These days occur consecutively every year – October 10th and 11th. It’s a good chance to kind of look back and take stock. And to see where I was at; here’s what I wrote last year:
World mental health day / Nat’l coming out day 2016
Before talking about this year, I just want to note that last year I said, “I’d say within the next 6 months I’ll be out at work and everywhere else. I look forward to the day that my driver’s license, signature, little plastic rectangle on the custodial office, Facebook page, the words out of teachers’ and co-workers’ mouths, and everything else, all say the same thing!” I’ve reached that point!!! Well, everything except that little plastic rectangle, but that is in-process (see below)!
This past year in my mental health landscape: I thought I was stable in a way that couldn’t be rocked, but actually I ended up back in the hospital again with another manic / psychotic episode. I know my loved ones went through a lot of stress and strife, but, in comparison to past episodes, this felt like a breeze, and it even felt healing in many ways. I do want to try to write about this, but I’m not quite there yet. Hopefully soon. I spent two months out of work, I got raised to triple my prior dose of Seroquel (a drug I continue to like a lot – a first for me), and now I’m down to double my prior dose. I’m off of any antidepressants right now. I’m worried I will lapse into another depression, but so far, so good. I’m starting to finally address the issues I’m having with oversleeping. But, to be honest, if oversleeping is the worst thing to come out of being in a really good place mentally otherwise, then so be it, I guess… For now at least.
In terms of National Coming Out Day, coming out is happening all the time, and I’m glad to be in a place where I’m neither invisible nor fearful of having to come out again and again and again. I love every opportunity. Take yesterday for example: I didn’t realize it was National Coming Out Day until that night when I went on facebook after work. And during that day, I had two instances of coming out. While I was working in the cafeteria during lunch, a kid asked me, “Are you a boy?” I replied, “I’m neither. I’m a little bit of both.” He replied, “Really?!” And I said, “Yeah!” I had a big smile on my face. Then later in the afternoon, I realized that my new boss(?) got his plastic rectangle with his name “engraved” and it was now on the custodial door, and I’ve been waiting for mine since January, when I changed my name. So instead of getting worked up about that, I just wrote down on a piece of paper what I wanted (so there’d be no confusion) and explained to the administrative assistant that Mr. [last name] has his on the door and I’ve been waiting for mine. She apologized for forgetting to include mine in the order, and said she would go ahead and order mine. I gave her the paper: It said, “Mx. [last name].” She verbalized that back to me to make sure it was right, and I said, “Yep.” I should have that up hopefully within a couple of weeks, finally. This feels like such a victory!
There’s one other thing I want to mention regarding mental health: I started listening exclusively to a new-to-me podcast. By this, I mean, I listen to podcasts every day while at work. And previously, that would be somewhere between 5-8 different ones at any given time. Right now, for whatever reason, I’m just listening to one, all day every day. I’m sure I’ll get tired of it and get back to some of my other ones, but for now, it’s pretty mesmerizing. If you’re interested in checking it out, it’s called the Mental Illness Happy Hour. It is definitely not for the faint of heart. The host jokes that he does not give advanced notice for triggers because he would have to stop every couple of minutes to announce another Trigger Warning. And it is absolutely true. There is a lot of stuff about abuse of all kinds, dark secrets and shame, both sexual in nature and just like, the kinds of stuff that randomly pops in your head and you hate yourself for thinking it. The host lightens things up by being in turns uplifting and darkly humorous. Each show is somewhere between 2-3 hours (!?!), and he’d read people’s surveys they’ve sent in anonymously, and he will also interview one person per show. He’s doing all this seemingly on his own, and he’s making a living off of it. I’m kinda obsessed right now.
This actually happened a few months ago – she was fired from a nearby college on May 24th. It’s only now hitting larger news outlets because there are now three state-level civil rights complaints, trying to get her re-instated. I read about it in the newspaper while at work, yesterday.
She was treating transgender students who came to her with a previous diagnosis. She was definitely qualified to do so, having gone through many hours of training in trans-health care, attending a conference sponsored by WPATH (World Professional Association for Transgender Health), etc. She was doing this at the college’s expense, which just makes it seem like it was condoned by the college, right?!!
WPATH’s stance is, “With appropriate training, …hormone therapy can be managed by a variety of providers, including nurse practitioners, physician assistants, and primary care physicians.” Apparently, this was outside the scope of what the Student Health Center did, but this was never communicated to her. The termination came from out of the blue.
