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Travels with Rachael
Part IV: Disappointment in Utah
Subscribers can read: Part 1|Part 2|Part 3| Part 4
"Clear! says the doctor, and POW! I get
hit with yet another jolt from the machine. This is not an episode
from ER, but fortunately I haven't coded--I'm getting a PhotoDerm
treatment for hair removal. Each pulse from the laser-like device
feels like being flicked hard by a small heated metal rod. It
is not terribly painful, but the jolts from the machine are sudden
and, yes, shocking, and I've asked the doctor to let me know before
he fries me again. It helps to be prepared for each pulse, and
the doctor and his assistant are getting into the routine--I guess
it isn't often that a dermatologist gets to pretend he's defibrillating
someone. And, hey, I don't mind anything right now, because the
nitrous oxide is kicking in--I can still feel each jolt, but I
don't much care.
I'd heard about Dr. Mark Taylor and the PhotoDerm
treatment several years ago from a TG contact in one of the USENET
groups. She'd had the treatment and was quite pleased. In terms
of expense it was significantly less that Spa Thira's Thermolase,
which was not available to me anyway because I am not on HRT.
I contacted Dr. Taylor by letter when I was in America last summer,
hoping that he would reply to me in time for me to fly out and
get a treatment. He did answer but it was after I returned to
Hong Kong, so I had to set up an appointment from abroad. In his
reply he answered the questions I had asked and included a fact
sheet about the treatment. PhotoDerm differs from the Thermolase
treatment in several ways. First, as I have mentioned, it is not
necessary to be on HRT to qualify for PhotoDerm. Second, it is
not a laser treatment, but a laser-like treatment--technically
this means that the light is a broader band spectrum of high energy
light rather than a single wavelength. The advantage of this,
according to the promotional literature, is that the chance of
blistering or scarring is reduced. Third, the treatment does not
require a facial waxing beforehand, although for very light-colored
hair Dr. Taylor told me that such a waxing would be necessary.
The cost at the time I had the treatment was $10 per pulse, and
I had 113 pulses to clear the entire face and neck area. There
is a test patch charge and a charge for initial consultation,
both of which Dr. Taylor kindly waived for me.
Dr. Taylor only performs the PhotoDerm treatment
on Thursdays, so that was another factor I had to consider, and
he is booked about two months in advance. I called from Hong Kong
in plenty of time to be sure to get an appointment on the only
day possible according to my itinerary. Unfortunately, I called
ahead too far in advance, and the secretary could only promise
that she would make a note of my request. Thanks to a TGF chat
friend I'll call Mary who lives in Utah, I was able to confirm
my appointment without another long distance phone call. I also
found out that I should not shave for about five days before the
treatment. Dr. Taylor had neglected to tell me this, and I am
very grateful to Mary for passing along my query. Dr. Taylor's
office is centrally located, only a few blocks from the Mormon
Temple in Salt Lake City. Upon my arrival I was taken to an examination
room by one of Dr. Taylor's assistants, and she asked me the usual
questions to determine my current state of health. As she signed
the form, she turned her back to me and asked, "And why are
you here to see Dr. Taylor today?"
"For the PhotoDerm treatment." I replied,
somewhat puzzled that she hadn't known.
Her head swivelled rapidly back toward me, and I
could easily imagine the checklist that was going through her
head as she reassessed the situation. And for me this was the
moment of truth also--was I going to tell anyone here that I'm
TG? How would they react? I hadn't had the opportunity to ask
my USENET contact about her experience and was somewhat nervous
about the whole thing. I didn't know whether Dr. Taylor might
even refuse to treat a TG, given what I thought of as the extremely
conservative nature of a place like Salt Lake City. But I needn't
have worried. The assistant asked, "Where would you like
the treatment?"
"I'd like to remove my facial and neck hair."
And that was that. The staff are very professional, and although
I went in drab, no one questioned my reason or desire to have
the treatment. The assistant explained the procedure to me, gave
me another copy of the information sheet that the doctor had sent
me and a sheet of instructions for after-care. I signed a form
stating that the potential dangers of the procedure had been explained
to me and absolving the clinic and doctors of responsibility in
the event of a problem. Scarring is possible but extremely rare,
I was told. Blisters, welts, and bruising are more likely, but
I suffered no ill effects other than a temporary reddening of
my skin. This was much like a mild, localized sunburn and lasted
about three days.
I was taken to the treatment room where I met Dr.
