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And we always made it work, no matter how much it did hurt…

And we always made it work, no matter how much it did hurt…

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On the eve of the 364th day of vagina ownership, I feel that a update is required. However, I don’t really know what more to say. Once the initial healing was done, the dilations tapered down, things just got sort of normal. 

Things I’ve learned about having a vagina: 

  1. Unlike your dick, it has more than 3 smells. Dick has a tendency to smell like one of a couple of things. Freshly showered, Dude you need a shower, and “OMG WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN DOING WITH THAT THING?”  A vagina has approximately 15 or more smells. I know what only some of them mean. 
  2. Bacterial Vaginosis is a thing. A thing that I don’t like.
  3. Yeast is used for more than just making bread and beer.
  4. Make sure the toilet paper is actually free of your, uhh, folds before you stand up.

Other than that, things have been fine. My underwear fit for the first time in the last 18-20 years. My pants fit better. I bought a swimsuit that I neither hate or love, which as I gather, is success. I still don’t have hips, nor a butt. No one gets it all. 

Over that period, I lost my newest and last form of virginity. As if I was 15 and in high school, I thought it was with the person I would die with, but months later I found that was not true. Even with my best efforts. I made Lloyd Dobler look like a fucking amatuer, and for a fleeting time I thought I did it, but it was all to no avail. Just like the rap guys misogynistically say that you can’t make a ho a housewife, the same applies to politicians. 

It’s been a year of triumph, it’s been a year of utter failure. I honestly can’t tell you that I’m better today mentally than I was a year ago. That has nothing to do with my genitals though. I can tell you, without question, I’d rather be in San Francisco tonight, on the eve of this surgery all over, than here in Kentucky.  I’ll never forget the feeling of waking up that morning, not tucking, not caring. The thought that nothing else really mattered today. That feeling of waking up in post-op. A brief bit of terror, asking the nurse if the surgery happened, then tears of joy after she told me that it went just fine. 

All the exams, all the “frog legs,” all the poking, prodding, the bleeding, a month long period, all those pads, the catheter, the miralax. All worth it. So worth it. There were moments of fear, of terror. Not that I had made a mistake, but that something was wrong and I was going to end up with some complication. Pictures taken from awkward angles, texted to my surgeon and the replies always similar “Looks fine, just be patient.” All the while thinking, “Bitch, you don’t know me. I don’t do patient.”

I would do it 100 times over. There’s not really a good way to explain how much better my life is because of it, but it has changed my life in a way that only a trans person can understand. A huge source of dissonance between my mind and my body corrected after a lifetime of conflict. 

From the days of being a 15 year old “boy” laying on the bed, with hands not on the genitals, but on the spot where the vaginal canal was supposed to be, imagining what it was like. Thinking of what I believed I was supposed to have from the womb. Through the years of searching for “sex change operations” in the back corner of the all-boys school computer lab. All of the years of thinking about being a girl and then being overwhelmed with shame and feelings of filth. To today, where I am the woman, ready to stomp on anyone that says otherwise, it’s been a long wild ride. 

The fight for my basic rights as a human are not over, but I have the body. I have the confidence. The confidence to tell anyone who thinks I’m anything but the woman to go fuck themselves. It’s liberating. 

This is not a swan song, but it goes….

This is not a swan song, but it goes….

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So this morning while I was catching up on Facebook, a friend asked what are the best places to “people watch?” This was part of an assignment for a class she’s currently taking.

Which got me to thinking. As a person who has always been very observant and generally fairly situationally aware, I have spent a lot of time watching people. Since transitioning, those skills have become more valuable. Being able to gauge a room and know who’s paying you too much attention might be the difference between being accosted and not. It reminds me of a scene in The Bourne Identity, where Jason is explaining to Marie about his skillset.