Hormones are prescribed for other reasons at the health center, with no problem. Birth control, ovarian disease, and low testosterone are all treated regularly.
Interestingly, the information on the Student Health Center’s website changed two months after her firing: While it had said, “comprehensive primary care,” and “continuity of care,” it now says, “basic primary care” and has no mention of continuous care. At least they’re being accurate about the downgrade???
This just angers me to no end because this doctor took it upon herself to step it up and become well versed in an area that, for whatever reason, makes so many medical professionals so squeamish and stand-offish. And if this was something she did of her own volition, and it was well within the standards of care, then back it up! What was the university afraid of? There are standards in this field, despite the fact that the medical professions are grotesquely behind the curve with this, in general. A bunch of transgender students were left in the lurch.
The college’s associate vice president of student wellness was quoted as saying, “We are fortunate to be situated in [city], where there is a strong medical community rich with resources.” As if to say that students can just go elsewhere. I’ve tried “elsewhere” around here, as an adult, and it was a super-frustrating process. If I think back to who I was at age 18 or 19, disrupted care at the on-campus center in this regard would have definitely sent me into a tailspin and/or mental health crisis. I would have felt like I didn’t have the means or psychic energy to find out another path. I would have felt deeply cut, in a personal way, by my institution’s sudden change in policy.
It just seemed like this college was at the forefront – it could have laid the groundwork for other area places of higher education to follow. And then it just took a huge leap back into the wrong direction. One step forward, two steps back sometimes I guess, right?
I had a bunch of problems with getting continuous care. I was first getting hormones from a sketchy-ass doctor. I finally felt so disgusted with his practice that I sought out another path. I went to one specifically because she was listed as being LGBT friendly and knowledgeable. That ended up being wrong basically – she told me she didn’t know how she had gotten on that resource list. I had to have a pretty heated conversation with her – her stance first was that I could come to her for primary care, but I should continue to get my hormone prescriptions through that other doctor. I told her I wasn’t going to do that. She told me this was beyond her scope and if she had a male patient with low-testosterone, she would not even monitor him for that reason.
We finally landed on a compromise. She would continue to prescribe what I was already at, and she would monitor that. If I wanted to make any changes though, I would have to do that through other means.
When I did want to make other changes, I first got on a long waiting list for an LGBT-specific clinic. I kept hearing negative stories about the quality of care there, so I decided to also try another approach: an endocrinologist. I had to get on a long waiting list for that, as well. I’ve been going there since January, and so far, I’m happy because I don’t have to deal with the PCP anymore. Getting an endo was not like adding yet another medical professional and another series of appointments. It was more like, instead. Unless I get like, a rash or something, then I’d go back to my PCP.
All of this was hard enough, and I am an adult who has worked really hard at advocating for myself. Thinking back to who I was as a student I would have withered under this kind of stress. Students need to be able to access trans-specific care on their campuses. Period.
A note about the lack of specifics in this post: I left out the doctor’s name and the name of the college, city, etc. because that’s been the way I’ve always operated with this blog, in order to keep some anonymity. I’m not sure anymore whether it’s all necessary, but I’m not about to try to figure that out here-and-now. If you’d like specifics and the names of the sources I got a lot of this information from, just leave a comment, and I’ll get back to you!
So I went on a really big trip this summer – I visited my brother! I flew into Istanbul, stayed with him there for two nights, and then we rented a car and went up to Sile on the Black Sea, Yalova on the Marmara Sea, the city of Bursa, and Ayvalik on the Aegean Sea. We took a ferry to the Greek island of Lesbos / Midilli. We also saw ancient ruins in Bergama and went to a Turkish bath with natural hot springs in Inegol. We crammed a lot into 10 days! This was my first time overseas since 11th grade, when I took a class trip to England and Scotland. It was the first time I’d seen my brother in three years – it was pretty great to reconnect. We did lots of swimming and hiking and we also went to a Whirling Dervishes festival, which was going on continuously for 114 days of summer.
If you wanna read more, I wrote about this trip, through the lens of someone who is non-binary, here! I wrote about TSA stuff, but more excitingly, I wrote about feeling more comfortable in a “male” role in a way that I am not, in America. I even swam without a shirt on, in front of others – something that I didn’t plan on ever doing!
