I had an interesting experience at church this past Sunday.
As we are still in the Christmas season, the readings regarded the birth of Christ and also spoke about the pregnancy of Mary and also Elizabeth, the mother of John the baptist.
I've heard these stories many times over the years, but for the first time as they were being read, I was overcome with a sense of identification with the women in the readings. It's a little hard to explain, but I felt community(?), sisterly love(?), something, when listening to the reading regarding the pregnancy of Elizabeth. I could empathize with her feelings much closer than I ever have before. And too in the discussion of Mary's conception and pregnancy, I could feel an empathy I never had felt before.
Prior to my change I never really identified with anyone in the bible, male or female.
It's not like I can get pregnant or anything like that, but I felt more... feminine(?) than I have before.
Interesting, and in many ways, gratifying.
-Sandy
Monday, December 31, 2007
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Christmas, a day of firsts…
Christmas, a day of firsts…
This Christmas was a series of firsts for me.
It was the first Christmas in my new house.
It was the first Christmas for me as myself.
It was the first Christmas where my family gathered together in my new house.
All of these couldn’t or wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t transitioned, in fact if I hadn’t transitioned, I may have not been here to tell about it at all!
In many ways I feel so blessed.
-Sandy
It was the first Christmas in my new house.
It was the first Christmas for me as myself.
It was the first Christmas where my family gathered together in my new house.
All of these couldn’t or wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t transitioned, in fact if I hadn’t transitioned, I may have not been here to tell about it at all!
In many ways I feel so blessed.
-Sandy
Reurning to Church...
Piglet had a chance to visit with some old friends of ours while she was up here for the divorce. They were people we knew from church. She set up the dinner after she had been contacted by them following her notification of her moving.
She had dinner with them and afterwards mentioned to me that they had started attending a new church and we were both invited to attend.
These ladies knew about me and the changes I had been through, but had not met me yet. They knew that piglet and I was divorced but wanted us to come to the church anyway.
I’ve been away from major religion for several years. My spirituality dwindled to almost nothing as I descended into the abyss of depression that occupied my life prior to my coming out to myself. I had found some solace in the Native American spirituality, but in no way could you call it an organized religion. It is a very personal thing. Something that I needed at the time, but one cannot be completely involved with spirituality in isolation. A person needs others to be in community with them (the saying “two or more of you are gathered in her name” is the key).
With my transition and change of locations, I really didn’t have time for attending a regular service. But now as my life recovers from my changes, and I start to pick up the pieces, things are starting to return to me. One of the pieces was my involvement with the Anglican Church. I find it interesting that just when I was reminiscing of my times at the church, a door opens for me allowing me to return.
This has happened time and again through my transition. When something was ready for me to take it on, a door would open for me to walk through.
Still I was a little nervous going to that first service. There were several families from the old church that we had attended there and they all had heard about me. As I walked into the undercroft to hang up my coat, piglet visited with some of the people we used to know. I did a quick dash into the restroom to freshen myself up and to get a bit of courage up to go and greet the people I used to know.
I shouldn’t have worried so much, or at all for that matter. I was warmly greeted by the couple of old acquaintances I knew and we all hugged like old friends meeting, which I guess we were. Very soon after that it was time for the service and we went upstairs. We all sat together. The pastor’s sermon talked about constants in change and much of it seemed to speak directly to me. As things change, our connection with Christ (spirit) remains constant.
Throughout the whole service I was overwhelmed with the feeling of having come home.
During the peace, which always struck me as the Anglican version of the seventh inning stretch, I was nearly moved to tears as my new and old friends greeted me.
After the service we returned to the undercroft for coffee hour. I was greeted by just about everyone there. Some of them knew about me most did not. But it didn’t matter, I was greeted warmly and sincerely. I sat with piglet and my friends from the old church. One of the people from the old days is now a Deacon and he asked if I was happy now. I told him I was ecstatically happy. He introduced me to the pastor and she was very happy to see me and wanted to make sure that I came back. I told her I would be.
I also attended the Christmas day service and again I felt that I had found something that I really needed and was missing from my life.
I have come home.
-Sandy
She had dinner with them and afterwards mentioned to me that they had started attending a new church and we were both invited to attend.
These ladies knew about me and the changes I had been through, but had not met me yet. They knew that piglet and I was divorced but wanted us to come to the church anyway.
I’ve been away from major religion for several years. My spirituality dwindled to almost nothing as I descended into the abyss of depression that occupied my life prior to my coming out to myself. I had found some solace in the Native American spirituality, but in no way could you call it an organized religion. It is a very personal thing. Something that I needed at the time, but one cannot be completely involved with spirituality in isolation. A person needs others to be in community with them (the saying “two or more of you are gathered in her name” is the key).
With my transition and change of locations, I really didn’t have time for attending a regular service. But now as my life recovers from my changes, and I start to pick up the pieces, things are starting to return to me. One of the pieces was my involvement with the Anglican Church. I find it interesting that just when I was reminiscing of my times at the church, a door opens for me allowing me to return.
This has happened time and again through my transition. When something was ready for me to take it on, a door would open for me to walk through.
Still I was a little nervous going to that first service. There were several families from the old church that we had attended there and they all had heard about me. As I walked into the undercroft to hang up my coat, piglet visited with some of the people we used to know. I did a quick dash into the restroom to freshen myself up and to get a bit of courage up to go and greet the people I used to know.
I shouldn’t have worried so much, or at all for that matter. I was warmly greeted by the couple of old acquaintances I knew and we all hugged like old friends meeting, which I guess we were. Very soon after that it was time for the service and we went upstairs. We all sat together. The pastor’s sermon talked about constants in change and much of it seemed to speak directly to me. As things change, our connection with Christ (spirit) remains constant.
Throughout the whole service I was overwhelmed with the feeling of having come home.
During the peace, which always struck me as the Anglican version of the seventh inning stretch, I was nearly moved to tears as my new and old friends greeted me.
After the service we returned to the undercroft for coffee hour. I was greeted by just about everyone there. Some of them knew about me most did not. But it didn’t matter, I was greeted warmly and sincerely. I sat with piglet and my friends from the old church. One of the people from the old days is now a Deacon and he asked if I was happy now. I told him I was ecstatically happy. He introduced me to the pastor and she was very happy to see me and wanted to make sure that I came back. I told her I would be.
I also attended the Christmas day service and again I felt that I had found something that I really needed and was missing from my life.
I have come home.
-Sandy
The Divorce
Well that phase of my life is over.
A couple of weeks ago the stbew…
By way of explanation, I used the term stbew to refer to Soon To Be Ex Wife simply to save me typing. Also I do not like to use peoples names in any context without their specific permission. In conversation with my SO she has given permission to me to use her nickname, piglet.
So…
A couple of weeks ago piglet came up and we went to the to our divorce hearing. We had finally agreed to all points and also finally got both our lawyers to get to the court at the same time.
Our proceeding wasn’t all that eventful as we had already agreed to everything. It was mostly just a matter of signing papers and making statements before the judge. There was an interesting moment, however. During the proceeding, one of the questions asked of piglet was to the effect of feeling that there were irreconcilable differences and that there was no chance of us getting together again. Piglet looks over at me and says “No, I think not!” To which the lawyers and judges start to giggle.
Actually she had a couple of retorts come to mind but responded with the most conservative answer. The others were “Duh, ya think!” or my favorite “It’s more a case irreconcilable similarities!”The rest of the proceedings were pretty straight forward with only a minor hitch that was quickly resolved.
So that is it. The divorce is now final and I am now a single woman. To a great extent the court proceeding is anticlimactic. Much of the splitting up has already been done and we have been living apart for months. There are follow up issues to take care of such as insurance and the last financial arrangements. But that is it.
We are still friends and have no animosity toward each other, but we are now officially on separate paths.
-Sandy
A couple of weeks ago the stbew…
By way of explanation, I used the term stbew to refer to Soon To Be Ex Wife simply to save me typing. Also I do not like to use peoples names in any context without their specific permission. In conversation with my SO she has given permission to me to use her nickname, piglet.
So…
A couple of weeks ago piglet came up and we went to the to our divorce hearing. We had finally agreed to all points and also finally got both our lawyers to get to the court at the same time.
Our proceeding wasn’t all that eventful as we had already agreed to everything. It was mostly just a matter of signing papers and making statements before the judge. There was an interesting moment, however. During the proceeding, one of the questions asked of piglet was to the effect of feeling that there were irreconcilable differences and that there was no chance of us getting together again. Piglet looks over at me and says “No, I think not!” To which the lawyers and judges start to giggle.
Actually she had a couple of retorts come to mind but responded with the most conservative answer. The others were “Duh, ya think!” or my favorite “It’s more a case irreconcilable similarities!”The rest of the proceedings were pretty straight forward with only a minor hitch that was quickly resolved.
So that is it. The divorce is now final and I am now a single woman. To a great extent the court proceeding is anticlimactic. Much of the splitting up has already been done and we have been living apart for months. There are follow up issues to take care of such as insurance and the last financial arrangements. But that is it.
We are still friends and have no animosity toward each other, but we are now officially on separate paths.
-Sandy
Sunday, December 23, 2007
My life and loving it!
This has been a tumultuous year for me. But now it appears that my life may be less tumultuous going forward.
I am a woman with a transsexual condition, and I just started living full time in my true gender as of April of this year. My transition from male to female is all but complete. I have one more surgery left to complete my physical transition and I will be done. That surgery is scheduled for March of 2008. To the masses it is *the surgery*. But for me and other transsexuals like me, it is just the cherry on top of the hot fudge sundae. I won't say it is no big deal, because it really is. But I am much more fulfilled living as a woman full time. Society completely accepts me as a woman and I am absolutely ecstatic about that.
Once I have the Gender Reassignment Surgery, my position in society won't change by one iota. But internally I will know that I am complete, or at least as complete as modern science and surgery can make me. Every time I go to the 'loo or take a shower I'll know I am complete and that will make the smile on my face just a bit wider.
So what is the point of this blog?
I've posted my transition up to this point on www.susans.org, in the blog section called "Sandy's Transition". Catchy title, huh? Located there is the information that describes in tedious detail the major aspects of being a transsexual, living (or dying) as a transsexual, and those details that would be beneficial to other transsexuals. Don't look there, or here for that matter, for hot sexy shemale love or any crap like that. If that is your taste, then google is just chocked full of websites that will cater to your interests. Living my life as a transsexual has been devastating in many respects but a glorious blessing in other respects.
I posted at susans so that other transsexuals can find help and solace for dealing with their condition. But transitions are, by definition, temporary conditions. My transition is nearly complete and I only anticipate posting about my surgery.
But here, I will talk about my life, now. Not the life of a post-operative transsexual, but life of a woman in society. Just another gal in the workforce. And as such can be real boring to someone looking for information about pre-surgical life.
So here is my life now. I am happier than I have ever been in my life. Living a life that is filled with joy and beauty. I walk around with a smile on my face nearly all the time. I am proud of who I am which is something that I have never experienced before. So, yeah, I am a happy girl.
It wasn't easy getting here and I very nearly didn't live through it, but I did, and I am glad I did!
-Sandy (Silly, grinning, fool)
I am a woman with a transsexual condition, and I just started living full time in my true gender as of April of this year. My transition from male to female is all but complete. I have one more surgery left to complete my physical transition and I will be done. That surgery is scheduled for March of 2008. To the masses it is *the surgery*. But for me and other transsexuals like me, it is just the cherry on top of the hot fudge sundae. I won't say it is no big deal, because it really is. But I am much more fulfilled living as a woman full time. Society completely accepts me as a woman and I am absolutely ecstatic about that.
Once I have the Gender Reassignment Surgery, my position in society won't change by one iota. But internally I will know that I am complete, or at least as complete as modern science and surgery can make me. Every time I go to the 'loo or take a shower I'll know I am complete and that will make the smile on my face just a bit wider.
So what is the point of this blog?
I've posted my transition up to this point on www.susans.org, in the blog section called "Sandy's Transition". Catchy title, huh? Located there is the information that describes in tedious detail the major aspects of being a transsexual, living (or dying) as a transsexual, and those details that would be beneficial to other transsexuals. Don't look there, or here for that matter, for hot sexy shemale love or any crap like that. If that is your taste, then google is just chocked full of websites that will cater to your interests. Living my life as a transsexual has been devastating in many respects but a glorious blessing in other respects.
I posted at susans so that other transsexuals can find help and solace for dealing with their condition. But transitions are, by definition, temporary conditions. My transition is nearly complete and I only anticipate posting about my surgery.
But here, I will talk about my life, now. Not the life of a post-operative transsexual, but life of a woman in society. Just another gal in the workforce. And as such can be real boring to someone looking for information about pre-surgical life.
So here is my life now. I am happier than I have ever been in my life. Living a life that is filled with joy and beauty. I walk around with a smile on my face nearly all the time. I am proud of who I am which is something that I have never experienced before. So, yeah, I am a happy girl.
It wasn't easy getting here and I very nearly didn't live through it, but I did, and I am glad I did!
-Sandy (Silly, grinning, fool)
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
I wonder what it'll be like.
I wonder what it'll be like.
My GRS early next year, will mark the end of my transition from male to female. There'll still be loose ends to take care of like finishing my facial electrolosis and getting the rest of my official records changed to my current name and gender. But other than that I'll be finished.
I was just wondering what it'll feel like not having a constant anticipation of the next step in my life's transition. Before I came out I always had this yearning to be female. Then I came out, and I had anticipation to start therapy and HRT. Then as I started therapy and HRT I had a growing anticipation of the feminizing effects that the hormones would cause in my body.
And so it went. Each step in my quest to become the female I knew I was and to become myself in society, lead to the next step and the anticipation of that goal.
Soon that will be over, and I was wondering what it would feel like to finally feel as normal as I can ever be. I'm already picking up parts of my life that have been on hold because of the transition, divorce and moving into a new house. Maybe that's all it'll be, just a normal life.