Taylor. He is a very pleasant man in his forties, and did his
best to make me feel relaxed. He examined my skin, which is quite
pale when it is not sunburned, and my beard. He explained the
procedure to me again, and cautioned me that I might not get the
best results because of my hair color. My beard is a medium reddish
brown, and he told me that the treatment works best with black
hair on pale skin. It is not recommended for people with either
dark skin or light hair. He did express the opinion that I would
receive some benefit and said, "I know if this does not work,
no other treatment will." Presumably he meant no other existing
non-invasive treatment--omitting electrolysis. He did give me
the opportunity to change my mind before beginning the treatment,
but having come all the way from Hong Kong, I was not about to
do so.
Having the procedure was a big step for me My facial
hair has never been thick, and I tend to suffer from irritation
and ingrown hairs when I shave, especially on my neck. Having
tired of looking like a chicken pox victim, I decided it was time
to take control of my life, and so asked my wife how she felt
about me having the treatment. Because this seemed to her only
a permanent version of the shaving that I do every day, she readily
agreed. As the treatment time approached, I contemplated other
possibilities--having the backs of my hands done, or the nape
of my neck. I love putting up my hair, but the hairline at the
back of a man's neck looks considerably different than that of
a woman's. The added expense and the probable need to explain
why I wanted those procedures ultimately deterred me. My contact
on the USENET had told me that she needed a follow-up procedure,
but she was still quite satisfied and thought she had about 80%
less hair on the treated areas, and what she did have was considerably
finer. This seemed very satisfactory to me--even if I were to
have only a 50% hair reduction, I could go on to electrolysis
with a big head-start on the time required, if a second treatment
didn't work out.
In the treatment room, Dr. Taylor asks if I have
any more questions before we begin. I hope that he and I can have
a moment alone, but the assistant never leaves the room. Had we
had that time, I would have told him about my TG status, and perhaps
have asked for a treatment on the back of the neck. He takes a
red marker and circles the area to be treated, then hands me a
mirror and asks me to check. I notice that my beard is not as
high on my cheeks as I had thought, and I point out a spot on
my lower neck and the little spot below my lower lip that he has
not marked. At this point I look like a were-clown, with my spotty
growth and marked face. The treatment begins with his assistant
applying a cold gel on a small area to be treated. Dr. Taylor
asks if I am ready, I nod, and POW!--I'm stuck by the first pulse.
High energy is right! It really feels like I have been hit with
a solid object. "How was that? Are you all right?" Dr.
Taylor asks, solicitously.
"I'm fine," I answer. "Wow, that was
a real shock! I had no idea it would feel like that." The
"snapping rubber band" sensation referred to in the
literature does not do justice to the strength of the blow, or
the intensity of the heat. However, it seems more unpleasant to
me than painful.
"Shall I continue?" asks the doctor.
"Sure. How many of these do you think I'll need?"
"Oh, over a hundred." I hope that I can
make it. I feel like I can, but I'm a bit concerned about the
thought of so many. Dr. Taylor examines the area and says it looks
fine. He makes a minor adjustment and the second pulse comes.
He checks again if I'm okay, and if I want to continue. At this
point, I ask him to let me know when the pulses are coming so
that I can brace myself for them, and I suggest that he say "Clear!"
before he zaps me. The three of us are amused by this, and the
conversation naturally turns to the television shows ER and Chicago
Hope. I tell him that I used to live in Chicago and that my son
was born in the hospital that Chicago Hope is based on. He then
asks me about living in Hong Kong. The tiny size of the world
amazes me--it turns out that Dr. Taylor has actually worked in
HK, in the building directly adjacent to the building I work in.
Furthermore, he is a good friend of my HK dermatologist. As the
comedian Steven Wright says, "It's a small world, but I wouldn't
want to paint it!"
As the treatment progresses and we get to the lip
area it becomes more unpleasant. Apparently I am wincing, so Dr.
Taylor asks me if I'd like some laughing gas. It sounds like a
good idea to me, and immediately makes me a bit lightheaded. We
continue to talk, and I ask him if he has done many other male
beards. He answers, "About 10, and the first two were men
who wanted to become women." Under the influence of the gas,
I come very close to saying, "Hey, me too." Only the
fact that he knows my dermatologist in HK stays my tongue. Dr.
Taylor also tells me that at least some of the other, non-TG men
(the details are faint now, thanks to the gas!) he has treated
have a problem with splotchy, irregular and dense hair growth.
I wonder, in fact, how necessary it is to spell out my TG status--my
pony tail hangs more than a foot beyond my shoulders, and I certainly
don't have the affliction he describes.
As Dr. Taylor finishes my facial hair, and before
he begins the neck area, he asks again if I want to continue.
He warns me that the throat area may be somewhat sensitive, but
I figure that it can hardly be worse than under the lower lip.
Actually, with the gas, things are going pretty smoothly, although
somewhere along the process the smell of burnt hair has become
noticeably unpleasant. Before long, though, Dr. Taylor says, "Finished!"
and I am amazed. He confirms that I had 113 shots from the machine,
but it has seemed much less to me.