Traveling Non-Binary: Gender Perceptions in Two Cultures
The website is called Transgender Universe, and I’ve written for them before (this is my 4th piece). I like switching it up with blog writing every now and then.
This is the latest in a series of posts I’ve been making, after top-surgery, to show off some of my favorite t-shirts I never got to wear!
I got this t-shirt at a thrift store, but I can’t remember when or where. I’m gonna venture a guess that it was at the Goodwill, somewhere from 2004-2007. I’ve never seen Mad Max, and it was only through other people telling me what it was, when I would layer this shirt under a hoodie or flannel, that I knew! Here’s a film still for comparison:
I mostly like this shirt fits, more than anything else. I love the line across the top, disregarding the human form completely, just a turquoise line designating a box, a square fit, as if we were all Mad Max muscle men. That’s about all I have to say about this shirt! If I ever see the movie, maybe I’ll update this post with more information!
So, our city celebrates Pride long after the anniversary of Stonewall, for some strange reason. It is always the 2nd full week in July, with the parade and festival and picnic landing right in the middle of July. I was overly busy at that time, and kept stalling on writing a re-cap. But I feel motivated, largely because it’s something I’ve kept up with every year, thus far. Here are posts about past Prides!
This year, I had ideas for what to do in the parade, but had zero time for prep-work. Good thing I had a lot of stuff on hand! I woke up at 9am and needed to meet my spouse’s employer’s group (a Food Co-op) by 12:45, about 2.5 miles from our house. This proved difficult because I had a funky ride I was trying to pedal (see below!) The store had no cohesion – it was a total free for all. In the past, we’ve handed out coupons, or people have walked with a shopping cart, dressed as vegetables. But there was nothing like that this time ’round.
I tricked out a clown bike I got from a friend with balloons and signs that said, “WAYO 104.3” and “Kryptic Pop Thrills” (just because I wanted to do some self promotion for the fact that I am a radio DJ!) plus I made a sign for my spouse that said, “Summer of Love Trumps Hate.” The theme of the parade was Summer of Love. I brought a boombox for my sister-in-law (actually, she gave me the boombox for xmas one year), and we played an old mix tape entitled “Pride Parade Jamz” – a remnant of a parade of yore, in which my drag buddy and I marched to the beat of our own drum. I was dressed as a snazzy mis-matched dandy bicyclist, and my spouse was dressed in some sort of psychedelic fashion. It was us, 3 friends, two shareholders with their kid / toddler, sister-in-law, and a former employee with his wife and baby. I was sometimes pedaling / sometimes walking, straddling the bike. I was alternately shouting about WAYO, the Co-op, and Pride. I handed out pop rocks to like 5 kids, and a whole movie-theatre-sized spree to a group of teenagers, and sweet tarts to an unsuspecting woman who was wearing a t-shirt that said, “Vagetarian.” I told her I liked her shirt because I am a “Sagittarius.” I realize this doesn’t make total sense, but if you say the words out loud, they sound close enough! I also told an audience participant that he “looks just like Boy George,” and I got my pic taken a lot and I hugged a lot of friends on the sidelines, if I was fortunate enough to spot them.
Afterwards, we skipped the festival and just hung out at home. Later, I texted my friend who had given me the bike, and they had vague plans to go to a gay bar, but he quickly changed his mind and said they’d meet at this new bowling alley, etc. which is what I suggested. This place is insane. It is a warehouse turned bowling alley / ping pong, ski ball, shuffleboard, astroturf lawn games / restaurant / whiskey bar / cocktail bar. The four of us chatted in a super animated way for about an hour, and I was in bed by 9:30.
I also participated in an event at our local art gallery, the following day, which was new for me. I got roped in, last minute, to set up a table to show some historical / archival gay stuff from our city over the years (I just got connected to do this based on some old photos and things I had been posting on facebook to gear up for Pride!) The event was not super well attended or anything (people were probably busy day drinking and picnicking) but I had a lot of fun anyway. I got to meet some people and explore the art gallery (there was a specific video installation of a drag queen which was sooooo amazing!)
My spouse’s family met us down there, and we then went out to eat and then to a movie.
I loved the fact that I saw every one of my spouse’s immediate family members over the course of the Pride Weekend!