I really wonder what that will feel like.
Do any of you other men and women who have completed your transition (however you define it, pre/post/non op) have similar feelings?
-Sandy
I was just wondering what it'll feel like not having a constant anticipation of the next step in my life's transition. Before I came out I always had this yearning to be female. Then I came out, and I had anticipation to start therapy and HRT. Then as I started therapy and HRT I had a growing anticipation of the feminizing effects that the hormones would cause in my body.
And so it went. Each step in my quest to become the female I knew I was and to become myself in society, lead to the next step and the anticipation of that goal.
Soon that will be over, and I was wondering what it would feel like to finally feel as normal as I can ever be. I'm already picking up parts of my life that have been on hold because of the transition, divorce and moving into a new house. Maybe that's all it'll be, just a normal life.
I really wonder what that will feel like.
Do any of you other men and women who have completed your transition (however you define it, pre/post/non op) have similar feelings?
-Sandy
Friday, November 30, 2007
So *that's* why...
So *that's* why...
The other day I met with the therapist who would provide the second opinion of my transsexual diagnosis and send a letter to my surgeon.
The person I met with is a well known therapist and author who specializes in gender conditions.
I was a little nervous meeting her. After all, getting the second letter gives me a green light for me to proceed with my surgery and complete my transition. Many people have said that the HBSOC, now called WPATH, is too restrictive and presents more of a gatekeeper role to the transsexual seeking GRS.
I, personally, have not felt this to be the case. The therapists I have seen have acted more as partners and have been very compassionate in aiding me in my journey.
When I met with her, she was very quick to put me at ease. We spoke for about an hour, and for the most part it was more of an interview than a therapy session. The nature of the questions and discussion will remain private. But in no way did I ever get the impression that I was being interrogated or tested to see if I was transsexual enough or had attained some sort of qualification. It was a very relaxed session.
Near the end of the session, she asked me if I had any questions for her. I did in fact have some questions.
One of the questions I had regarded why GRS, which has virtually no impact on a persons gender status in society (nobody sees what's in your pants) has such a requisite qualification (WPATH), when facial surgery, which has a huge impact on a persons gender status in society (everybody sees your face), requires virtually no qualification other than an ability to pay.
As readers of my blog may remember, this is kind of a hot button for me and I was really curious why it was this way.
Her response was very enlightening.
As you may know, surgeons are under a strict ethical guideline to not remove healthy tissue. Additionally, I found out that there are also laws regarding this as well, referred to as mayhem laws. These put additional restrictions that, among other things, specifically state that healthy reproductive tissue cannot be removed unless there is an overriding medical necessity requiring their removal.
GID is considered a medical condition as listed in the DSM-IV, and the only known solution to address the condition is surgical intervention to change the transsexual’s gender to that of the opposite gender. Thus, it makes it a medical necessity to remove or change the healthy reproductive tissue. This also covers mastectomies and hysterectomies in FTM transsexuals.
The two letter protocol is considered due diligence from a legal point of view. Basically it protects the surgeon and hospital if they are sued as a result of a person receiving GRS and then regretting the decision. It also ensures the person seeking GRS receives adequate counseling and is able to properly set expectations as to what the surgery will do and how their life will be like following surgery.
The one letter protocol for HRT has a similar purpose. But since many of the effects of feminization or masculinization can be reversed if stopped in time, there is no need for a second opinion.
Additionally, it protects the transsexuals that follow us. For example if this due diligence was not performed, and a person turned around and successfully sued, you can expect that the hospital where the operation was performed would never allow any such operations in the future. And it’s hard enough to find a surgeon in the western hemisphere as it is!
Given that I have a clearer understanding as to why things are the way they are.
-Sandy
The person I met with is a well known therapist and author who specializes in gender conditions.
I was a little nervous meeting her. After all, getting the second letter gives me a green light for me to proceed with my surgery and complete my transition. Many people have said that the HBSOC, now called WPATH, is too restrictive and presents more of a gatekeeper role to the transsexual seeking GRS.
I, personally, have not felt this to be the case. The therapists I have seen have acted more as partners and have been very compassionate in aiding me in my journey.
When I met with her, she was very quick to put me at ease. We spoke for about an hour, and for the most part it was more of an interview than a therapy session. The nature of the questions and discussion will remain private. But in no way did I ever get the impression that I was being interrogated or tested to see if I was transsexual enough or had attained some sort of qualification. It was a very relaxed session.
Near the end of the session, she asked me if I had any questions for her. I did in fact have some questions.
One of the questions I had regarded why GRS, which has virtually no impact on a persons gender status in society (nobody sees what's in your pants) has such a requisite qualification (WPATH), when facial surgery, which has a huge impact on a persons gender status in society (everybody sees your face), requires virtually no qualification other than an ability to pay.
As readers of my blog may remember, this is kind of a hot button for me and I was really curious why it was this way.
Her response was very enlightening.
As you may know, surgeons are under a strict ethical guideline to not remove healthy tissue. Additionally, I found out that there are also laws regarding this as well, referred to as mayhem laws. These put additional restrictions that, among other things, specifically state that healthy reproductive tissue cannot be removed unless there is an overriding medical necessity requiring their removal.
GID is considered a medical condition as listed in the DSM-IV, and the only known solution to address the condition is surgical intervention to change the transsexual’s gender to that of the opposite gender. Thus, it makes it a medical necessity to remove or change the healthy reproductive tissue. This also covers mastectomies and hysterectomies in FTM transsexuals.
The two letter protocol is considered due diligence from a legal point of view. Basically it protects the surgeon and hospital if they are sued as a result of a person receiving GRS and then regretting the decision. It also ensures the person seeking GRS receives adequate counseling and is able to properly set expectations as to what the surgery will do and how their life will be like following surgery.
The one letter protocol for HRT has a similar purpose. But since many of the effects of feminization or masculinization can be reversed if stopped in time, there is no need for a second opinion.
Additionally, it protects the transsexuals that follow us. For example if this due diligence was not performed, and a person turned around and successfully sued, you can expect that the hospital where the operation was performed would never allow any such operations in the future. And it’s hard enough to find a surgeon in the western hemisphere as it is!
Given that I have a clearer understanding as to why things are the way they are.
-Sandy
Friday, November 16, 2007
I have my SRS date!
I have my SRS date!
I got my date!
March 13th, 2008. With Dr. Christine McGinn in Doylestown PA.
I am excited and calm at the same time. But interestingly, at least for now, I am not filled with the kid-before-Christmas feeling like I was when I was pre-FFS.
Transition, by definition, is a temporary condition. It is moving from one state of being to another. In many ways, my procedure will mark the end of my transition. The end of my temporary time between two states of being. So too, this marks the final chapters of "Sandy's Transition" saga.
To be sure, I will still have much to say, both about my surgery and life as a post-op. But perhaps after that I may need a new blog. One where I talk about the mundane things in life as a woman. Gawd, doesn't that sound exciting... NOT!
What does GRS mean to me? I've turned this question over in my mind a lot. I have accomplished ninety percent of everything I wanted when I started my transition. The most imoportant thing to me was, and still is, being a woman in society. And I am that. And living a very happy life as a result. Having GRS will do absolutely NOTHING to affect one way or another how society views me. People on the street, the lady behind the cosmetic counter, and the guy who asks "You want fries with that?" will not look a me any differently than they do now. For the vast majority of them, I am immediately viewed as a woman and that is all. Having a neo-vagina will not do anything to make them see me as more of a woman than they already do. So why do it? Why put yourself through the pain and expense for something that a limited number of people besides your doctor and nurses will ever see?
Do any of you ask yourself that question? Why do it if nobody can tell?
As we like to say, gender is between your ears, not between your legs. Now to be sure, were I to enter into a relationship, having genitalia that is congruent with my psyche and the rest of my body would be important. But right now there doesn't seem to be much chance of that happening anytime soon. And even if there were, they would eventually have to know the truth about me. So if they knew about me they would also possibly accept the fact that I had an "outie" not an "innie".
So why do it?
Because, I know. And every time I go to the 'loo, or take a shower, I am reminded of it again. I have this one last vestige from the time before. And, through the skill and expertise of doctors and surgeons, what was the old has been chiseled away to expose the real person living within all this time. What remains should also be changed, reshaped, and reborn to complete the work. Without it, is like painting the Mona Lisa and not painting the enigmatic smile on her face. The painting would be incomplete. I would be incomplete.
I want to be complete.
I will be complete.
-Sandy
March 13th, 2008. With Dr. Christine McGinn in Doylestown PA.
I am excited and calm at the same time. But interestingly, at least for now, I am not filled with the kid-before-Christmas feeling like I was when I was pre-FFS.
Transition, by definition, is a temporary condition. It is moving from one state of being to another. In many ways, my procedure will mark the end of my transition. The end of my temporary time between two states of being. So too, this marks the final chapters of "Sandy's Transition" saga.
To be sure, I will still have much to say, both about my surgery and life as a post-op. But perhaps after that I may need a new blog. One where I talk about the mundane things in life as a woman. Gawd, doesn't that sound exciting... NOT!
What does GRS mean to me? I've turned this question over in my mind a lot. I have accomplished ninety percent of everything I wanted when I started my transition. The most imoportant thing to me was, and still is, being a woman in society. And I am that. And living a very happy life as a result. Having GRS will do absolutely NOTHING to affect one way or another how society views me. People on the street, the lady behind the cosmetic counter, and the guy who asks "You want fries with that?" will not look a me any differently than they do now. For the vast majority of them, I am immediately viewed as a woman and that is all. Having a neo-vagina will not do anything to make them see me as more of a woman than they already do. So why do it? Why put yourself through the pain and expense for something that a limited number of people besides your doctor and nurses will ever see?
Do any of you ask yourself that question? Why do it if nobody can tell?
As we like to say, gender is between your ears, not between your legs. Now to be sure, were I to enter into a relationship, having genitalia that is congruent with my psyche and the rest of my body would be important. But right now there doesn't seem to be much chance of that happening anytime soon. And even if there were, they would eventually have to know the truth about me. So if they knew about me they would also possibly accept the fact that I had an "outie" not an "innie".
So why do it?
Because, I know. And every time I go to the 'loo, or take a shower, I am reminded of it again. I have this one last vestige from the time before. And, through the skill and expertise of doctors and surgeons, what was the old has been chiseled away to expose the real person living within all this time. What remains should also be changed, reshaped, and reborn to complete the work. Without it, is like painting the Mona Lisa and not painting the enigmatic smile on her face. The painting would be incomplete. I would be incomplete.
I want to be complete.
I will be complete.
-Sandy
Sunday, October 28, 2007
I applied for my passport
I applied for my passport
Earlier in the week I got a flyer in the mail saying that the post office would be holding a passport application fair.
I knew I'd have to get one eventually in anticipation of a trip north of the border, hopefully next year, so I decided to go there and apply there rather than send it all in the mail.
I brought all my documentation with me so I could document my citizenship (certified birth certificate) and my proof of identity (drivers license and certified copies of the name change judgement). I applied using my legal name and female.
The guy taking the application, never raised an eyebrow or ask any questions. He only wanted my birth certificate and the application. He did however give me a very penetrating look. I wonder how many transsexuals he has processed.
They also took the pictures there are well. I really wish I had put some makeup on first. What an ugly picture! Yeesh!!
Anyway, they said it will take about six to eight weeks to get a response. We'll see what they put on my passport if they do send me one. If they find a problem in the application there could be additional delays. I figure that they have to use my legal name, but I'm wondering what gender they'll put there.
As I left I realized something. The people who were taking applications were local postal employees. And at least one of them, if not all of them by now, know that there is a transsexual living in their midsts and what her address is.
Ah well, I may have outed myself in a big way, if these people gossip. No matter, some secrets cannot be kept forever. If it gets to my neighbors, I can only hope they are understanding.
-Sandy
I knew I'd have to get one eventually in anticipation of a trip north of the border, hopefully next year, so I decided to go there and apply there rather than send it all in the mail.
I brought all my documentation with me so I could document my citizenship (certified birth certificate) and my proof of identity (drivers license and certified copies of the name change judgement). I applied using my legal name and female.
The guy taking the application, never raised an eyebrow or ask any questions. He only wanted my birth certificate and the application. He did however give me a very penetrating look. I wonder how many transsexuals he has processed.
They also took the pictures there are well. I really wish I had put some makeup on first. What an ugly picture! Yeesh!!
Anyway, they said it will take about six to eight weeks to get a response. We'll see what they put on my passport if they do send me one. If they find a problem in the application there could be additional delays. I figure that they have to use my legal name, but I'm wondering what gender they'll put there.
As I left I realized something. The people who were taking applications were local postal employees. And at least one of them, if not all of them by now, know that there is a transsexual living in their midsts and what her address is.
Ah well, I may have outed myself in a big way, if these people gossip. No matter, some secrets cannot be kept forever. If it gets to my neighbors, I can only hope they are understanding.
-Sandy
Monday, October 22, 2007
I'm still in the clouds!
I'm still in the clouds!
This past weekend I had a session with my therapist. I hadn't seen her in a couple of months as I had been moving into my house and time was a bit chaotic for me.
We spent most of the time just catching up and talking about what had been going on in my life. It was a pleasent session as most of them are. About halfway through the session, she asked if I was still going to pursue SRS.
"Absolutely!" I said.
Then she said; "Well, in that case, let me get some dates from you so I can put together the letter. And I'll contact the other councelor so you can meet her and get the second letter sent on to the Dr Broussard."
My jaw dropped! I was not expecting to start talking about my letters until I had completed my one year of RLE. What she said was that the Harry Benjamin guidelines are just that, guidelines. It is up to the therapist to evaluate the candidate for SRS and determine when they are ready to proceed. As she put it, having the guidelines work for the patient, not against them. So it's not necessary to be a stickler about the one year requirement.
I'm still walking around in the clouds. If I can get the letters on file soon enough, hopefully I can get the surgery scheduled in 2008 for 2007 prices.
