in as much as possible, letting my hair dry the way it falls, wearing the comfiest clothing. I cease to make the same effort to look good, though I always, always cover up the beard. And not making that same effort diminishes the way I feel about myself until I cease to even think about it and just focus on getting the job done every day. So to receive a compliment, even one veiled in jokery, lights a fire under my apparently shapely behind.

I buffed and shaped and put a french manicure on my toenails. I started wearing contacts and earrings again. Shaving my legs (up to mid-thigh at least--I'm inspired but not miraculously so) to wear skirts. The rush of looking good had been exhilerating--I wanted to perpetuate the feeling.

It can be a rare thing in this life to get a compliment, with people encouraged to be more private and withdrawn lest they get stepped all over. It made me think not only of how important it is to receive them, but how important it is to give them to other people.

Another girl I work with is very self conscious about her skin. When she jokes about it, you can tell it's bothering her. And of course, I think she's crazy. Even if her complexion gets uneven, her skin works so well with make-up that you'd never notice until she pointed it out. And I can't say, "At least you don't have a beard." So I focus on other positives when she gets frustrated. It's hard to tell whether or not it helps, but we all like compliments, even if we only laugh and wave them away the moment we get them.

So as tempting as it is to dwell inside ourselves, languishing in the belief that there's something inherently wrong with us, sometimes it's good to realize that whether bearded or not, others are feeling the same way. And they could really use a kind word or a hug.

Success

Last week, Isis went home on America's Next Top Model. So disappointing, whether you're part of the transgender community or just like rooting for the underdog.

The judges said they thought she was withdrawing more and more as the competition went on, afraid of standing out. Can't blame her, with some of the recent challenges requiring her to show more than she might be comfortable with, and certain people in the house feeling that she didn't belong there. When Isis reflected on how she felt she had a stronger backbone, I found myself thinking, what if I was in her shoes? As in, living in a house full of people who knew my secret, and were not required to accept me on the basis of being family or close friends. How could I cope with living each day knowing nine or ten other people might be constantly judging me? The fact that Isis volunteered to do it is pretty brave.

As I've said before, I can't relate fully to the challenges of people like Isis. What I can identify with is having a physical secret that, if known, would not just call into question my attractiveness, but my gender--my "correctness" as a human being. It's not "right" for a woman to have a beard, not normal.

Of course, people might not think those thoughts exactly. They might just think "Ew" and move to the other side of the street. They might phase me out. They might tell their friends and have a good laugh. And how bad would that be, really? To let the close-minded people think their close-minded thoughts? It would weed out the undesirably acquaintances pretty efficiently.

In theory.

In practice, who wants people to think negatively about them? Everybody--everybody--wants to be accepted.

So Isis left the competition because she was reverting into a shell, shying away from the brazen attitude that could have brought her closer to success. There could be a lesson there for all of us who are ashamed of ourselves for our so-called imperfections. If Isis had continued on and reached her goal, becoming a top model, what would people have thought of her then? There would still be some who would wrinkle their nose at what she used to be, but in the eyes of society as a whole her perceived imperfections might be eclipsed by her fame. Famous people can get away with anything and still be liked and accepted by some.

But what about the rest of us? What if the greatest success we could wish for would be a home, a car, a job you don't hate, a loving husband, maybe children, dogs, a hobby you're good at? That's hardly the bringer of imperfection-eclipsing fame.

So, guard the secret and cope in silence? Or be open and deal with others' censure? Probably depends on if you're happier as a private person, or a public one. And on a great deal of courage, too.

Either way, though, you do not want your challenges to stop you from doing what you love to do.