This post is a continuation I started last summer, basically in celebration of the fact that I can now wear t-shirts without feeling uncomfortable and self-conscious. Hooray for top-surgery, which was now a year and two months ago.
This beautiful specimen of a shirt was uncovered in a thrift store in Spencer, MA, just outside of Worchester, last summer while my spouse and I were visiting one of my friends from high school, and her husband and toddler. In case it’s hard to make out the print, this says,
“THE MORAL MAJORITY IS NEITHER.”
What does that mean??? At first, I didn’t know, and I don’t have a smart phone to “gooooogle” the phrase ASAP, so I just bought it an forgot about it. I did know I needed to have it, but I wasn’t going to start flaunting it until I found out what it was all about. I had a vague recollection of the term “moral majority” and that it was bad according to me (It really does just sound bad!!!), but that was about it.
I’m sure there’s more to the story, but according to wikipedia, the Moral Majority was a political organization started by Jerry Fallwell (The New Christian Right), mostly active in the 1980s. Critics started stating that “The Moral Majority is neither,” meaning the organization was neither moral nor a majority, and the slogan spread to bumper stickers, and other “swag” items.
This appears to be a homemade t-shirt from that time period (I’m following clues from the tag of the shirt. I could be mistaken), and it seems like it’s iron-on letters that are slightly felted. This added to me falling in love with this shirt. I feel that it is a good time and place to be wearing this t-shirt out and about, frequently, and proudly!
One year ago today, take or leave a day or two, I was at an incredible record store in Concord, NH. I was still recuperating from top surgery, but the worst of it was over, so my spouse and I went on vacation for a week. (OK, for her it was only a partial vacation – she was scheduled to attend a conference for work in Concord for 2 days.
We first went to Greenfield, Northampton, and Worcester, MA to visit friends. We went hiking, swimming (well, for me, it was only up to my torso cuz of surgery), blueberry picking, and shopping. We visited a botanical garden at Smith College, and when we got rained out, we ended up on the semi-precious gemstone wing of the science building. We also tried a Gose-style beer for the first time, and we watched Straight Outta Compton one night after the baby / toddler went to bed.
After all that fun stuff, we headed up to New Hampshire, and pretty much parted ways for the next two days because my spouse had work to do. It was awesome! We first went to the local co-op together to load up on snacks and drinks. After that, we just crashed at this hotel that was getting paid for by her employer. I hadn’t stayed at a hotel in roughly 10 years at that point, so the novelty factor was HUGE! I just kept getting ice from the ice machine, checking out other places my key card gave me access to (like the gym and pool, even though I could barely utilize these perks).
On the one day, I basically walked up and down the main street and did whatever I could do, for a full morning and afternoon. This involved spending many many hours in this old-time-y record store. I even bought a t-shirt from them, to commemorate the experience:
I liked it because it is an iconic image that literally has a pitchfork in it. And often, “pitchfork” and music are synonymous in this way: pitchfork.com
But I strongly feel that this record store preceded the website by many many years. OK, so I just had to follow through and look it up: The store launched in 1973, while pitchfork.com launched in 1995.
It appears as if not much has changed in this store since 1973, which is why I was so happy to just go treasure hunting in there for hours- I got a bunch of cassette tapes that had never been opened, for like a dollar each. And I got soooooo many records for under $3. I had a blast. I wanted to get this shirt in a gold color, but they were out of that color in my size. So I settled for yellow. Not my favorite color, but not a bad one either!
Some of my favorite things to do, ever, are: try new beverages, hunt for records in new towns and cities, and go swimming! And I’m so glad that I can swim again now – so far this summer, I’ve gone 3 times!
Oh, also big news on the traveling / swimming front: I finally solidified plans to visit my brother in Turkey, next month! We are going to explore ancient ruins and go swimming in the Mediterranean Sea. Can’t wait!!!
This post is a continuation of a series I started last summer – basically, the best part of top surgery, for me, is getting to wear t-shirts and tank-tops and button-down shirts without having to layer or bind. So I started featuring a bunch of my favorite t-shirt, and here’s yet another one!
Today is one year and one month after top-surgery. This date seems like much bigger of a deal than my one year anniversary. Why? Just because of a flood of serendipitous things (I am still recovering from my semi-recent hospitalization – still out of work, and lots of things are connecting in my brain that would not normally mean much.)