But shaving six months off my wait to be complete is like a dream! That is just great.
I wonder how they say; "We're going to put you out now so we can intubate you..." in French Canadian?
-Sandy
We spent most of the time just catching up and talking about what had been going on in my life. It was a pleasent session as most of them are. About halfway through the session, she asked if I was still going to pursue SRS.
"Absolutely!" I said.
Then she said; "Well, in that case, let me get some dates from you so I can put together the letter. And I'll contact the other councelor so you can meet her and get the second letter sent on to the Dr Broussard."
My jaw dropped! I was not expecting to start talking about my letters until I had completed my one year of RLE. What she said was that the Harry Benjamin guidelines are just that, guidelines. It is up to the therapist to evaluate the candidate for SRS and determine when they are ready to proceed. As she put it, having the guidelines work for the patient, not against them. So it's not necessary to be a stickler about the one year requirement.
I'm still walking around in the clouds. If I can get the letters on file soon enough, hopefully I can get the surgery scheduled in 2008 for 2007 prices.
But shaving six months off my wait to be complete is like a dream! That is just great.
I wonder how they say; "We're going to put you out now so we can intubate you..." in French Canadian?
-Sandy
Sunday, October 21, 2007
Bad wigs....
Bad wigs....
As I was unpacking boxes I found my first wigs.
One of them is one of Julies favorites (yeah right!). I got it from a friend of mine. It really looked better on her than me. When I met Julie for the first time this was the wig I wore. She showed great restraint in not laughing hysterically.
The other is the very first wig I started wearing. My first therapist said it sucked. A wise and insightful woman!
One of them is one of Julies favorites (yeah right!). I got it from a friend of mine. It really looked better on her than me. When I met Julie for the first time this was the wig I wore. She showed great restraint in not laughing hysterically.
The other is the very first wig I started wearing. My first therapist said it sucked. A wise and insightful woman!
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Sandy buys a house...
Sandy buys a house...
My year of transition, my year of chaos.
A number of things have been going on in my life starting before I had my operation and going through just a couple of weeks ago. I hadn't spoken about them because if things fell through it wouldn't have changed anything so I wanted things to be taken care of before I talked about them.
My stbew had been trying to sell her house for a number of months and was getting no real offers. I will not go into the way the house was exclusively in her name. Suffice it to say that was the way it worked out. I had taken some of my possessions from the house and put them in storage. Eventually I had to take all the rest of my stuff and put it in storage.
Since she had not sold the house, I put forth the idea of having her sell the house to me. I could take my stuff out of storage, and I'd be nearer my family and I know the house pretty well having lived there for well over twelve years. She tentatively agreed and we discussed what could be done.
I decided to see if I could qualify for a mortgage. I really didn't think it would go anywhere but I was willing to find out.
Well my first few calls to a broker were actually good. They thought I could qualify for the amount I was looking for. It was interesting in that I had to explain to them that my social security number was the same but my name had changed as well as my gender. They were not particularly disturbed by it, just as long as they could track my finances going back. I also had to send them a copy of my judgment when I had my name changed. From that point on they had no problems and always referred to me as Sandra.
I was getting that positive information, but I was still not sure if I could finish the qualification. But just after I started the process someone came and offered earnest money for the house and had a prequalified loan ready to go. I rescinded my offer so the other offer could go through. She could get the house sold quicker with that offer than anything I could do and would get a lot closer to her asking price.
I still wanted to proceed with my loan. Now that I was in the early stages of acceptance I wanted to pursue getting a mortgage. The cost of keeping my things in storage was a severe cash drain which could be better used toward a mortgage payment, at least tax-wise.
I got the pre-qualifications for the mortgage and contacted a realtor to look at houses. I looked at a dozen or more houses before I found one that really looked good, was in good condition, and felt "right".
I put a bid on the house and while there were other bids, mine was accepted. (yay!).
I engaged a lawyer to represent me. This lawyer knew of me and had no problem representing me. His statement was that what I was going through was a medical condition and that is private information and was of no business to the seller or agent. That was nice.
We went through the negotiations process with the realtor and the seller. At this time no one other than the mortgage company and my lawyer knew of my past. To the realtor and the seller, I was just another single woman buying a house. Since my past wasn't germane to the issue of buying a house, it never came up.
Finally after all the tedium that has to occur before a mortgage is approved, I finally get a closing date for my new home!
Going through a house closing where you are the buyer is every bit as intimidating as signing a contract in blood. In fact I think I may have... My lawyer made sure that I understood every nuance of the contract that I was signing (and initialing all sixteen pages). All good information, but it is intimidating knowing that the bank will be my closest friend for the next thirty YEARS!
But when I left the closing, I knew it was my name on the title to the house, and the mortgage. I'm really a woman in society now.
Once I had gotten the final approval for the mortgage, I started contacting the utilities companies and arranging to have my services turned on for my new residence. This is where it is interesting from a transsexual’s point of view. Every utility company I had to deal with, I had an account in my old life. They would ask for my social security number and I would explain that the old name they had was in fact me and that my new name, and gender, was current. In every instance there would be a pause of a couple of seconds as they absorbed the information then they would say: "Yes Ms, (lastname)! Would you like your account to be listed with your current name?" To which I would reply "yes."
Apparently it may not be all that unusual for a transsexual to have contacted a utility before, and really, they don't care who's listed on the account as long as it gets paid.
About a day after closing, and with the great assistance of my family and friends, I moved into my new house. What my neighbors saw is a single woman moving into her new house. Moving in, of course is only the first step. Now I have to unpack all those bloody boxes! And also go about making the house into a home. I've put up a few pictures, but I need more design help. I also got two new kittens who are a couple of lunatics. Tessa and Patty are their names. They run around almost constantly and when they aren't in motion they are asleep. And they are mommy's little girls to be sure. Whenever they want to take a nap, they'll climb up in my lap and go to sleep. It makes getting things done a little difficult. It's amazing how two little kittens can hold down a full grown adult woman like that.
Moving out of Julies house was an especially heartbreaking time for me. We're still good friends and we still talk and get together, but I'll miss our hour’s long chats. And I'll miss her invaluable, thoughtful, and tactful advice about fashion ("Those shoes are TRAGIC!"). Though I'm sure I can get an opinion just about anytime... Thanks, Julie, for everything! You provided the fertile soil so this seed could grow. And when I find that first wig I wore when we first met, I'll have it bronzed and sent to you! (late update. I found the wig!)
Much of this happened before my operation and had to be suspended while I was in recovery. So there was a period of about three weeks where my real estate agent didn't see me. She new I was going to have an operation but I didn't say what. When we met following my recovery, she never said anything about how I looked. Either she kept her thoughts to herself or she really didn't notice the difference between my old face and my new face. It could have gone either way. I think she sees many people during a week and may have only recalled the vaguest idea of what I looked like.
A couple of weeks after I moved in, I had to mow the lawn. It was an interesting time. I finally got to meet my neighbors and chat with them. It’s a very nice neighborhood and the people here are very friendly. But I will say that mowing a lawn in ninety-degree weather while wearing a wig is very warm work indeed!
What has been interesting in this whole process is that I simply expected society to treat me as the person I am, and it has. I have committed to this life, I have gone through the legal process to change my name and gender to the extent that I can, given that I'm pre-op. And I have been simply matter-of-fact about who I am when it has been necessary. And as a result the responses I have received have also been matter-of-fact.
As I've said before, I don't wear a sign around my neck that says "TRANSEXUAL!" but I will not hide it if it becomes necessary. I would prefer that my neighbors always see me as nothing more than a single woman. So in that respect I prefer to be stealth. Though I do know that my secret may eventually become known. Especially since my kids still call me Dad. I'd prefer being called Sandy, but old habits die hard.
As I started my transition I could not see anything beyond becoming myself. I had no idea what life would really be like as a woman in society. Now I am finding out. It's WONDERFUL!
-Sandy(hand me that next box, ok?)
A number of things have been going on in my life starting before I had my operation and going through just a couple of weeks ago. I hadn't spoken about them because if things fell through it wouldn't have changed anything so I wanted things to be taken care of before I talked about them.
My stbew had been trying to sell her house for a number of months and was getting no real offers. I will not go into the way the house was exclusively in her name. Suffice it to say that was the way it worked out. I had taken some of my possessions from the house and put them in storage. Eventually I had to take all the rest of my stuff and put it in storage.
Since she had not sold the house, I put forth the idea of having her sell the house to me. I could take my stuff out of storage, and I'd be nearer my family and I know the house pretty well having lived there for well over twelve years. She tentatively agreed and we discussed what could be done.
I decided to see if I could qualify for a mortgage. I really didn't think it would go anywhere but I was willing to find out.
Well my first few calls to a broker were actually good. They thought I could qualify for the amount I was looking for. It was interesting in that I had to explain to them that my social security number was the same but my name had changed as well as my gender. They were not particularly disturbed by it, just as long as they could track my finances going back. I also had to send them a copy of my judgment when I had my name changed. From that point on they had no problems and always referred to me as Sandra.
I was getting that positive information, but I was still not sure if I could finish the qualification. But just after I started the process someone came and offered earnest money for the house and had a prequalified loan ready to go. I rescinded my offer so the other offer could go through. She could get the house sold quicker with that offer than anything I could do and would get a lot closer to her asking price.
I still wanted to proceed with my loan. Now that I was in the early stages of acceptance I wanted to pursue getting a mortgage. The cost of keeping my things in storage was a severe cash drain which could be better used toward a mortgage payment, at least tax-wise.
I got the pre-qualifications for the mortgage and contacted a realtor to look at houses. I looked at a dozen or more houses before I found one that really looked good, was in good condition, and felt "right".
I put a bid on the house and while there were other bids, mine was accepted. (yay!).
I engaged a lawyer to represent me. This lawyer knew of me and had no problem representing me. His statement was that what I was going through was a medical condition and that is private information and was of no business to the seller or agent. That was nice.
We went through the negotiations process with the realtor and the seller. At this time no one other than the mortgage company and my lawyer knew of my past. To the realtor and the seller, I was just another single woman buying a house. Since my past wasn't germane to the issue of buying a house, it never came up.
Finally after all the tedium that has to occur before a mortgage is approved, I finally get a closing date for my new home!
Going through a house closing where you are the buyer is every bit as intimidating as signing a contract in blood. In fact I think I may have... My lawyer made sure that I understood every nuance of the contract that I was signing (and initialing all sixteen pages). All good information, but it is intimidating knowing that the bank will be my closest friend for the next thirty YEARS!
But when I left the closing, I knew it was my name on the title to the house, and the mortgage. I'm really a woman in society now.
Once I had gotten the final approval for the mortgage, I started contacting the utilities companies and arranging to have my services turned on for my new residence. This is where it is interesting from a transsexual’s point of view. Every utility company I had to deal with, I had an account in my old life. They would ask for my social security number and I would explain that the old name they had was in fact me and that my new name, and gender, was current. In every instance there would be a pause of a couple of seconds as they absorbed the information then they would say: "Yes Ms, (lastname)! Would you like your account to be listed with your current name?" To which I would reply "yes."
Apparently it may not be all that unusual for a transsexual to have contacted a utility before, and really, they don't care who's listed on the account as long as it gets paid.
About a day after closing, and with the great assistance of my family and friends, I moved into my new house. What my neighbors saw is a single woman moving into her new house. Moving in, of course is only the first step. Now I have to unpack all those bloody boxes! And also go about making the house into a home. I've put up a few pictures, but I need more design help. I also got two new kittens who are a couple of lunatics. Tessa and Patty are their names. They run around almost constantly and when they aren't in motion they are asleep. And they are mommy's little girls to be sure. Whenever they want to take a nap, they'll climb up in my lap and go to sleep. It makes getting things done a little difficult. It's amazing how two little kittens can hold down a full grown adult woman like that.
Moving out of Julies house was an especially heartbreaking time for me. We're still good friends and we still talk and get together, but I'll miss our hour’s long chats. And I'll miss her invaluable, thoughtful, and tactful advice about fashion ("Those shoes are TRAGIC!"). Though I'm sure I can get an opinion just about anytime... Thanks, Julie, for everything! You provided the fertile soil so this seed could grow. And when I find that first wig I wore when we first met, I'll have it bronzed and sent to you! (late update. I found the wig!)
Much of this happened before my operation and had to be suspended while I was in recovery. So there was a period of about three weeks where my real estate agent didn't see me. She new I was going to have an operation but I didn't say what. When we met following my recovery, she never said anything about how I looked. Either she kept her thoughts to herself or she really didn't notice the difference between my old face and my new face. It could have gone either way. I think she sees many people during a week and may have only recalled the vaguest idea of what I looked like.
A couple of weeks after I moved in, I had to mow the lawn. It was an interesting time. I finally got to meet my neighbors and chat with them. It’s a very nice neighborhood and the people here are very friendly. But I will say that mowing a lawn in ninety-degree weather while wearing a wig is very warm work indeed!
What has been interesting in this whole process is that I simply expected society to treat me as the person I am, and it has. I have committed to this life, I have gone through the legal process to change my name and gender to the extent that I can, given that I'm pre-op. And I have been simply matter-of-fact about who I am when it has been necessary. And as a result the responses I have received have also been matter-of-fact.
As I've said before, I don't wear a sign around my neck that says "TRANSEXUAL!" but I will not hide it if it becomes necessary. I would prefer that my neighbors always see me as nothing more than a single woman. So in that respect I prefer to be stealth. Though I do know that my secret may eventually become known. Especially since my kids still call me Dad. I'd prefer being called Sandy, but old habits die hard.
As I started my transition I could not see anything beyond becoming myself. I had no idea what life would really be like as a woman in society. Now I am finding out. It's WONDERFUL!
-Sandy(hand me that next box, ok?)
How much is a third of a second worth?
How much is a third of a second worth?