The hairs have not fallen out, as I had expected,
but are still in place, atbeit singed and hopefully dead. As we
discuss after-care, the thought of wandering around Salt Lake
City with this singed and tattered beard and wafting around the
scent of Eau de Napalm strikes me as an immanently missable experience.
Also, I had hopes of going en femme today, so I'd like to rid
myself of this ruin. But Dr. Taylor is concerned about additional
trauma to my face. I'm told that the hairs will drop off in time,
and that I may have the roots of the burnt hairs pushing out and
dropping off for some time to come. I should not shave today but
may do so tomorrow. Immediate results will be visible if the procedure
worked, and by two months I should be hair-free. I like the sound
of that last statement, but am concerned about hairs pushing out
and dropping off--the way it is described sounds like the hair
follicle's version of leprosy. If I'm sloughing off hair through
my whole trip, my planned make-over will become unforgettable
in the worst possible way. Imagine the cosmetician's expression
when applying foundation and coming away with cinders of charred
beard on her cosmetic wedge! Well, there's nothing for it now
except to look on the bright side. In our final moments together
I decide to take advantage of Dr. Taylor's dermatological expertise
and ask him about a couple of other minor problems that have been
hindering my feminine appearance. He suggests a course of Accutane
for the enlarged pores on my nose, and tells me about two possible
treatments to reduce the significant freckles on my arms.
I leave in an upbeat mood, even though any time en
femme today is obviously out. I can't resist stopping by the restroom
to check out the results in the mirror, and I'm greeted by a strange
sight--the red marks Dr. Taylor drew at the beginning of the treatment
have not all been removed and I look like some mad derelict who
had an unfortunate run-in with Ivana Trump's lip-liner. I try
to wash it off, but some of it isn't going, and the skin is still
pretty tender. I decide that this is a good time for jet lag to
kick in, and even though it is still morning I head back to the
motel to crash.
The ringing of the phone jars me awake. Is it Mary,
I wonder? We were hoping to get together for dinner one of the
two nights I'm in Salt Lake City. I manage to struggle up--it's
only afternoon, but I miss the call, and there's no message. I'm
awake now, and I wait a bit in case there is a call back, but
eventually I decide to head out to see the sights. My plans to
go out en femme and shop have gone up, well, not in flames, but
at least in several bursts of high energy light. So what to do
in SLC while waiting for the evening? Sightsee, which means the
the Great Salt Lake or the Mormon Temple.
I'd already seen the lake while getting lost on my
way to the motel from the airport, and ended up at the end of
a pier with my back to the lake looking at an old Moorish palace-style
arcade that had seen better days. Beyond the arcade were two old
boxcars and an abandoned camel ride whose stench still seemed
to linger in the air (although I later discovered that the smell
was the lake itself and the remnants of millions of tiny brine
shrimp). Smokestacks from a nearby factory rose toward the imposing
snowcapped mountains standing in the near distance. Above them
all, in the bright midafternoon light, the crescent moon shone
and an airplane flew past. It was an extraordinary moment and
it seemed to mirror the disparities I find in my own life. But
such a moment, if readily repeated, would too easily become ordinary,
and rather than denigrate the experience I went in search of Mormons.
The Mormon Temple is the heart of SLC; the city is
literally laid out around the temple itself. Although I consider
myself a "devout agnostic"--the only thing I am sure
of is that I'm sure of nothing--I am interested in religions of
all kinds. For some time in my childhood my mother was attracted
to the Church of Latter Day Saints, and Mormons visited her with
some frequency, trying to gain a convert. I regularly sat in on
these discussions. Eventually she grew tired of their evasions
of her difficult questions, and I was most unhappy when told that
dead animals don't go to heaven. Now I'm more concerned with the
complex issues of suffering, salvation, and free will, and a discussion
on the Mormon position on TGs would interest me greatly. As I
enter the temple complex area I am greeted with friendly smiles
and welcomes that contrast greatly to the sidelong glances I generally
get, given my unusual appearance. A "sister" offers
me a tour of the facilities, but I'd prefer to wander on my own
for now. The buildings are magnificent, and the literature that
abounds interests me. I find the story of the genesis of the church
very problematic--the tablets that can only be read with miraculous
spectacles seems to me like a plot line from a rejected episode
of the X-files, but the obvious joy on these people's faces cannot
be dismissed. I find in myself a growing respect for this religion,
and a desire to be a part of the welcoming, loving atmosphere.
