Travels with Rachael

Part IV: Lasers 'n' Mormons

By Rachael (Hong Kong)

"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, albeit 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 emmanently 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 out of the bleak desert 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 profoundly mirror the disparities I find in my own life. But such a moment, if readily repeated, would too easily become ordinary, and rather than so 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 almost 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 waiting 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 on a shower cap 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 out of the showercap on to 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 rise, 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."

PhotoDerm
1-800-562-5916