I've been asking myself that since I came back from Dr Z's. What that refers to is the amount of time the human brain takes to figure out of someone is male of female. All the makeup, all clothing, all the primping and pruning are evaluated in the period of time, that 1/3 of a second.
What the good doctor tells me is that after he gets done with me (and I heal) that one third of a second will much more often come up with "woman". All it takes is money. And I gain 1/3 of a second.
Is it worth it?
It is to me...
-Sandy
What the good doctor tells me is that after he gets done with me (and I heal) that one third of a second will much more often come up with "woman". All it takes is money. And I gain 1/3 of a second.
Is it worth it?
It is to me...
-Sandy
Monday, September 17, 2007
The stbeh...
The stbeh...
This past weekend I visited the stbew in Indianapolis where she moved a couple of months ago. I took some things down there to give to her and she had a few things for me.
Over all it was a pleasent time, we're still amicable and friendly. I also brought my two new kittens to visit with their older siblings. Unfortunately they did not get along so well. The older siblings are used to having the house to themselves and did not appreciate new kittens being brought in. The kittens two were a bit hostile since they were in alien territory. Watching a ten week old kitten trying to out hiss is sort of cute, but not to the kitten of course. Things finally settled down a bit when I moved them to the back bedroom where they could be by themselves.
The spouse said that she would be going to church on Sunday and invited me to go along before I headed back to Chi. It was a nice day and I accepted. I didn't bring any Sunday-going-to-meetin' clothes with me so I dressed casual and put on some light make up.
The service was pleasent and mostly as I remember it. I was a Catholic in my youth so I recalled most of the service. I felt spiritual connection with the congregation and spiritually fullfilled as well.
At the end of the service we exited the church and was greeted by the pastor. The pastor shook my hand and asked my name, I answered Sandy and he asked if I had a last name, and I told him my last name.
All of a sudden he got a surprised look on his face and looked at my spouse. My spouse then said: "Let me introduce you to my soon to be ex-husband, Sandy."
The pastor quickly recovered and said; "Hello Sandy! It's wonderful to meet you! Please come back!" I explained that I was from Chicago but would attend when I was in town. I was amused by the exchange, but not surprised. I was gratified that the pastor was so accepting of me.
When the spouse applied to become a member of the church she had to explain why she was getting a divorce, so the pastor already had an idea of what was going on, and accepted it. I think he was taken aback by having me actually show up at service. Most divorces, of course, are not that amicable so it is unusual that the couple would actually come to the same service together.
What I'm finding is in those situations where I am outed or have to out myself, more often as not I am accepted. There is no recrimination or declaration that I am a sick individual. Heavens! We're almost mainstream!
-Sandy (when did they get rid of latin?)
Over all it was a pleasent time, we're still amicable and friendly. I also brought my two new kittens to visit with their older siblings. Unfortunately they did not get along so well. The older siblings are used to having the house to themselves and did not appreciate new kittens being brought in. The kittens two were a bit hostile since they were in alien territory. Watching a ten week old kitten trying to out hiss is sort of cute, but not to the kitten of course. Things finally settled down a bit when I moved them to the back bedroom where they could be by themselves.
The spouse said that she would be going to church on Sunday and invited me to go along before I headed back to Chi. It was a nice day and I accepted. I didn't bring any Sunday-going-to-meetin' clothes with me so I dressed casual and put on some light make up.
The service was pleasent and mostly as I remember it. I was a Catholic in my youth so I recalled most of the service. I felt spiritual connection with the congregation and spiritually fullfilled as well.
At the end of the service we exited the church and was greeted by the pastor. The pastor shook my hand and asked my name, I answered Sandy and he asked if I had a last name, and I told him my last name.
All of a sudden he got a surprised look on his face and looked at my spouse. My spouse then said: "Let me introduce you to my soon to be ex-husband, Sandy."
The pastor quickly recovered and said; "Hello Sandy! It's wonderful to meet you! Please come back!" I explained that I was from Chicago but would attend when I was in town. I was amused by the exchange, but not surprised. I was gratified that the pastor was so accepting of me.
When the spouse applied to become a member of the church she had to explain why she was getting a divorce, so the pastor already had an idea of what was going on, and accepted it. I think he was taken aback by having me actually show up at service. Most divorces, of course, are not that amicable so it is unusual that the couple would actually come to the same service together.
What I'm finding is in those situations where I am outed or have to out myself, more often as not I am accepted. There is no recrimination or declaration that I am a sick individual. Heavens! We're almost mainstream!
-Sandy (when did they get rid of latin?)
Saturday, August 25, 2007
A month and four days...
A month and four days...
It's been a month and four days since my operation. I apologize for not posting sooner, but I’ve been plain exhausted!
After three weeks of recovery I returned back to work. Everyone says I looked much better. In fact one of the girls I go to lunch with looked at my ID, which was taken when I came out at work, and said that I needed a new ID picture taken. My face had changed so much that I no longer really resembled the other picture. I did get a new picture taken.
Even since then, people have remarked how my face has changed since then. I'll be taking new pictures soon. Much of the swelling has gone down and all the discoloration has gone out of my face. There still is some tightness under my chin which may be from adhesions. I'll be seeing Dr. Z soon and will ask him about it then. Also there is still very little sensation on my scalp and under my chin. Which makes shaving particularly tricky! Parts of my face are starting to have some feeling. Some of which is like an itch but no amount of rubbing makes it go away.
One of the reasons I haven't posted more is from a combination of exhaustion, and post-op depression. I have been pretty much coming home from work and just vegetating on the couch.
Both Dr Z and my physician warned me about this possibility and my physician has given me a script for an anti-depressant. They take about three weeks to get to full effect, but after two weeks I'm starting to feel a bit better. I no longer have the emotional swings that would make me weep looking pictures of kittens, but it has made me a little lethargic. I'm able to concentrate at work now and can start getting back up to speed. I'm hoping not to be on the anti-depressant for too long. I was very happy prior to the operation and I am pleased with the results so I should be at least as happy again. I just have to get past this post-op period.
Today is the first time I have felt good enough to want to post. It's Saturday and I can concentrate on putting my thoughts together for the first time in a while.
As I mentioned before, I have had to learn slightly different techniques for putting my makeup on in the morning. My eyes have changed quite a bit so that has made a difference. Also I use a bit more lipstick now than I have in the past. One of the side effects of the operation, especially the upper and lower eyelid work, was that many of my eyelashes fell out from the trauma. They've been coming back in, but I haven't been able to use mascara until late this week.
Well that’s about all for now ladies. Hopefully I’ll be posting more soon.
-Sandy
After three weeks of recovery I returned back to work. Everyone says I looked much better. In fact one of the girls I go to lunch with looked at my ID, which was taken when I came out at work, and said that I needed a new ID picture taken. My face had changed so much that I no longer really resembled the other picture. I did get a new picture taken.
Even since then, people have remarked how my face has changed since then. I'll be taking new pictures soon. Much of the swelling has gone down and all the discoloration has gone out of my face. There still is some tightness under my chin which may be from adhesions. I'll be seeing Dr. Z soon and will ask him about it then. Also there is still very little sensation on my scalp and under my chin. Which makes shaving particularly tricky! Parts of my face are starting to have some feeling. Some of which is like an itch but no amount of rubbing makes it go away.
One of the reasons I haven't posted more is from a combination of exhaustion, and post-op depression. I have been pretty much coming home from work and just vegetating on the couch.
Both Dr Z and my physician warned me about this possibility and my physician has given me a script for an anti-depressant. They take about three weeks to get to full effect, but after two weeks I'm starting to feel a bit better. I no longer have the emotional swings that would make me weep looking pictures of kittens, but it has made me a little lethargic. I'm able to concentrate at work now and can start getting back up to speed. I'm hoping not to be on the anti-depressant for too long. I was very happy prior to the operation and I am pleased with the results so I should be at least as happy again. I just have to get past this post-op period.
Today is the first time I have felt good enough to want to post. It's Saturday and I can concentrate on putting my thoughts together for the first time in a while.
As I mentioned before, I have had to learn slightly different techniques for putting my makeup on in the morning. My eyes have changed quite a bit so that has made a difference. Also I use a bit more lipstick now than I have in the past. One of the side effects of the operation, especially the upper and lower eyelid work, was that many of my eyelashes fell out from the trauma. They've been coming back in, but I haven't been able to use mascara until late this week.
Well that’s about all for now ladies. Hopefully I’ll be posting more soon.
-Sandy
Saturday, August 11, 2007
A first for me...
A first for me...
Yesterday I did something I would have never attempted before.
I went out with *NO* makeup! I had some grocery shopping to do and I was feeling just a little tired so I just wanted to get the stuff and come back home.
Previously I would never have even considered such a ridiculous idea. I felt would have been clocked in a minute.
I looked in the mirror and said to myself; "This is what you wanted, this is why you went through all this trauma. C'mon girl, just do it!"
I did wear my wig though.
I threw on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, my sandals and headed out. No foundation, no lipstick, nothing. I felt almost naked.
It was early afternoon when I got to the grocery store. And guess what, most of the women there weren't wearing any makeup either!
And nobody gave me so much as a second glance, everything felt normal.
This is what I have been looking forward to for such a long time!
-Sandy
I went out with *NO* makeup! I had some grocery shopping to do and I was feeling just a little tired so I just wanted to get the stuff and come back home.
Previously I would never have even considered such a ridiculous idea. I felt would have been clocked in a minute.
I looked in the mirror and said to myself; "This is what you wanted, this is why you went through all this trauma. C'mon girl, just do it!"
I did wear my wig though.
I threw on a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, my sandals and headed out. No foundation, no lipstick, nothing. I felt almost naked.
It was early afternoon when I got to the grocery store. And guess what, most of the women there weren't wearing any makeup either!
And nobody gave me so much as a second glance, everything felt normal.
This is what I have been looking forward to for such a long time!
-Sandy
Monday, August 6, 2007
Christmas Finally Arrives! Epilog
Christmas Finally Arrives! Epilog
Ladies, I could go on at length on what my FFS/BA experience. But really I think I’ll bring it to a close here.
I am now fifteen days past my surgeries and I am feeling quite a bit better. My strength is returning, but I am finding I don’t have the stamina I started with. I expect this shall return as well in all good time.
These procedures are not a quick fix. It will take weeks and months, if not a year before all the changes that were done completely manifest themselves.
Right now, though, much of the bruising has disappeared. I still have a couple of black and blue marks around my mouth, which make me look like I took a punch in the mouth. This too is fading quickly.
My healing has impressed everyone including the doctor. It is not unusual for some patients to look like raccoons for weeks afterwards. I had some discoloration but no real bruising.
When I look at my face right now, I don’t see the old me at all. I’m a little surprised at that. Other people who’ve gone through this for some reason seems to still show their old face but much more feminized. I see a feminine face, but not my old face feminized. Maybe it’s just me. I do find that I have to come to terms with that.
Over the course of my four day stay at the recovery hotel the Doctor visited me every day and he would change the dressing on my incisions and examine me closely for any signs of infection or unexpected changes. He also listened to my feelings and fears and warned me about postoperative depression, which is a known surgical phenomenon.
Lisa was my angel of mercy. She stayed with me 24 hours a day and took care of my every need. She ensured I got my medications on time and correctly dosed, administered to my incisions, and all I ever had to do was whisper her name and she would be right by my side for whatever I needed. She had direct access to the doctor and emergency care so if something did go wrong she knew exactly what to do. I cannot compliment her enough. A spouse, friend, or relative would have been overwhelmed with the needs to care for someone in that condition that soon after surgery. She also prevented me from getting a concussion on one occasion where she escorted me to the bathroom. Upon finishing, I stood up too quickly and passed out. The next thing I remember is that I’m sitting sideways on the toilet and Lisa is holding a smelling salt ampoule under my nose. She managed to control my fall and keep me from seriously hurting myself.
She also performed the day three “Four Hour Shower”. Actually it’s not quite that long but does take at least two or more hours. Basically she goes over every inch of every incision and removes any built up scabbing that can cause scarring and pulled each individual hair stuck under a staple to prevent infection. Then she assisted me with a complete hair washing and body wash. While the clearing of the incisions was tedious the shower felt marvelous. I also noticed I had grown a four day beard. YUCK!! Fortunately I did bring my electric razor with me and managed to get most of the hair off my face.
Both Julies visited me and brought me some wonderful get-well gifts and cards. They were also quite diplomatic in describing how well I looked. Especially since Julie Marie visited me on my first post surgical day. I do remember that I felt particularly, er, less than my best, but she made me smile by being there and making me laugh which didn’t hurt as much as I might have thought.
Our other friend Julie visited as well on day two and by that time I was much more capable of speech in English.
My daughter and son in law came to get me on my check out day. My lovely grandchild did not recognize me. Even after having had all my bandages removed. It took a couple of tries from her mom but eventually my granddaughter looked at me and said SANDY!
A few days later I had to be driven back to the clinic for another post op checkup. Kara climbed into my lap took one look at me and said PRETTY!
Which, considering I was still wearing my nose splint, “pretty” would not have been and adjective I would have used to describe me. But right then when she saw through all the gauze and bandages and said that, I actually felt “PRETTY”.
What I’m finding is that as I describe my experiences here, I am reliving them. And right now that is not the best way I can help my recovery.
My intension at writing these posts and the “You Are Not Prepared” post was to prepare YOU!
I’ve accomplished so much. I read about how some people think this is just a matter of having the money, or the paperwork, or both and a few days later, poof, your gender has been changed.
Or on the other end of the spectrum, there are people out there who are capable RIGHT NOW to move forward with their life. But don’t because of fear of the unknown.
I have tried to make the unknown, less so, and to those with stars in your eyes, I hope I helped clear your vision.
I AM NOT A HEROINE! I did this because I must; it’s that plain and simple. Imagine coming out of any other major surgery. I would imagine that you would hurt then too. All it takes is time and you will heal.
I am healing and will continue to heal for a number of months to come.