I wonder what would happen if I came to the temple en femme, and
talked to one of the sisters, and an overwhelming urge to do this
begins to fill me. Obviously tonight I cannot shave, but I notice
that the Mormon Tabernacle Choir is having an open rehearsal tomorrow
night. I decide to ask Mary if we can go to the rehearsal. Mary,
a closeted married TG, is not entirely comfortable being with
me while I'm dressed, as she's afraid that she might be noticed
with another woman. I take that as a complement even though Mary
has never seen me in person, and I certainly understand her position
and sympathize. Back at the motel jet lag kicks in again, and
I'm asleep for the evening by eight o'clock. No phone call wakes
me.
The next morning I'm up early, having stirred at
about four and wandered around looking for some food. My beard
smelled and itched, and I could stand it no longer, so I shaved
it away. This morning my skin is still red and there seem to be
some rough places where hairs are working themselves out. But
I'm up and going shopping. I've determined that today is Nair
day, especially because the motel is going to move me to a non-smoking
room. If you've ever Naired, you know the smell is not a pleasant
one. If I can get Naired in the morning, I'll have a different
room in the evening and won't be stunk out. I'd also like to color
my hair again. I'd wanted to leave my head hair uncolored for
Dr. Taylor so that he could use that as a guide if necessary,
but ordinarily I color my hair with a semi-permanent hair color
like L'Oreal Castings. So it is a rush to the drugstore and back,
and a quick hop in the shower. I hate the idea of just standing
around in the nude with Nair all over me, so I try to figure out
a way to color my hair and Nair myself at the same time. This
is a delicate operation and will tax my coordination to the limits,
but so long as the jet lag doesn't cause me to confuse the two
bottles, I figure I'll be okay.
I start with the the coloring, and once I've mixed
the color and applied it, I put a shower cap on to keep my head
hair out of the way of the Nair. Next a slathering of Nair all
over my body--well, arms, legs, and chest. The secret to Nair,
I've found, is to go very heavy with it, and I leave it on the
maximum amount of time. Now I get to wait around, so believe it
or not, I try to read a book standing in the bathtub. My nipples
are starting to tingle, and soon it is time to rinse my hair.
I turn on the shower, and manage to get Nair on my neck. Past
experience has shown me that Nair on my face and neck gives me
chemical burns. This isn't a good thing, I figure, so I immediately
try to rinse it off, imagining Dr. Taylor's disapproving stare.
If he wouldn't let me shave the first day after PhotoDerm, he
surely wouldn't be happy at the thought of chemical depilatory
on my neck the second day! My efforts to rinse off my neck cause
a big section of my head hair to fall onto the Nair on my upper
arm. The only thing to do at this point is turn the shower on
its highest setting and get rid of everything. The tub fills up
with my body hair and auburn dye, and the smell of the place makes
the scent of my burnt beard seem like that of a lovely spring
day. Eventually, though, I manage to bring beauty from chaos,
but I've hurt my nipples. Nair and nipples definitely do not mix.
Now I can't wait to get out of my room, but the non-smoking
room isn't ready for the longest time. Once I do get out, I'm
concerned that Mary will call and be connected to the first room,
so I go to the front desk to insure that my calls make it to the
correct location. To complicate matters, there's even a woman
with my same surname staying in the motel tonight!
I'm starving for lunch, so I go grab a bite in drab
and look around the main shopping area for a bit, trying to see
what might be nice to return to en femme. Jet lag kicks in again,
though, and I go back to my room and pass out on the bed. Once
again, no call wakes me.
When I do wake, it is 11:00 p.m. I've missed Mary
totally, I've missed the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, and I've missed
my night out en femme. To do my best to salvage matters, I crawl
out of my drab clothes, put on my nightgown, and after watching
half of a late movie, drift off to sleep, hoping that the rest
of my plans for time en femme are more successful.
At the time of this writing it has been six months
since the PhotoDerm treatment, and I'm sorry to say there has
been no long term hair removal at all that I can tell. For a few
days in the two weeks after I had the treatment my beard was less
dense, but it seems to have returned in full strength since then.
In fairness to Dr. Taylor, he did warn me that this was a possibility.
I cannot recommend this treatment to anyone, but I was not an
optimum candidate for the process. Those with fair skin and black
hair may wish to contact Dr. Taylor, or the PhotoDerm company
can be contacted directly for a referral in your area.
I have now begun electrolysis, and I would say that
the discomfort involved in PhotoDerm is more intense but of a
much shorter duration that that of blend electrolysis.
If I lived nearby, or travelled regularly to Salt
Lake City I should have had a small patch test and waited two
to three months before deciding on the entire course--I could
have saved myself quite a lot of money. But as my chat friend
Sheri Gwen says, "Impatience, thy name is TG."
Dr. Mark Taylor
324 10th Avenue
Suite 224
Salt Lake City, Utah 84103
(801) 364-6604
PhotoDerm
1-800-562-5916
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