I come in here, and the first thing I’m doing is I’m catching the sightlines and looking for an exit. I can tell you the license plate numbers of all six cars outside. I can tell you that our waitress is left-handed and the guy sitting up at the counter weighs two hundred fifteen pounds and knows how to handle himself. I know the best place to look for a gun is the cab of the gray truck outside, and at this altitude, I can run flat out for a half mile before my hands start shaking. Now why would I know that?

So while I’m not quite on his level, it did remind me of how my brain works.

I started typing out a reply to my friend, initially mentioning mall food courts. I was trying to think of other places, when I remembered being in San Francisco in May.

The Monday following my surgery, I was scheduled for my follow-up for packing removal. While sitting in the waiting room, as Megan was parking the car, I saw another trans woman coming out into the lobby from the exam areas. She was tall and pretty, but seemed a bit nervous. We met eyes for a brief moment and I wondered if this was before or after her surgery. Maybe she wasn’t having surgery at all. Who knew. She and her friend left and I returned to my phone as I waited, letting my questions fade off.

Two days later, we prepared to return to Kentucky flying out later that afternoon. Having had a very good experience in the hospital, all of the staff being so nice and attentive, Megan and I wanted to do something nice before we left town. So we went down to a local bakery and purchased some very fancy cupcakes and picked up a card. Then we headed back to the hospital.

Megan dropped me off at the door and went to park, so I settled down in a chair in the lobby of the hospital. Just doing what I always do, checking out all of the people, taking in the details of them. A few minutes passed, and from the corner of my eye, I see the girl from the doctor’s office. With the same friend accompanying her.

They were coming into the lobby from the pre-surgery area and they walked out into a indoor garden/relaxation area. I got up and walked that direction, but I stopped. I wanted to tell her congratulations, good luck and a quick recovery. But, I chickened out. My anxiety crept up on me, where I can only speak to strangers when they initiate the conversation. So I let her enjoy the fresh air.

I wonder if she’s happier now, like I am. I wonder if I might even know her online. Have we crossed paths on Reddit or Twitter? Who knows. It was just a neat experience of passing someone on the same journey, but just a step or two behind you. In a week, she would be back at Dr. Bowers’ office for her check-up. Then maybe she’d be flying across country back to wherever she calls home.

Post-op: A 20 Day Review

Post-op: A 20 Day Review

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Sidenote: I started this a couple days ago and fell asleep while writing it… Woops. I incremented the days in the title to reflect this.

I’ve been home for about 12 days now and I keep intending to write something… However, sitting in my desk chair is uncomfortable and I don’t really like typing on my laptop keyboard for any length of time, but whatever. I feel like the longer I wait, the less likely that I’ll write anything.

As a bit of fore-warning, I am probably going to be a bit graphic. As such, proceed with caution, depending on your comfort level.

I’m exhausted. Just all the time. Severe lethargy. It seems like the less I do, the more tired I am. Likewise, my pain levels have elevated as well. I guess healing is energy intensive. Who would have thought?

From a healing perspective, things  seem to be mending well, with only one notable exception.  Last Saturday, I popped a stitch. I had noticed the end of the thread had been hanging out since the hotel stay in California, however it didn’t seem to be a big issue. However, the evening, it was totally out.  With the stitch out, the seam of the wound separated.

Monday, I scheduled an appointment with my primary care physician to have her take a look at it. She examined it and she tried to calm my nerves. She said that it has a bottom and it’s not tunneling inside my body, which is a good thing, she also mentioned that the area couldn’t be restitched due to the fragileness of the tissue.

Her suggestion was to stop doing so much. Which she was right. The problem is,  I had been feeling good and I thought I could do more. With that feeling good, the body had not been as responsive as maybe it should be. I can only describe it like getting a sunburn. You really don’t notice until it’s far far too late.

Additionally, she attempted to take stress off the tissue by pulling the skin together and securing it with SteriStrips. The problem with the strips is that when I pee, because everything is kind of swollen still, my pee runs everywhere before it falls subject to gravity. The bulk runs down my labia on either side and then follows that path towards my butt. The wound is at the entrance of the vaginal canal, where it meets the perineum. So when the strips get wet, they lose their adhesion and they come loose. Walking will do the same to a certain extent, especially with a little bit of sweat mixed in with some discharge.   My solution has been to just keep my butt in bed as much as possible.