BTW:
The man named Ben who I speak so glowingly in my post surgical post is in fact my younger brother.
He has been working with Dr Zurkowski for many years and is in fact one of his main surgical technicians and a very close friend to the good doctor. In fact suggested I meet with him when I came out to my brother many months ago.
My brother stopped by today to take the staples out of my incisions, all 37 of them, and make sure my incisions were healing correctly.
We’ve been joking around with each other for several decades and have long since buried any hatchets between us. He was casual in his speech to be because we’ve known each other all our lives.
The doctor of course drives all the procedures upon a patient but the entire surgical team is responsible for the patients’ health and well being while in their care.
I may have spent ten hours under anesthesia, but Ben stood by the doctor during those ten hours assisting him in ways, I really don’t want to know. The doctor and the rest of the surgical team held my life in their hands. If I didn’t trust them I wouldn’t have gone there.
As you may recall I was looking to these surgeries as the way to expose the woman within me. The Doctor was also my sculptor. This has come to pass.
For the first time today, I put on my makeup and wig and Julie and I went shopping. I could not take my eyes off my reflections that I saw in the stores. I am not so vain that I would ever call myself beautiful. But what I didn’t see for the very first time in my life was the GUY! Every reflection showed me a woman. A woman who has longed to be alive for all these many years. And now she is alive. And the guy markers that always seemed to pop through no matter how I would work on them were gone!
I am one happy woman!
-Sandy(Born at last!)
One last thing: For those dying to know I appear to be settling into a 40D. I have a couple of very happy girls!
I am now fifteen days past my surgeries and I am feeling quite a bit better. My strength is returning, but I am finding I don’t have the stamina I started with. I expect this shall return as well in all good time.
These procedures are not a quick fix. It will take weeks and months, if not a year before all the changes that were done completely manifest themselves.
Right now, though, much of the bruising has disappeared. I still have a couple of black and blue marks around my mouth, which make me look like I took a punch in the mouth. This too is fading quickly.
My healing has impressed everyone including the doctor. It is not unusual for some patients to look like raccoons for weeks afterwards. I had some discoloration but no real bruising.
When I look at my face right now, I don’t see the old me at all. I’m a little surprised at that. Other people who’ve gone through this for some reason seems to still show their old face but much more feminized. I see a feminine face, but not my old face feminized. Maybe it’s just me. I do find that I have to come to terms with that.
Over the course of my four day stay at the recovery hotel the Doctor visited me every day and he would change the dressing on my incisions and examine me closely for any signs of infection or unexpected changes. He also listened to my feelings and fears and warned me about postoperative depression, which is a known surgical phenomenon.
Lisa was my angel of mercy. She stayed with me 24 hours a day and took care of my every need. She ensured I got my medications on time and correctly dosed, administered to my incisions, and all I ever had to do was whisper her name and she would be right by my side for whatever I needed. She had direct access to the doctor and emergency care so if something did go wrong she knew exactly what to do. I cannot compliment her enough. A spouse, friend, or relative would have been overwhelmed with the needs to care for someone in that condition that soon after surgery. She also prevented me from getting a concussion on one occasion where she escorted me to the bathroom. Upon finishing, I stood up too quickly and passed out. The next thing I remember is that I’m sitting sideways on the toilet and Lisa is holding a smelling salt ampoule under my nose. She managed to control my fall and keep me from seriously hurting myself.
She also performed the day three “Four Hour Shower”. Actually it’s not quite that long but does take at least two or more hours. Basically she goes over every inch of every incision and removes any built up scabbing that can cause scarring and pulled each individual hair stuck under a staple to prevent infection. Then she assisted me with a complete hair washing and body wash. While the clearing of the incisions was tedious the shower felt marvelous. I also noticed I had grown a four day beard. YUCK!! Fortunately I did bring my electric razor with me and managed to get most of the hair off my face.
Both Julies visited me and brought me some wonderful get-well gifts and cards. They were also quite diplomatic in describing how well I looked. Especially since Julie Marie visited me on my first post surgical day. I do remember that I felt particularly, er, less than my best, but she made me smile by being there and making me laugh which didn’t hurt as much as I might have thought.
Our other friend Julie visited as well on day two and by that time I was much more capable of speech in English.
My daughter and son in law came to get me on my check out day. My lovely grandchild did not recognize me. Even after having had all my bandages removed. It took a couple of tries from her mom but eventually my granddaughter looked at me and said SANDY!
A few days later I had to be driven back to the clinic for another post op checkup. Kara climbed into my lap took one look at me and said PRETTY!
Which, considering I was still wearing my nose splint, “pretty” would not have been and adjective I would have used to describe me. But right then when she saw through all the gauze and bandages and said that, I actually felt “PRETTY”.
What I’m finding is that as I describe my experiences here, I am reliving them. And right now that is not the best way I can help my recovery.
My intension at writing these posts and the “You Are Not Prepared” post was to prepare YOU!
I’ve accomplished so much. I read about how some people think this is just a matter of having the money, or the paperwork, or both and a few days later, poof, your gender has been changed.
Or on the other end of the spectrum, there are people out there who are capable RIGHT NOW to move forward with their life. But don’t because of fear of the unknown.
I have tried to make the unknown, less so, and to those with stars in your eyes, I hope I helped clear your vision.
I AM NOT A HEROINE! I did this because I must; it’s that plain and simple. Imagine coming out of any other major surgery. I would imagine that you would hurt then too. All it takes is time and you will heal.
I am healing and will continue to heal for a number of months to come.
BTW:
The man named Ben who I speak so glowingly in my post surgical post is in fact my younger brother.
He has been working with Dr Zurkowski for many years and is in fact one of his main surgical technicians and a very close friend to the good doctor. In fact suggested I meet with him when I came out to my brother many months ago.
My brother stopped by today to take the staples out of my incisions, all 37 of them, and make sure my incisions were healing correctly.
We’ve been joking around with each other for several decades and have long since buried any hatchets between us. He was casual in his speech to be because we’ve known each other all our lives.
The doctor of course drives all the procedures upon a patient but the entire surgical team is responsible for the patients’ health and well being while in their care.
I may have spent ten hours under anesthesia, but Ben stood by the doctor during those ten hours assisting him in ways, I really don’t want to know. The doctor and the rest of the surgical team held my life in their hands. If I didn’t trust them I wouldn’t have gone there.
As you may recall I was looking to these surgeries as the way to expose the woman within me. The Doctor was also my sculptor. This has come to pass.
For the first time today, I put on my makeup and wig and Julie and I went shopping. I could not take my eyes off my reflections that I saw in the stores. I am not so vain that I would ever call myself beautiful. But what I didn’t see for the very first time in my life was the GUY! Every reflection showed me a woman. A woman who has longed to be alive for all these many years. And now she is alive. And the guy markers that always seemed to pop through no matter how I would work on them were gone!
I am one happy woman!
-Sandy(Born at last!)
One last thing: For those dying to know I appear to be settling into a 40D. I have a couple of very happy girls!
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Christmas Finally Arrives! Saturday, Post Surgery! (Very Long)
Christmas Finally Arrives! Saturday, Post Surgery! (Very Long)
THIS IS NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH! BE FOREWARNED!
****LIGHTS ON****
I become aware of some caustic fumes deep in my lungs and start coughing.
My body is racked with agony. In the distance I hear someone saying something to me but I can’t make it out…
Again I feel the fumes in my lungs.
“Come on Sandy, take deep breaths…” I begin coughing again.
“That’s it girl, keep taking deep breaths and try to cough”
The agony now becomes more focused more in my upper chest and face. I wanted to run away from it all.
I say something that I never though I would ever say:
“My God! Why have I done this to myself! What was I thinking?”
Actually, my lips were still numb from the anesthesia and the surgical changes made to them. So as a result, I think what came out was:
“Mwe Fd! Ha ha I dom thr to mslf!”
“Come on Sandy, keep taking deep breaths, you’ll be fine!”
“Here, I’ve placed your feet against my legs I want you to try to push yourself up if you can.”
I pushed some and made a little progress.
A female voice then says “Sandy, I want you to push against me. Ben will help pull you up on the cart.”
I try but I don’t want to hurt her.
“It’s OK, Sandy try push hard against me. Really I can take it. I do this all the time!”
With a massive effort on my part I push against the person holding my feet. I feel arms under my armpits helping to lift me into position.
I try to open my eyes, but the light is too bright and my eyes fill with tears. I’m not sure whether it is from the light or the agony or my emotions. I’m still not conscious enough to make out much of anything.
The pain is nonstop. I think that if I had gone bobbing for French fries it wouldn’t have felt this horrid!
Someone wipes my eyes and asks me to open them. I try but I still can’t focus on much of anything. I can make out some indistinct shapes that I think are the ones who have been talking to me.
I blink a few more times and my vision starts to clear. I become aware of an incredibly tight bandage around my face. I can’t breath through my nose. I can barely move my head because of the constriction from the bandage.
The male voice says;
“Sandy, how do you feel?”
“Mbe kl cp!”
“Try that again, I can barely make out what you are saying”
With a prodigious effort and trying to make every word distinct I say;
“I FEEL LIKE CRAP!”
“Good! That means that the anesthesia is wearing off. Keep trying to take deep breaths. But don’t breath through your nose. It’s packed from the operation. You’ll have to leave it there for the next couple of days. Just keep breathing through your mouth.”
This guy is just a fountain of good news…
“I HURT A LOT!”
“Well what did you expect? You’ve been operated on for about the last ten hours or so, how do you think you should feel?”
I swear, I’m going to hunt this guy down when I heal and beat the crap out of him.
“We’ll get you some Vicoden in a little bit, but you have to stay awake and take deep breaths!”
The female voice says;
“Sandy, when we get you stabilized, we’ll be taking you back to the hotel, OK?”
“WHAT?”
“In a little while we’ll help you to get to the wheel chair and take you back to the hotel…”
“OK”
In my mind I know there is nothing to do for the pain but to endure it. I try to muster my pain mantra but to no avail. I cannot take myself to a different place, a happy place that is away from the pain. It keeps coming over me in waves.
I keep blinking and the light becomes more tolerable and the shapes start to become clearer. I can detect the difference between the male and female staff that were trying to stabilize me, make me conscious and get me moving.
I had entered the clinic just a little past 6:30 in the morning. Only the operating staff was there at the time.
It was now well past 11:00 PM in the evening and everyone except we three had left. The doctor could come back to the clinic on a moments notice if necessary, but actually I was recovering as well as could be expected and coming around after all the anesthesia they had pumped into me quite well. At least that is what I had been told later.
“Sandy, we have to remove your catheter now”
“YOU COULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT WHILE I WAS ASLEEP!?!”
“Don’t worry, this will only take a second. You’ll feel some tugging but it shouldn’t hurt.”
I feel some severe tugging then searing pain.
“OOOOWWWWW!!!!! IT HURTS LIKE HELL!!!”
“That’s ok, Sandy, it’s out now. Yeah sometimes when the catheter is in that long it can get a little stuck…”
I’m going to find the truck that hit me and make sure it hits him! I owe this guy big-time!
Speaking of trucks, I’m still feeling like the truck that hit me actually went around the block and came around for another go at me. Then backed up and made sure he did the job right.
“I’M STILL FEELING LIKE CRAP!”
“Ok, Sandy, we’ll have something for you in just a second. Hang in there, girl”
Like I’ve got somewhere else to go? This guy is just a full of good news.
After what feels like an eternity later someone is trying to open my lips. My mouth is so dry that my tongue doesn’t feel like a part of me. I try to push my lips apart. I feel a part of a tablet enter my mouth. Then the female says “I’m going to put some water in your mouth. Try to swallow the tablet.
I feel a few drops of liquid enter my mouth and like someone dying of thirst I gulp it down. I completely forget about the tablet. It is now stuck at the back of my throat. “Here try again.”
More liquid and this time I manage to swallow the tablet. I wish I had about a gallon of that wonderful liquid they had given me. I think it’s called… water.
“Ok, now, Sandy, we’re going to help you sit up and help you get into the wheel chair.”
All this “we” stuff. I just want to be left alone for about the next ten years or so. Then maybe I could try climbing under a rock somewhere where the pain couldn’t find me.
“OK…”
I feel the hands of the guy and girl help lift me to a sitting position and gently spin me around move my legs off the table. The movement makes the fire on my chest burn more.
“Ok, now Sandy, we’re going to help you stand. The wheel chair is right next to the bed. Just lean on us and we’ll help you get into the chair.”
“OK”
The hands help me to slide off the gurney and as I try to get my feet under me I realize I have to lean on them. I have no strength whatsoever to stand on my own. I lean into their arms and they move me to the wheelchair.
Then I feel hands lift my legs and place them on the footpads of the wheel chair.
The female asks, “How do you feel, Sandy?”
“I FEEL VERY DIZZY”
“So I guess you don’t want to go back out to that bistro we went to last night for a quick snack?”
After some deep mental calculation and thought and sifting through my memories that feel like they’ve been scattered to the four winds, a name comes to me…
“LISA?” The lady from Compassionate Care that I had dinner with just the previous evening. When I thought about it real hard I seem to remember I had a fun time.
“Yeah, hon! I was just joking about going out. You’ll be eating through a straw for the next few days.”
“I’M VERY TIRED”
“That’s ok. We’ll get you to the car and get you back to the hotel and get you bedded down for the night. You did great! You came through with no problems at all!”
“I STILL FEEL LIKE SHIT”
“Well, hon, you’re going to feel like that for a while I’m afraid. You will get better though. Just keep thinking about that!”
“I CAN BARELY SEE”
“Well, your eyes are really swollen right now. Actually it’s surprising you can see anything at all!”
“We’re going to unlock the wheelchair now and start moving you to the car, OK?”
“OK”
I feel the wheels unlock and the chair begins to move. The male voice says; “I’ll open the doors so you can just move her straight to the car.”