Anyway, one year ago, today, I went on a day trip because I was bored. I had been out of surgery by a month at that point, and I still had another month before I got back to work. I was itching to not wear the ace bandage and nipple-gauzy thingies. I was tired of staying at home all day, or relying on others for rides because I could not yet lift my arms to drive. Enough time had passed, so I went on a day trip to one of my favorite spots in upstate NY. It felt so good to be out in nature, getting all sweaty and stuff. I remember feeling safe enough that I took off my t-shirt and let the ace bandage air out for a bit. (I distinctly remember the breeze from the lake against my skin.)
Sooooo, what I’m trying to get at: Yesterday, just fairly coincidentally, I ended up at that same beach. I actually went to 4 parks (park hopping!), over the course of 12 hours, again, by myself, and again, I had a blast! This time though, I took a different route – I had looked at maps prior to taking off, and deliberately decided on a course of action.
One of the small towns I was gonna drive through is Fulton, NY. And I’m thinking now that I was drawn there because I have this really old t-shirt I got at a thrift store in my early 20s, and I wear it a lot, but have never been there. You know what? There is no way this image could be correct – this town is landlocked! (Furthermore, it’s technically a city, but it’s so tiny and rundown, I was baffled by that. I bet this town has a history to tell.)
I have a whole lot of shirts that are fairly random and were just thrift store finds over the years. And I wore them all when I was young without any qualms or thinking twice. But now I’m kind of like, “wait, what is the deal with this shirt, anyway?” Or, “I’ve never actually been to this place – the image just looks cool.” Etc.
So, expect some more t-shirt-centric posts from me soon!
You can find the rest of the series, from last summer, here: T-SHIRTS!
I can’t believe there’s still so many intense conversations to be had! Why does it take forever?!
In general in our neighborhood, my spouse and I don’t have a rapport with people. Like, at best, I watched our next-door neighbor’s cat one time, and we went to a backyard fire at her place twice, like two summers ago.
We also have a neighbor a few houses down who borrows our lawn mower a lot. This is the guy I’m talking about today – I ran into him yesterday, off our street.
I was walking on a major road nearby, to a coffee shop to write some letters to friends. (I am still out of work on medical leave right now.) He saw me first, from across the street. We probably have only seen each other once or twice since last summer. He’s always super friendly, so he was shouting, “Hey, hey, how are you?” and crossing the street at the same time. I steeled myself (slightly), and returned the greeting, meeting him partway to shake his hand and ask how he’s been, what he was up to.
He was walking home after buying his lotto tickets, etc. but that’s neither here nor there. We talked about past neighbors that he’s kept up with, and about his plans for retirement. I told him my spouse was going back to school in the fall for a master’s program. (Oh, hey, PS: blog-friends, my spouse is doing this big thing coming up. Grad school!!!)
Then I told him that I legally changed my name to Kameron. And that I got my passport and driver’s ID and everything changed over. He asked me if this was a good thing, and I said, yeah, yeah it is. Then I realized he just has no idea, so I spelled it out – I said, “I’m transgender, I’m actually more in the middle, not like I am going to become a man. But like, at work and my friends and family, I use male pronouns, ‘he/him/his.'”
He started to get it then, and as soon as he did, he started apologizing. For being invasive, or something, I guess? I just kept repeating, “No, you’re fine. It’s not personal. This is a part of who I am. So, like my parents are all good with it, everyone’s all good. It just took me a long time. There’s a lot of discrimination. Like, say, fifteen years ago, it wasn’t even OK just to be gay. Things are changing though.”
He definitely got that. It immediately sunk in. He said, “Oh yeah, like you might have been depressed and now things are better for you? I bet people deal with suicides and stuff, right?” I said “Yes, and even bullying and hate crimes and everything. It’s bad. I mean, I don’t like to be negative, but yeah, it can be bad.”
He then proceeded to ask about operations and surgeries, and I just said, “Well, that part of it is personal. So, I mean, I’ll figure that out as it comes. But for now everything is all good.” He does not need to know about my top-surgery status or anything else of that nature, for sure!
He started apologizing again, haha.