However, by Wednesday evening, the wound looked like it had gotten larger. I was scared, I was crying… I was inconsolable. Terrified that I was going to ruin everything or end up with some sort of flesh eating infection in my vag, I was just a mess. So I emailed my PCP and explained that it seemed to be getting bigger. Her medical assistant, who’s awesome, called me the next morning and told me to come back in so they could take another look.

So I went in and she was relieved when she saw it, because I guess I had concerned her that it was much larger. She did confirm that yes, it was bigger, and the split had actually gotten into the vaginal tissue. However, she also said that it had tapered itself in such a way that she didn’t expect it to continue to separate further.

Since then, aside from a couple of trips out for food and then Hunter’s 1st Birthday Party, I’ve stayed in bed, on the couch, or sitting on the patio (as I am now). Even the party, I spent the majority of it in a lazyboy with my feet up. This has led to some fairly dramatic healing of the area. I’m sure it’ll be weeks to a month before it’s fully closed. Which is concerning if I’m supposed to go back to work in 2ish weeks. I don’t move much at work, but I have to walk nearly 2 blocks each way to the parking garage and walk up and down 4 flights of steps.

Likewise, the 3x daily dilation regimen will be difficult to maintain with some duration between the 2nd and 3rd. If I get dilate before work, that’d be around 9am. I wouldn’t be able to dilate again until about 8pm and then again around midnight. Basically means I’ll lose 1.5-2 hours that I could be spending with family/friends in my already short evening.

As for the pain, I’m still in a lot of pain most of the time. One would think that the pain would be between my legs, inside the actual vagina, or the wound separation. However, the bulk of the pain is in the pubic area. There’s no visible bruising, but deep down in the tissue, it’s miserable. I’ve just finished my 2nd bottle of percocet since being discharged and I haven’t been taking as much as I would like. I’ve tried replacing it with high dose ibuprofen and it only takes the edge off. Might bring 7-8 pain to a 4 or so.

Still waiting on my surgical declaration letter from Dr. Bowers. I want to get my birth certificate updated before Governor Bevin realizes that it’s legal for me to do so. My luck, he’ll repeal the law in an emergency special session.

More later, stay tuned.

Summer Skin

Summer Skin

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As the dressings were removed, I felt the new life I’ve been leading had been validated. In reality, it was the same life. It just looked different to everyone else. I felt like it wasn’t me that radically changed, but the perception of me. Yet, we all changed in some ways; as we struggled to evolve and adapt to our conditions and environment. I desperately wanted everything, yet nothing to change. Likewise, while the unveiling was something that I took in with satisfaction and joy, not everyone shared that sentiment.

In any event, while grooves were being worn in the waiting room floor, cuts were made, stitches placed and the scalpels washed and put away. Just two days later I stood for the first time on wobbly knees, nurses on either side. She sat on the couch in front of me, watching on as the staff attempted to wrestle panties around the catheter bag and line while simultaneously keeping me from teetering over onto my face.

During this spectacle, I noticed a drop of blood hit the floor, followed by another. When I looked up, she had averted her eyes; her hand shielding her face as if to protect it from the sun. My concern immediately turned from my own predicament onto her, asking what was wrong.

“I can’t look,” came her reply.

My heart sank somewhere beyond the pit of my stomach. A rush of emotions fueled by hormones and Percocet convinced my brain that this was it. The moment where she could no longer look at my body or me. As the nurses finally wrestled my undergarments into compliance, tears crept from duct to cheek. As I waddled out of the room and down the long corridor, I considered how it had gotten to this place.  How I could be so blind, so stupid.

Once I had completed my victory lap of the 4th floor, I returned to my room. I mumbled through my emotions, asking if it was me, the vagina or the blood. She assured me that it was simply the blood and that she was squeamish. I felt somewhat relieved, but my confidence still shaken to the core.