I feel movement. Lisa says; “How are you feeling? Are you dizzy or nauseous at all?”
“NO”
“Ok, we’ll be at the car in just a few seconds. Hang in there and keep taking deep breaths. It will help clear the anesthesia.
Soon I feel the night air on my body. Somewhere along the line I realize I have my clothes on. My Einsteinien brain after only a few seconds of deep thought comes to the conclusion that they must have dressed me while I was drifting in and out of consciousness.
Over and over in my head I keep asking myself, “Why did I do this to myself?”
What in the world possessed me to put myself through such agony!? There must be a word that is more appropriate than agony for the way I felt, but I can’t come up with it.
Eventually the memory comes back to me:
“Sandy, you had no choice. You had to run out of the burning building that was your deteriorating masculinity. If you hadn’t taken these steps, you would have been dead by now.”
Oh yeah, that’s why.
“I’M FINDING IT HARD TO BREATH! MY CHEST HURS AND FEELS TOO TIGHT”
“Sandy, you just had breast augmentation. Your breasts are bandaged tight against your body to keep them from moving for right now. Just keep trying to breathe as deep as you can. The bandages are elastic and will stretch.”
Oh yeah, that too… I’m feeling like a bit of a dim bulb. Actually a dim bulb is smarter than I am. My brain just recently checked back in from where ever it went while I was having my “overhaul”.
Soon we are at Lisa’s car. She is going to be taking me back to the hotel. Somewhere in the back of my mind was the thought that if I felt embarrassed before when I was waiting for the doctor to come pick me up, I can just imagine what I’m going to be looking like when they wheel me into the hotel now! About then, really couldn’t care less. My ability to be embarrassed was still backlogged in my brain that was still busy trying to unpack from its vacation.
“Sandy, we’re at the car now. We’re going to lock the wheels and help you into the care, OK?”
“OK”
I appreciate how they explain everything they are about to do to/for me. I really have the mental capability of a hockey puck right about then so this is very helpful.
Much like the gurney, Lisa and the guy almost physically lift me into a standing position and maneuver me into the car.
Someone, the guy, I think, buckles me in.
Lisa gets in the drivers seat. Ben, the guy with all the joyful news and finesse removing my catheter takes the wheelchair and folds it into the back seat.
“I’ll follow you back and we can get her into bed” he says.
Lisa starts the car and we head back to the hotel.
As my brain continues to unpack, I realize that this hotel is one of main hotels that the Doctor uses for the recovery of his patients. They must see people like me roll in all the time.
I think my IQ is up to 12 or 14 by then…
Along the way I fell asleep.
What seems like just a couple of seconds later, Lisa is trying to wake me up and Ben is trying to unbuckle my seatbelt.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m thinking that these two have put in a full day’s work on me and would really like to get to bed themselves. I can be so considerate… But I haven’t a clue how to help them.
“Sandy, we’re going to put you in the wheelchair and take you upstairs now, ok?”
“Mo’ ke’”
My ability to speak in English has obviously been replaced by some language not yet known in this part of the universe.
Ben swings my legs out of the car and helps me stand up. He holds me tightly as he swings me around the unfolded wheelchair that Lisa has placed there and locked the wheels. Golly! These guys think of everything! I can feel my IQ hitting a Mensa class rating of 20 or so.
Ben helps me sit in the chair and puts my legs into the footpads while Lisa unlocks the wheels.
I feel like a Raggedy-Ann doll. Actually I kind of look like one also between the bandages and my limp body,
They wheel me back to my room. As part of my pre-op preparation, I had given Lisa one of my room keys. That way I wouldn’t have to bring anything with me to the clinic.
They get me to the room and Lisa unlocks the door.
They wheel me to the bedroom and turn down the bed closest to the bathroom.
“Sandy, do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“YES”
One of the things my brainicac mind noticed was that I felt very swollen. When I looked at my hands I couldn’t see any tendons or veins. Again some deep thought produced the supposition that they had been pumping my body full of saline while I was under and I had absorbed it like a sponge. I would all come out sooner or later. But I was so swollen I could barely make a fist.
I remember from my orchiectomy operation just a couple of months prior, I was under anesthesia for less than an hour. A similar swelling happened there but nowhere near as severe. In that operation I gained about two and a half pounds of water overall. I could only imagine how much I had gained then.
They wheel me into the bathroom lock everything in place, help me sit and give me some privacy.
In the background I hear them talking about how to get me bedded down and how much medication I should have prior to sleeping.
A few minutes later they check on me and help me back to my wheelchair. They wheel me back to the bed and help me to lie down.
Lisa said; “Sandy, I’ll be right her for you from now on. Don’t sit up or try to get out of bed on your own for now. Just call me and I’ll take care of anything you need,”
“OK” I’m such a deep conversationalist. I should go on one of those deep intellectual talk shows like Maury Povicich,
Lisa gives me some pills and more water and says;
“That was the vicoden and valium. Just relax for now. You should fall asleep soon. Just remember don’t get out of bed, without calling for me first OK?”
“OK, THANK YOU LISA”
I try to relax. I’m propped up with a lot of pillows in at about a 45 degree angle. I try to relax.
Lisa says; "Sandy, I've made a wad of gauze. Hold it between your teeth so you can breathe through your mouth. That way your lips won't stick together, OK?"
"OK" I feel Lisa open my lips and push the gauze between my teeth. I can breathe but my mouth feels like a dessert.
My pain mantra does start to help. I take deep breaths and try to relax my body as much as possible.
I close my eyes and feel my muscles relax from the effects of the meds and meditation.
Finally I drop off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
As I feel myself losing consciousness, I ask myself one more time why I did this.
The answer is the same. I did this to save my life. I truly had no other choice. But if I had to do all over again, while I wouldn’t change a thing, perhaps I wouldn’t be skipping into the operating room next time!
-Sandy(it was a BIG truck!)
****LIGHTS ON****
I become aware of some caustic fumes deep in my lungs and start coughing.
My body is racked with agony. In the distance I hear someone saying something to me but I can’t make it out…
Again I feel the fumes in my lungs.
“Come on Sandy, take deep breaths…” I begin coughing again.
“That’s it girl, keep taking deep breaths and try to cough”
The agony now becomes more focused more in my upper chest and face. I wanted to run away from it all.
I say something that I never though I would ever say:
“My God! Why have I done this to myself! What was I thinking?”
Actually, my lips were still numb from the anesthesia and the surgical changes made to them. So as a result, I think what came out was:
“Mwe Fd! Ha ha I dom thr to mslf!”
“Come on Sandy, keep taking deep breaths, you’ll be fine!”
“Here, I’ve placed your feet against my legs I want you to try to push yourself up if you can.”
I pushed some and made a little progress.
A female voice then says “Sandy, I want you to push against me. Ben will help pull you up on the cart.”
I try but I don’t want to hurt her.
“It’s OK, Sandy try push hard against me. Really I can take it. I do this all the time!”
With a massive effort on my part I push against the person holding my feet. I feel arms under my armpits helping to lift me into position.
I try to open my eyes, but the light is too bright and my eyes fill with tears. I’m not sure whether it is from the light or the agony or my emotions. I’m still not conscious enough to make out much of anything.
The pain is nonstop. I think that if I had gone bobbing for French fries it wouldn’t have felt this horrid!
Someone wipes my eyes and asks me to open them. I try but I still can’t focus on much of anything. I can make out some indistinct shapes that I think are the ones who have been talking to me.
I blink a few more times and my vision starts to clear. I become aware of an incredibly tight bandage around my face. I can’t breath through my nose. I can barely move my head because of the constriction from the bandage.
The male voice says;
“Sandy, how do you feel?”
“Mbe kl cp!”
“Try that again, I can barely make out what you are saying”
With a prodigious effort and trying to make every word distinct I say;
“I FEEL LIKE CRAP!”
“Good! That means that the anesthesia is wearing off. Keep trying to take deep breaths. But don’t breath through your nose. It’s packed from the operation. You’ll have to leave it there for the next couple of days. Just keep breathing through your mouth.”
This guy is just a fountain of good news…
“I HURT A LOT!”
“Well what did you expect? You’ve been operated on for about the last ten hours or so, how do you think you should feel?”
I swear, I’m going to hunt this guy down when I heal and beat the crap out of him.
“We’ll get you some Vicoden in a little bit, but you have to stay awake and take deep breaths!”
The female voice says;
“Sandy, when we get you stabilized, we’ll be taking you back to the hotel, OK?”
“WHAT?”
“In a little while we’ll help you to get to the wheel chair and take you back to the hotel…”
“OK”
In my mind I know there is nothing to do for the pain but to endure it. I try to muster my pain mantra but to no avail. I cannot take myself to a different place, a happy place that is away from the pain. It keeps coming over me in waves.
I keep blinking and the light becomes more tolerable and the shapes start to become clearer. I can detect the difference between the male and female staff that were trying to stabilize me, make me conscious and get me moving.
I had entered the clinic just a little past 6:30 in the morning. Only the operating staff was there at the time.
It was now well past 11:00 PM in the evening and everyone except we three had left. The doctor could come back to the clinic on a moments notice if necessary, but actually I was recovering as well as could be expected and coming around after all the anesthesia they had pumped into me quite well. At least that is what I had been told later.
“Sandy, we have to remove your catheter now”
“YOU COULDN’T HAVE DONE THAT WHILE I WAS ASLEEP!?!”
“Don’t worry, this will only take a second. You’ll feel some tugging but it shouldn’t hurt.”
I feel some severe tugging then searing pain.
“OOOOWWWWW!!!!! IT HURTS LIKE HELL!!!”
“That’s ok, Sandy, it’s out now. Yeah sometimes when the catheter is in that long it can get a little stuck…”
I’m going to find the truck that hit me and make sure it hits him! I owe this guy big-time!
Speaking of trucks, I’m still feeling like the truck that hit me actually went around the block and came around for another go at me. Then backed up and made sure he did the job right.
“I’M STILL FEELING LIKE CRAP!”
“Ok, Sandy, we’ll have something for you in just a second. Hang in there, girl”
Like I’ve got somewhere else to go? This guy is just a full of good news.
After what feels like an eternity later someone is trying to open my lips. My mouth is so dry that my tongue doesn’t feel like a part of me. I try to push my lips apart. I feel a part of a tablet enter my mouth. Then the female says “I’m going to put some water in your mouth. Try to swallow the tablet.
I feel a few drops of liquid enter my mouth and like someone dying of thirst I gulp it down. I completely forget about the tablet. It is now stuck at the back of my throat. “Here try again.”
More liquid and this time I manage to swallow the tablet. I wish I had about a gallon of that wonderful liquid they had given me. I think it’s called… water.
“Ok, now, Sandy, we’re going to help you sit up and help you get into the wheel chair.”
All this “we” stuff. I just want to be left alone for about the next ten years or so. Then maybe I could try climbing under a rock somewhere where the pain couldn’t find me.
“OK…”
I feel the hands of the guy and girl help lift me to a sitting position and gently spin me around move my legs off the table. The movement makes the fire on my chest burn more.
“Ok, now Sandy, we’re going to help you stand. The wheel chair is right next to the bed. Just lean on us and we’ll help you get into the chair.”
“OK”
The hands help me to slide off the gurney and as I try to get my feet under me I realize I have to lean on them. I have no strength whatsoever to stand on my own. I lean into their arms and they move me to the wheelchair.
Then I feel hands lift my legs and place them on the footpads of the wheel chair.
The female asks, “How do you feel, Sandy?”
“I FEEL VERY DIZZY”
“So I guess you don’t want to go back out to that bistro we went to last night for a quick snack?”
After some deep mental calculation and thought and sifting through my memories that feel like they’ve been scattered to the four winds, a name comes to me…
“LISA?” The lady from Compassionate Care that I had dinner with just the previous evening. When I thought about it real hard I seem to remember I had a fun time.
“Yeah, hon! I was just joking about going out. You’ll be eating through a straw for the next few days.”
“I’M VERY TIRED”
“That’s ok. We’ll get you to the car and get you back to the hotel and get you bedded down for the night. You did great! You came through with no problems at all!”
“I STILL FEEL LIKE SHIT”
“Well, hon, you’re going to feel like that for a while I’m afraid. You will get better though. Just keep thinking about that!”
“I CAN BARELY SEE”
“Well, your eyes are really swollen right now. Actually it’s surprising you can see anything at all!”
“We’re going to unlock the wheelchair now and start moving you to the car, OK?”
“OK”
I feel the wheels unlock and the chair begins to move. The male voice says; “I’ll open the doors so you can just move her straight to the car.”
I feel movement. Lisa says; “How are you feeling? Are you dizzy or nauseous at all?”
“NO”
“Ok, we’ll be at the car in just a few seconds. Hang in there and keep taking deep breaths. It will help clear the anesthesia.
Soon I feel the night air on my body. Somewhere along the line I realize I have my clothes on. My Einsteinien brain after only a few seconds of deep thought comes to the conclusion that they must have dressed me while I was drifting in and out of consciousness.
Over and over in my head I keep asking myself, “Why did I do this to myself?”
What in the world possessed me to put myself through such agony!? There must be a word that is more appropriate than agony for the way I felt, but I can’t come up with it.
Eventually the memory comes back to me:
“Sandy, you had no choice. You had to run out of the burning building that was your deteriorating masculinity. If you hadn’t taken these steps, you would have been dead by now.”
Oh yeah, that’s why.
“I’M FINDING IT HARD TO BREATH! MY CHEST HURS AND FEELS TOO TIGHT”
“Sandy, you just had breast augmentation. Your breasts are bandaged tight against your body to keep them from moving for right now. Just keep trying to breathe as deep as you can. The bandages are elastic and will stretch.”
Oh yeah, that too… I’m feeling like a bit of a dim bulb. Actually a dim bulb is smarter than I am. My brain just recently checked back in from where ever it went while I was having my “overhaul”.