I shook his hand again and said he was free to borrow our lawn mower if he needs it. We exchanged more pleasantries and parted ways. I felt really good about it. He kept referring to my spouse as my girlfriend, but hey, I can’t correct the man on every little detail. He got the gist of the most important stuff for now, and that’s more than fine by me! It felt like another tiny weight lifted off. Dang, how much extra “weight” am I actually carrying?! That’s still a mystery that is becoming just a little bit clearer…
Content note: blood, needles, things that might make you squeamish, self-injury.
Three days ago, I did my 24th shot of T. I started to psych myself out – for some reason, it suddenly seemed super-difficult. The needle looked extra long, and it has been looking that way for a while now. I decided maybe I should stick it in a “meatier” part of my quad muscle. I did, and must have hit a vein – it HURT a LOT and it bled quite a bit. I just felt like, “Damn, I’ve been working myself up about the pain more and more lately. I just wanna do it like a routine, without any glitches!”
It then occurred to me to look up the gauge online and see what was the range. I looked at my zip-lock baggie from the pharmacy, full of my syringes. I suddenly realized that my newer ones were a different shade of green than my older ones. I was looking at 23 gauge versus 21 gauge. In addition, the 21s were 1.5 inches, and the 23s were 1 inch – my fear that I was gonna hit my femur was semi-legit! I need to go back and get more 1 inch needles, pronto!
Needles are scary, right? It makes sense that people would fear needles. They hurt. Also, what about negative associations to getting shots at a doctor’s office, as a small child, vaccines and booster shots, stuff like that.
And then there’s the taking of the blood. Like, say, you have a medical condition that causes you to need regular blood draws to make sure everything is on track. If you are transgender, this is a common best practice.
When I was 17-21, I had to get regular blood work done every 3-6 months, because of a psychotropic drug I was on. I can’t remember the reason why. ( To check liver functioning, and/0r cholesterol? I forget.) It was a hassle, at the very least. But I did start getting very comfortable with it: I was present, it barely hurt – I just looked away so I didn’t have to see the vials filling up with blood.
Because of this, probably, I was intrigued by the idea of donating blood. I did it a handful of times between these ages (17-21), both at my high school and at my college. It was one of the most bizarre things, in my opinion: Here we are, a bunch of us, all laying down on cots. Any one of us might pass out at any time, and that would cause a chain reaction for others to pass out too. There are these nurses hovering over all of us, making sure we can stand up OK as if we are rising from the dead, with these baggies of blood tied to us. They are on hand with cookie packets and juice boxes. We can have as many as we want…
The one reason I stopped doing it was because I had a hard time maintaining the minimum weight requirement during college (110 lb). I didn’t have an eating disorder, per se, I just didn’t have an appetite or desire for much of anything at all. I also struggled with anemia.
And self-injury too. In that case, pain was my friend. I guess I can best describe it as, I would work myself up into such a frenzy that cutting my skin felt like the only thing that would bring me down. I was hyper-ritualistic about it. It was a fairly common occurrence for years, but never “severe.” And I don’t do it anymore.
Testosterone has changed my relationship to pain, for sure. I’ve written about that here:
Differences In How I Experience Pain
Here’s a quick excerpt (I wrote this somewhere around 3 years ago):
Before I started taking testosterone, I had a peculiar, but not really uncommon, relationship to pain. In many cases, I derived pleasure from pain. I would create sensations of pain, within my control, in an effort to calm myself. Also, when I’d hurt myself accidentally like for example, hit my arm on a doorway, I would feel alarm, followed by an adrenaline rush, followed by a pleasant soothing wave.
Now? If I hurt myself, it hurts! If I accidentally ran into a doorway, it would not be pleasant in any way, shape, or form. I remember the first few times I got hurt in little ways, in the first couple of months of being on testosterone; I was so surprised by how much pain was coursing through my body. I just felt like, aaaaaah! I’ve been swearing under my breath and feeling unnerved by how much stuff hurts.
So what am I trying to get at? I guess I just want to acknowledge that sticking yourself with a needle, in an ongoing way, is a really intense thing to do. And it’s totally understandable that some trans-people would just have a hard limit and say, “I’m not doing that.” For myriad reasons. So at least there are other options:
– Gels, patches, and creams (unfortunately, quite costly)
– Sub-cutaneous injections (not as deep)
– Stuff like Nebido that’s injected every 3 months or so
Does anyone have experiences with switching methods?
Doing self-injections feels like a badge of honor, but I’m not quite sure that it feels like an “honorable” thing to do…