Somehow, I feel a little more alone now. No matter the proximity. Nothing will ever be like it was before, not for anyone. Everything changes. Just somethings more drastic than others.

‘Cause the seasons change was a conduit

And we left our love in our summer skin

Euphoria

Euphoria

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I tried to think of an appropriate title for this entry.. Like I’ve had this window open for about 30 minutes trying to come up with the a title. In the end, one word was all it took, and it fits perfectly.

So yesterday, I woke up at about 6am. Still partly wired for east coast time and also just being a whole ball of nerves, feels, and other emotions. The day that I have been dreaming of for years and decades and lifetimes had finally arrived. Overcoming all adversity in my way, I had arrived at the finish line and all that was left was to step through the ribbon.

I don’t know that a non-trans person can ever fully understand what this means for someone like me. I don’t know that I could ever articulate it in such a way that would convey the complete story.

Finally getting out of bed at around nine after dozing in and out of consciousness, I bathed for the last time with a special antibacterial soap that hospital had provided.  I shaved my penis, scrotum, and pubic area; forgoing my legs and armpits for once.  I brushed my hair and dressed in a light sundress. I decided that I no longer needed to tuck, for in a couple hours I would no longer have anything to tuck.

We arrived at the hospital just before 10:30am. I checked in at admission and she directed me to the surgical department on the main level. We waited about 10 minutes here, before we were led out of the waiting room. From here, I was weighed and moved into a post-op room and put on my surgical gown. I signed all my final releases and we waited. and waited. and waited. Surgery was originally scheduled for noon. We were notified about 11:55 that we were going to be moved back to 12:30 due to a delays. Dr. Bowers came by, as well as the OR nurse and the Anesthesiologist. My pre-op nurse told me that Dr. Bowers makes the prettiest vaginas and my wife was going to be jealous. I said, “I’m ok with that”.

At, 1:14PM pacific time, I was rolled into operating room #2 at Mills-Peninsula Hospital. The OR nurse, whose name was Megan, introduced me to a couple other people who would be assisting. They had me verify why I was there and what surgery I was having. Being caught off guard, I said GRS, Genital uhhh rea-re-uh-reconstructive surgery. Close enough, right?

They pushed my gurney up against the operating table and had me slide over. The table had a oval hole/indention in it and I was instructed to slide my butt down to the edge. The put arm boards out and then strapped me down to the table. At that point, the anesthesiologist started to run his IV line into my left hand, where it still remains at this time. He hung fluids and then proceeded to administer a sedative to relax me. He said “This is going to make you feel really good.” I closed my eyes for just a second…

And I woke up in the recovery room. It was just after 5PM. A brief panic rushed over me, and I couldn’t really get words out because my throat was so dry. But I managed to ask the nurse if the surgery happened. She confirmed that it had and everything was fine.

At that moment, the euphoria rushed over me. I smiled a huge smile, and some tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. It was as if every wrong in the universe had been righted, the stars had aligned and I was complete.  I pulled back the blanket and lifted my gown and peered down at my crotch and it was perfectly flat. I knew I had made the right decision and that this was what I needed to live my life fully.

innie

Deep in my own feels, I wanted Megan to be with me, but she wasn’t allowed in the recovery room.  Eventually, around 6PM they brought me to my room where I’ve been ever since. I’ve not been able to get up and walk. I’ve been playing on the internet and having ice packs on my crotch.

This afternoon, Dr. Bowers came to see me. She said that everything had gone well. Since I was not overly endowed, and due to some atrophy from lack of use, she had to be creative with the tissue in order to achieve adequate depth. She also said that the aesthetics are beautiful and that I’m going to be very happy with the end result.

So tomorrow, I will be able to unwrap my birthday present.  I’m pretty excited to see it, even in it’s swollen and bruised state. I’m hoping to get a shower in and maybe shuffle around the nurse’s station. While this bed is comfortable, I’m ready to be free of it’s pillowy bonds. Monday, I will head back to Dr. Bowers’ clinic for packing removal (the magic scarf trick) and instructions on how to dilate.  Provided no complications, I’ll be released from her care. Life goes on and I hope I to be part of it for a long time to come.