Soon we are at Lisa’s car. She is going to be taking me back to the hotel. Somewhere in the back of my mind was the thought that if I felt embarrassed before when I was waiting for the doctor to come pick me up, I can just imagine what I’m going to be looking like when they wheel me into the hotel now! About then, really couldn’t care less. My ability to be embarrassed was still backlogged in my brain that was still busy trying to unpack from its vacation.
“Sandy, we’re at the car now. We’re going to lock the wheels and help you into the care, OK?”
“OK”
I appreciate how they explain everything they are about to do to/for me. I really have the mental capability of a hockey puck right about then so this is very helpful.
Much like the gurney, Lisa and the guy almost physically lift me into a standing position and maneuver me into the car.
Someone, the guy, I think, buckles me in.
Lisa gets in the drivers seat. Ben, the guy with all the joyful news and finesse removing my catheter takes the wheelchair and folds it into the back seat.
“I’ll follow you back and we can get her into bed” he says.
Lisa starts the car and we head back to the hotel.
As my brain continues to unpack, I realize that this hotel is one of main hotels that the Doctor uses for the recovery of his patients. They must see people like me roll in all the time.
I think my IQ is up to 12 or 14 by then…
Along the way I fell asleep.
What seems like just a couple of seconds later, Lisa is trying to wake me up and Ben is trying to unbuckle my seatbelt.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m thinking that these two have put in a full day’s work on me and would really like to get to bed themselves. I can be so considerate… But I haven’t a clue how to help them.
“Sandy, we’re going to put you in the wheelchair and take you upstairs now, ok?”
“Mo’ ke’”
My ability to speak in English has obviously been replaced by some language not yet known in this part of the universe.
Ben swings my legs out of the car and helps me stand up. He holds me tightly as he swings me around the unfolded wheelchair that Lisa has placed there and locked the wheels. Golly! These guys think of everything! I can feel my IQ hitting a Mensa class rating of 20 or so.
Ben helps me sit in the chair and puts my legs into the footpads while Lisa unlocks the wheels.
I feel like a Raggedy-Ann doll. Actually I kind of look like one also between the bandages and my limp body,
They wheel me back to my room. As part of my pre-op preparation, I had given Lisa one of my room keys. That way I wouldn’t have to bring anything with me to the clinic.
They get me to the room and Lisa unlocks the door.
They wheel me to the bedroom and turn down the bed closest to the bathroom.
“Sandy, do you need to go to the bathroom?”
“YES”
One of the things my brainicac mind noticed was that I felt very swollen. When I looked at my hands I couldn’t see any tendons or veins. Again some deep thought produced the supposition that they had been pumping my body full of saline while I was under and I had absorbed it like a sponge. I would all come out sooner or later. But I was so swollen I could barely make a fist.
I remember from my orchiectomy operation just a couple of months prior, I was under anesthesia for less than an hour. A similar swelling happened there but nowhere near as severe. In that operation I gained about two and a half pounds of water overall. I could only imagine how much I had gained then.
They wheel me into the bathroom lock everything in place, help me sit and give me some privacy.
In the background I hear them talking about how to get me bedded down and how much medication I should have prior to sleeping.
A few minutes later they check on me and help me back to my wheelchair. They wheel me back to the bed and help me to lie down.
Lisa said; “Sandy, I’ll be right her for you from now on. Don’t sit up or try to get out of bed on your own for now. Just call me and I’ll take care of anything you need,”
“OK” I’m such a deep conversationalist. I should go on one of those deep intellectual talk shows like Maury Povicich,
Lisa gives me some pills and more water and says;
“That was the vicoden and valium. Just relax for now. You should fall asleep soon. Just remember don’t get out of bed, without calling for me first OK?”
“OK, THANK YOU LISA”
I try to relax. I’m propped up with a lot of pillows in at about a 45 degree angle. I try to relax.
Lisa says; "Sandy, I've made a wad of gauze. Hold it between your teeth so you can breathe through your mouth. That way your lips won't stick together, OK?"
"OK" I feel Lisa open my lips and push the gauze between my teeth. I can breathe but my mouth feels like a dessert.
My pain mantra does start to help. I take deep breaths and try to relax my body as much as possible.
I close my eyes and feel my muscles relax from the effects of the meds and meditation.
Finally I drop off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
As I feel myself losing consciousness, I ask myself one more time why I did this.
The answer is the same. I did this to save my life. I truly had no other choice. But if I had to do all over again, while I wouldn’t change a thing, perhaps I wouldn’t be skipping into the operating room next time!
-Sandy(it was a BIG truck!)
Friday, August 3, 2007
Christmas Finally Arrives! Saturday, the day of Surgery!
Christmas Finally Arrives! Saturday, the day of Surgery!
Saturday, July 21.
This post may be a bit shorter because I spent most of the day under anesthesia so there may not be all that much to describe…
Even having set the alarm for 5:00, my eyes popped open right at 4:45, I knew I was anxious, but I thought I could make it to 5:00. No such luck. I was wide awake. So I got up and started my shower. This was one of those special showers where you are to use antibacterial soap, all over your body. You normally don’t use that type of soap that way as it can be too harsh on the system, But for pre-surgical preparation it is appropriate. Especially in your hair as they will be working extensively in your scalp but don’t need you to shave your head (thank goodness!).
Even taking my time it was still like 5:30 by time I got done and was dressed in my tracksuit with the zipper front ready to go.
No breakfast, no water, nothing of any kind in my stomach. On a whim I called Julie Marie. I thought I would get her voicemail and leave her a message about how I was getting ready to go and how she was missed at the girls’ night out the previously night.
To my surprise, Julie herself answers. She was up early and was taking her time getting ready to go to work.
We chatted for quite a while. She was so very disappointed missing my last supper.
One of Julie’s disappointments was not being able to see my old face one last time. As it turned out however, Friday morning, our schedules actually coincided and we actually had a few minutes to have breakfast together before we had to rush off to work. So actually she did get a chance to see my old face one last time.
She wished me all the best and hoped everything would go well. About that time I got a call from Dr Z. saying he would be at the front door in about two minutes. So I said my goodbyes to Julie and headed downstairs.
The doctor recommends that you come to the clinic on the day of surgery basically in your pajamas and slippers or comfortable shoes. No hats, wigs, jewelry, makeup. Also you are instructed to wear nothing tight, white, or pulls over your head. The reasons are obvious. I spent weeks looking for pajama sets that would button up on top. Even guy PJs. That isn’t the style anymore! All the girl pajamas I could find all had pullover tops and the guy pajama tops consist mainly of a bottom, and a robe. I guess that guys can either sleep bare chested (I guess that’s supposed to be sexy) or they could wear a regular t-shirt (maybe that’s supposed to be sexy too, I don’t know about that myself).
Anyway, what I did have was a red tracksuit type of outfit that had a zipper hoodie and wide elastic pants. But it was velour not cotton. Not really designed for running, but close enough. It wasn’t tight, white or pulled over my head. Since I have gunboat size feet, finding slippers for me is extremely difficult, actually impossible, so I just went with my comfortable shoes. I had underpants on but no bra. I figured that any bra I owned would soon be obsolete so why even bother?
I did feel just a little embarrassed waiting for the doctor. There were a couple of people waiting for taxis, I guess, and me with no makeup or wig or any sort of adornment and wearing an obviously feminine tracksuit made me feel a little andro. I didn’t look much like a girl at all despite all the hormones and the softening of the face I’ve had from the medications I still felt out of place.
Fortunately, the doctor showed up just a couple of minutes later. And we were off to the clinic.
You have to admit that being picked up by the doctor who is going to perform your surgery is impressive. He could have easily sent one of his staff to pick me up or have sent a taxi for me.
But he wanted to have time to discuss any last minute questions I might have had or to calm my nerves if I was nervous. I was neither one of those so we chatted about his upcoming vacation.
We got to the clinic in about ten minutes. He parked the car and escorted me into the clinic. He showed me into one of the examination rooms and gave me a gown to wear and showed me where I could put my clothes while I was in the operating room.
A few minutes after I got changed, the doctor and the anesthesiologist came in with a bunch of legal forms I had to sign. Then the doctor took one last look at my face started drawing on my face and chest with a marker to point out where he would be operating.
After he got done with me I looked in the mirror and felt my face looked like a road map! He used some colors to indicate where he would be working under the skin and other colors where he would be making incisions. And I think the tic-tac-toe board was a joke…
He then said he was going to scrub up and get ready. I was then put into the capable hands of his staff.
I was soon escorted to the operating room were I was laid out on the table and the nurses and technicians helped me off with my gown and covered me with a sheet. They attached an IV to my arm and we joked around a bit and they did everything to put me at ease, I remember looking up at the surgical lights that would soon be illuminating me. I was feeling pretty comfortable, a little nervous, but thinking; “Finally this is happening! This is REAL. I am finally going to have what I’ve been wanting most of my life!”
Then the anesthesiologist came up to me and said the now familiar words: “We’re going to put you to sleep now so that we can finish prepping you for your surgery and intubate you for the surgery. I was about to say “Thanks…” when…
****LIGHTS OUT****
-Sandy(the sandman has nothing on these guys!)
This post may be a bit shorter because I spent most of the day under anesthesia so there may not be all that much to describe…
Even having set the alarm for 5:00, my eyes popped open right at 4:45, I knew I was anxious, but I thought I could make it to 5:00. No such luck. I was wide awake. So I got up and started my shower. This was one of those special showers where you are to use antibacterial soap, all over your body. You normally don’t use that type of soap that way as it can be too harsh on the system, But for pre-surgical preparation it is appropriate. Especially in your hair as they will be working extensively in your scalp but don’t need you to shave your head (thank goodness!).
Even taking my time it was still like 5:30 by time I got done and was dressed in my tracksuit with the zipper front ready to go.
No breakfast, no water, nothing of any kind in my stomach. On a whim I called Julie Marie. I thought I would get her voicemail and leave her a message about how I was getting ready to go and how she was missed at the girls’ night out the previously night.
To my surprise, Julie herself answers. She was up early and was taking her time getting ready to go to work.
We chatted for quite a while. She was so very disappointed missing my last supper.
One of Julie’s disappointments was not being able to see my old face one last time. As it turned out however, Friday morning, our schedules actually coincided and we actually had a few minutes to have breakfast together before we had to rush off to work. So actually she did get a chance to see my old face one last time.
She wished me all the best and hoped everything would go well. About that time I got a call from Dr Z. saying he would be at the front door in about two minutes. So I said my goodbyes to Julie and headed downstairs.
The doctor recommends that you come to the clinic on the day of surgery basically in your pajamas and slippers or comfortable shoes. No hats, wigs, jewelry, makeup. Also you are instructed to wear nothing tight, white, or pulls over your head. The reasons are obvious. I spent weeks looking for pajama sets that would button up on top. Even guy PJs. That isn’t the style anymore! All the girl pajamas I could find all had pullover tops and the guy pajama tops consist mainly of a bottom, and a robe. I guess that guys can either sleep bare chested (I guess that’s supposed to be sexy) or they could wear a regular t-shirt (maybe that’s supposed to be sexy too, I don’t know about that myself).
Anyway, what I did have was a red tracksuit type of outfit that had a zipper hoodie and wide elastic pants. But it was velour not cotton. Not really designed for running, but close enough. It wasn’t tight, white or pulled over my head. Since I have gunboat size feet, finding slippers for me is extremely difficult, actually impossible, so I just went with my comfortable shoes. I had underpants on but no bra. I figured that any bra I owned would soon be obsolete so why even bother?
I did feel just a little embarrassed waiting for the doctor. There were a couple of people waiting for taxis, I guess, and me with no makeup or wig or any sort of adornment and wearing an obviously feminine tracksuit made me feel a little andro. I didn’t look much like a girl at all despite all the hormones and the softening of the face I’ve had from the medications I still felt out of place.
Fortunately, the doctor showed up just a couple of minutes later. And we were off to the clinic.
You have to admit that being picked up by the doctor who is going to perform your surgery is impressive. He could have easily sent one of his staff to pick me up or have sent a taxi for me.
But he wanted to have time to discuss any last minute questions I might have had or to calm my nerves if I was nervous. I was neither one of those so we chatted about his upcoming vacation.
We got to the clinic in about ten minutes. He parked the car and escorted me into the clinic. He showed me into one of the examination rooms and gave me a gown to wear and showed me where I could put my clothes while I was in the operating room.
A few minutes after I got changed, the doctor and the anesthesiologist came in with a bunch of legal forms I had to sign. Then the doctor took one last look at my face started drawing on my face and chest with a marker to point out where he would be operating.
After he got done with me I looked in the mirror and felt my face looked like a road map! He used some colors to indicate where he would be working under the skin and other colors where he would be making incisions. And I think the tic-tac-toe board was a joke…
He then said he was going to scrub up and get ready. I was then put into the capable hands of his staff.
I was soon escorted to the operating room were I was laid out on the table and the nurses and technicians helped me off with my gown and covered me with a sheet. They attached an IV to my arm and we joked around a bit and they did everything to put me at ease, I remember looking up at the surgical lights that would soon be illuminating me. I was feeling pretty comfortable, a little nervous, but thinking; “Finally this is happening! This is REAL. I am finally going to have what I’ve been wanting most of my life!”
Then the anesthesiologist came up to me and said the now familiar words: “We’re going to put you to sleep now so that we can finish prepping you for your surgery and intubate you for the surgery. I was about to say “Thanks…” when…
****LIGHTS OUT****
-Sandy(the sandman has nothing on these guys!)
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Christmas Finally Arrives! Pre-Surgical Check in day.
Christmas Finally Arrives! Pre-Surgical Check in day.
Alright, ladies. Having spent the better part of ten days getting my body and spirit back into the same place, I guess it's time to talk about how my FFS/BA went.
This will be a *long* story, even by my chatterbox standards and I will break this up into multiple “chapters” instead of one long “War and Peace” type of post.