I apologize if this is rambling or incoherent. I think it’s time for me to take a nap.

Against all odds!

Against all odds!

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We’ve finally made it. Today is the day that Megan and I fly to California. On Tuesday, I will have my GRS. A lot of people have asked how I feel. Excited? Nervous?

Honestly, this past week and a half have been a roller coaster of emotions. With Joey’s suicide and that fallout there, that has been the primary concern. I also had to stop all my hormones about 2 weeks ago, and so I’m sure my attitude and mood have been impacted. On top of all that, I’ve started on antidepressants. Basically, I tried to make things as complicated as possible. Holden fuckin’ McNeil.

But anyway, I’m almost to the finish line of this journey. There were times that I wasn’t sure that I could make it, or that I would. The story is fraught with harassment, discrimination, and hurdles. I’ve sat in my car many mornings and cried.

I have to finish packing, so I have to cut this short, but I hope to do a better entry once we’re in Cali and then one post op.

And besides that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the show?

And besides that, Mrs. Lincoln, how was the show?

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I have been working on an entry for a few weeks. I’ve just been struggling with depression and anxiety lately. It’s made me not really want to do anything. Going to work has been a major endeavor. I have to sit in my car and just kind of psyche myself up to it. So writing has taken a back burner to mostly lying on the couch and also hiding in the dark.

Despite all that, things have been progressing in other ways. First, I switched from oral estradiol via pills to intramuscular injection. Basically I’ve started stabbing myself with needles once a week and injecting lady juice right into my muscles. I’m a doper. I’ve officially moved from the gateway drugs to the really hard stuff. I never thought it could happen to me. I couldn’t help but think of my own kids and the “I learned it from watching you, dad!!!” commercials. Let’s hope it never comes to that. But if it does, so be it.

Since the switch, I’ve noticed that my boobs have been having periods where they hurt continuously. Sometimes they just ache off and on. However, at this point they’re pretty much tender all the time. This is usually a sign that they’re growing. At least I hope they’re growing. I’m probably a solid A cup currently and have been since back in August. Since then, they’ve largely remained the same. I’m hoping that this will jump start them into growing and providing something a little larger. I make due with fancy push up bras, but with my torso, I really need something a little bigger to kind of level things out.

The biggest news though is that on the evening of my last entry, I received a call from Dr. Bowers’ office saying that they had a cancellation and they wanted to offer me the appointment for surgery. Of course, I have accepted. My new date for surgery is May 3rd. My original date was 2/8/2017. So this is a big shift. Originally, I was hoping to have surgery with Dr. Schechter on 3/29, but you all know what happened there. My new date is still slightly tentative due to hospital scheduling and other things, but I should have a firm commitment in the next couple weeks. At that point, I can go ahead and start booking travel arrangements.

So, we’re about 58 days out and I’m alternating between a few different emotions, including but not limited to: “omg omg omg”, “it’s never going to come”, “oh shit, this is like next week” and “what the fuck did i get myself into?”

I’ve never had any major surgery. The most was having my wisdom teeth removed, all four of them being impacted and angry. I remember being loopy as hell from the general. I also remember going out to dinner that night, driving myself while on pain pills. Probably not the best idea. This is considerably more severe and invasive. Of course, the idea of correcting what most bothers me about my body is comforting. Being able to jettison some unwanted cargo, if you will. However, the reality of the situation is a bit more worrisome.  There’s a lot of complications that could happen. Lots of risk.  So you have to balance the eagerness to correct what’s wrong with the nagging concern that you could make things worse.  I don’t think any transwoman goes into the operating room excited about the actual procedure. They go in with the expectation and a hope for a better, more comfortable future. At least, that would be my guess.

Possibly TMI stuff beyond this point….

Because a lot of people have asked me about what all this actually entails, I thought I would give the broad strokes. The procedure itself is supposed to run about 3-5 hours. It will be performed by Dr. Marci Bowers in Burlingame, California. The actual surgery is referred to as single stage penile inversion vaginoplasty. It actually involves a number of different procedures like Orchiectomy (removal of the testicles), Vaginoplasty, Labiaplasty and Cliteroplasty. For the purposes of insurance, some surgeons bill for Penectomy, although almost the entirety of the penis is reconfigured. Despite what most people think, they don’t really cut anything off. Aside from the testicles. Those will go in the trash or maybe in a jar full of formaldehyde. Everything else is sort of a waste not, want not kind of situation, like the Native Americans did with the Bison.

The first part of the surgery is to remove the testicles. The penis is then dissected. The vaginal canal is fashioned from the skin of the penis.  The skin is turned inside out and the end sewn shut, hence the “inversion” part of the name. The clitoris is formed from the tip or glans of the penis maintaining the nerves and blood supply. Even a portion of the erectile tissue is retained, in order to engorge when aroused, causing the clitoris to become more exposed.  The urethra is shortened and the vulva and labia are fashioned from the scrotal skin and surrounding tissues. SCIENCE!  The vagina is packed with gauze and in some cases a stent, to maintain the structure. Surgical drains along the incision site and then a big fancy surgical dressing. All the stitches are dissolvable.

After surgery, I get to spend 4 days, 3 nights in a luxury, all-inclusive hospital bed. During this time, I’ll be fully packed and will have a catheter in place to give my newly shortened urethra time to start healing. Assuming no major complications I should be up and walking within a day or so. Discharge is on the 3rd day. I’ll still have the catheter at this point, still stuffed like a thanksgiving turkey. I’ll spent 3 or so more nights at local hotel.

Six days post-op, I should be back at the surgeon’s office to have the packing removed. I have nicknamed this experience the “magic scarf trick.” This is based on discussions with other post-op ladies who say they they start pulling and it just keeps coming out…. foot after foot. Heheh.  They’ll also remove the catheter at this time.

At this point, they’re going to teach me the finer points of zen and the art of vagina maintenance. Namely, dilation. Dilation is something I’m going to be doing a lot of. As in, three times a day for the first 3 months. It’s kind of like getting your ears pierced. You need to make sure the newly formed “neo” vagina doesn’t lose any of it’s depth or diameter. So for 15 minutes, thrice daily, I’ll insert a dilator and just kind of let it hang out for 15 minutes while I watch tv or something… Ponder world peace… Whatever girls do when they’re very full of Perspex. After 3 months, I can go down to twice daily until 9 months and then once per day. After the first year, most ladies will go down in frequency, especially if they’re sexually active with penetration. Intercourse is not a perfect replacement, but it serves it’s purpose in more ways than one. If everything goes well, I should be in California between 11-12 days. Flying home should be exciting. Remind me to make sure I have plenty of pain meds and the rubber donut for that flight.

My primary concerns are, and in no particular order:  infection, loss of depth or the vagina itself due to graft complications, nerve damage, loss of the ability to orgasm, and/or urinary problems. There’s also a small risk of death. Which I guess, you know, could happen. If they were to nick or penetrate the bowel, I could end up with a colostomy bag and a very botched set of genitals. Nothing to worry about, right?

Statistically, based on Dr. Bowers volume, major complications seem very unlikely. I’ve only read a few people who were displeased with her results. There’s a reason that she runs a waiting list that’s nearly 2 years long. She’s sought after. The only surgeon in the US that had a longer waiting list was Dr. Metzler. The two of them are pretty much the rock stars when it comes to store bought vaginas. The win out for Bowers is one, she’s a woman…. and two she’s a transgender woman. I think that ultimately, she probably knows what I want more than I do at this juncture in my life. Who better to help me? Plus she has a good sense of humor and her jokes are both somewhat crass and sarcastic.. which is kind of my thing.