Anyway, lets go back to the beginning. No not that far back, just to the Friday I checked into the Staybridge hotel where I would be recovering.
Dr. Zukowski put together a really remarkable manual for his patients called the FFS Success manual. Each one is customized for the client that he will be operating on. In there are descriptions of all correspondence, a description in detail of each of the procedures that are going to be performed, a pre-surgical check list, a day before check list, an explanation of what to expect on the day of surgery, what to expect after surgery, ongoing post-surgical maintenance, and for those clients from out of town, the names of the recommended hotels, what taxi services are available and known to be reliable, a list of restaurants in the general area, and maps on how to get to the clinic and hotels from just about anywhere in the major metropolitan area. Whew!.
Plus there is a DVD that he produced that is broken down into three major sections. One is a roundtable discussion from "Z" girl alumni (and that is the official term, "Z" Girl) about their experiences with FFS primarily, how long it took to heal and how long it took for all the various pieces of procedures fit together. And these girls of the discussion have been post-op for anywhere from a few weeks to several years.
The second section of the DVD is the doctor working with an actual patient who had FFS just the day before. He came and described the procedures that the person had, then removed the outer bandages to examine the state of the recovery, then re-wrapped the lady for another twenty four hours. The next segment returns twenty four hours later and does a final unwrap of the outer bandages, unpacking the nose from the rhinoplasty and then cleaning and redressing the incisions. He then describes the most difficult part of the patients recovery. Namely the facial massage that the patient MUST do at least three times a day in order to help the soft tissue re-seat on the cartilage and bone and also force fluid that will drain from the face into the lower jaw. It is a function of gravity. This massage must be performed for several weeks post op if you want your procedure to look as good as possible. The reason I say that this is difficult, besides taking about twenty to thirty minutes to do each time, is that it is initially painful, and after a few days is simply very uncomfortable. But it must be done. I personally have noticed how well my healing is coming along because I am trying my best to maintain this regimen. Face it girls, you've just become a high-maintenance woman! BTW: No makeup, wig or other adornment like jewelry for at least ten to fifteen days. You have incisions that need to heal, and putting makeup into those incisions is just inviting an infection. Deal with it.
The other part of the postoperative maintenance that the patient must perform is the wearing of an admittedly medieval torture device called a compression garment. I know it is medieval because the instructions are in Latin and the last person it was used on was called Galileo. It does what it says. It is an elastic garment that will compress your lower jaw and cheeks so that there will be less swelling between massages. This must be worn at all times if possible. Once you return to work you don't necessarily have to wear it, but it should be worn at all other times for the following two to three months. Trust me you really look like a fashion plate wearing it! It's ugly, uncomfortable and needs regular cleaning. Realize, ladies, that these procedures require you to play an active role in your healing. Unlike other surgical procedures, like an appendectomy, all you have to do is reduce your activity and your body will heal on it's own. That is true here as well, but you must help direct your body HOW to heal! Otherwise you will spend many weeks recovering and you will really not get the results you were hoping for. It's not fun, it's not painless, but after all the money you spend for this would you want to do anything but take the very best care of yourself as possible? Think of it like buying a new car (it costs about the same). When the instructions say, for example, don't over-rev the engine for the first five hundred miles, do you really want to endanger having to install a new engine just because you felt like over-revving the engine?
The third section of the DVD covers the major issues displayed in the second part, but this time in a more clinical session using one of his staff as a demonstrator, Basically Dr Zukowski explains in great detail again the need for constant care of your face and the need for the three times daily massage.
I went to work on Friday with the intension of driving from work to the hotel. Naturally, that day like the day before Christmas was about the slowest time I have ever spent sitting at a desk.
Driving from downtown Chicago to the north side was tedious. Fortunately I had a friend of mine call me just as I was getting on the expressway and we chatted all the way up there. Thanks Wendy!
When I checked in, there was a message left for me from Lisa Lopez of Compassionate care. She was offering to go out to dinner with me, as it would be my “last supper”. When I got settled in, I called her and accepted her offer.
I also had an appointment at the clinic for a lymphatic drainage session. Rena the lady who performs the process is a seven-year post op female and extremely joyous in her outlook on life. I invited her to dinner too. It turns out the “last supper” is kind of a tradition for girls who are going to go through major surgery who have to stop all food and drink after midnight, so the plan is usually to live it up a bit before you have to go dry. One of Rena’s friend was there as well and I invited her too.
After my session with Rena, as I was on my way back to the Staybridge, I got a call from Julie,too as she is known around here. She said she could come to dinner, but Julie Marie could not make it as she was being pulled into a last minute dinner with a high ranking member of the company she works for and felt obligated to go. Of course I understood and told Julie,too to call me when she got on the road so I could tell her where we were going to end up since none of us girls had a clue about what we wanted to eat.
They were all supportive of me choosing, but I really didn’t care so long as it was good food and we could have a good time.
Well trying to get four women to agree on just about anything can be more difficult than getting a resolution through the United Nations! We must have thrashed for almost half an hour before we came up with an idea so that is the way we went.
Another friend of the group of us called Liz called Rena, I think, and we invited her to dinner as well. What a gaggle of girls!
Liz met us at the bistro just shortly after we got seated.
Julie,too had not quite shown up but was only about twenty minutes late by time we got seated.
It was a wonderful upscale type of “place” which I think actually specialized in bowling and bocce ball but had a top-notch bistro.
Anyway by time Julie,too showed up we were still trying to decide on an appetizer! We were such chatterboxes! Anyway we split a few different dishes between us (there was a lot of food) so we all had a chance to try different things.
And we talked about *everything* you can imagine a bunch of woman could talk about. After what seemed like a short time later, I looked up and noticed we were the only ones left in the restaurant! God that was fun!
I’m sure the waitress got quite an earful from us! Let’s see, two GG’s and four transsexuals, most pretty well lubricated with excellent food, friends and liquor. We were in rare form. I had a blast!
By time we left I had only about half an hour left before I turned into a pumpkin and had to be completely dry and without food. I didn’t bring any food from the bistro back with me because I didn’t want the temptation. But we said our goodbyes in the parking lot and hugged a lot and Lisa and I hustled back to the hotel. She would be staying there while I recovered.
I got back to the room and Lisa checked in on me just to make sure I was all settled in. I had two big glasses of water and finished them just as the clock on the microwave changed to 12:00.
Ok, I thought, here is where the roller coaster REALLY starts. I climbed into bed and tried to get to sleep. Actually sleep came pretty easily for me. After the drive up there and the wonderful time I had with my friends at the bistro (and the triptophan in the pasta I had) I dropped off pretty quickly.
I had set the alarm for 5:00 so I could take a shower before I was to be picked up by the doctor at 6:15 AM.
One of the last thoughts I remember having before I drifted off was “Oh boy! This is where it finally starts!”
-Sandy (More to come!)
This will be a *long* story, even by my chatterbox standards and I will break this up into multiple “chapters” instead of one long “War and Peace” type of post.
Anyway, lets go back to the beginning. No not that far back, just to the Friday I checked into the Staybridge hotel where I would be recovering.
Dr. Zukowski put together a really remarkable manual for his patients called the FFS Success manual. Each one is customized for the client that he will be operating on. In there are descriptions of all correspondence, a description in detail of each of the procedures that are going to be performed, a pre-surgical check list, a day before check list, an explanation of what to expect on the day of surgery, what to expect after surgery, ongoing post-surgical maintenance, and for those clients from out of town, the names of the recommended hotels, what taxi services are available and known to be reliable, a list of restaurants in the general area, and maps on how to get to the clinic and hotels from just about anywhere in the major metropolitan area. Whew!.
Plus there is a DVD that he produced that is broken down into three major sections. One is a roundtable discussion from "Z" girl alumni (and that is the official term, "Z" Girl) about their experiences with FFS primarily, how long it took to heal and how long it took for all the various pieces of procedures fit together. And these girls of the discussion have been post-op for anywhere from a few weeks to several years.
The second section of the DVD is the doctor working with an actual patient who had FFS just the day before. He came and described the procedures that the person had, then removed the outer bandages to examine the state of the recovery, then re-wrapped the lady for another twenty four hours. The next segment returns twenty four hours later and does a final unwrap of the outer bandages, unpacking the nose from the rhinoplasty and then cleaning and redressing the incisions. He then describes the most difficult part of the patients recovery. Namely the facial massage that the patient MUST do at least three times a day in order to help the soft tissue re-seat on the cartilage and bone and also force fluid that will drain from the face into the lower jaw. It is a function of gravity. This massage must be performed for several weeks post op if you want your procedure to look as good as possible. The reason I say that this is difficult, besides taking about twenty to thirty minutes to do each time, is that it is initially painful, and after a few days is simply very uncomfortable. But it must be done. I personally have noticed how well my healing is coming along because I am trying my best to maintain this regimen. Face it girls, you've just become a high-maintenance woman! BTW: No makeup, wig or other adornment like jewelry for at least ten to fifteen days. You have incisions that need to heal, and putting makeup into those incisions is just inviting an infection. Deal with it.
The other part of the postoperative maintenance that the patient must perform is the wearing of an admittedly medieval torture device called a compression garment. I know it is medieval because the instructions are in Latin and the last person it was used on was called Galileo. It does what it says. It is an elastic garment that will compress your lower jaw and cheeks so that there will be less swelling between massages. This must be worn at all times if possible. Once you return to work you don't necessarily have to wear it, but it should be worn at all other times for the following two to three months. Trust me you really look like a fashion plate wearing it! It's ugly, uncomfortable and needs regular cleaning. Realize, ladies, that these procedures require you to play an active role in your healing. Unlike other surgical procedures, like an appendectomy, all you have to do is reduce your activity and your body will heal on it's own. That is true here as well, but you must help direct your body HOW to heal! Otherwise you will spend many weeks recovering and you will really not get the results you were hoping for. It's not fun, it's not painless, but after all the money you spend for this would you want to do anything but take the very best care of yourself as possible? Think of it like buying a new car (it costs about the same). When the instructions say, for example, don't over-rev the engine for the first five hundred miles, do you really want to endanger having to install a new engine just because you felt like over-revving the engine?
The third section of the DVD covers the major issues displayed in the second part, but this time in a more clinical session using one of his staff as a demonstrator, Basically Dr Zukowski explains in great detail again the need for constant care of your face and the need for the three times daily massage.
I went to work on Friday with the intension of driving from work to the hotel. Naturally, that day like the day before Christmas was about the slowest time I have ever spent sitting at a desk.
Driving from downtown Chicago to the north side was tedious. Fortunately I had a friend of mine call me just as I was getting on the expressway and we chatted all the way up there. Thanks Wendy!
When I checked in, there was a message left for me from Lisa Lopez of Compassionate care. She was offering to go out to dinner with me, as it would be my “last supper”. When I got settled in, I called her and accepted her offer.
I also had an appointment at the clinic for a lymphatic drainage session. Rena the lady who performs the process is a seven-year post op female and extremely joyous in her outlook on life. I invited her to dinner too. It turns out the “last supper” is kind of a tradition for girls who are going to go through major surgery who have to stop all food and drink after midnight, so the plan is usually to live it up a bit before you have to go dry. One of Rena’s friend was there as well and I invited her too.
After my session with Rena, as I was on my way back to the Staybridge, I got a call from Julie,too as she is known around here. She said she could come to dinner, but Julie Marie could not make it as she was being pulled into a last minute dinner with a high ranking member of the company she works for and felt obligated to go. Of course I understood and told Julie,too to call me when she got on the road so I could tell her where we were going to end up since none of us girls had a clue about what we wanted to eat.
They were all supportive of me choosing, but I really didn’t care so long as it was good food and we could have a good time.
Well trying to get four women to agree on just about anything can be more difficult than getting a resolution through the United Nations! We must have thrashed for almost half an hour before we came up with an idea so that is the way we went.
Another friend of the group of us called Liz called Rena, I think, and we invited her to dinner as well. What a gaggle of girls!
Liz met us at the bistro just shortly after we got seated.
Julie,too had not quite shown up but was only about twenty minutes late by time we got seated.
It was a wonderful upscale type of “place” which I think actually specialized in bowling and bocce ball but had a top-notch bistro.
Anyway by time Julie,too showed up we were still trying to decide on an appetizer! We were such chatterboxes! Anyway we split a few different dishes between us (there was a lot of food) so we all had a chance to try different things.
And we talked about *everything* you can imagine a bunch of woman could talk about. After what seemed like a short time later, I looked up and noticed we were the only ones left in the restaurant! God that was fun!
I’m sure the waitress got quite an earful from us! Let’s see, two GG’s and four transsexuals, most pretty well lubricated with excellent food, friends and liquor. We were in rare form. I had a blast!
By time we left I had only about half an hour left before I turned into a pumpkin and had to be completely dry and without food. I didn’t bring any food from the bistro back with me because I didn’t want the temptation. But we said our goodbyes in the parking lot and hugged a lot and Lisa and I hustled back to the hotel. She would be staying there while I recovered.
I got back to the room and Lisa checked in on me just to make sure I was all settled in. I had two big glasses of water and finished them just as the clock on the microwave changed to 12:00.
Ok, I thought, here is where the roller coaster REALLY starts. I climbed into bed and tried to get to sleep. Actually sleep came pretty easily for me. After the drive up there and the wonderful time I had with my friends at the bistro (and the triptophan in the pasta I had) I dropped off pretty quickly.
I had set the alarm for 5:00 so I could take a shower before I was to be picked up by the doctor at 6:15 AM.
One of the last thoughts I remember having before I drifted off was “Oh boy! This is where it finally starts!”
-Sandy (More to come!)
Friday, July 27, 2007
You are NOT prepared!
You are NOT prepared!
My dear friends, first let me tell you that I am doing fine and I will be posting pictures soon.
But I wanted to start a thread as part of my transsexual advocacy that is not all giggles and fun.
First remember that I am a transsexual and I have always been a transsexual and I will always be a transsexual. In no way am I questioning my decision to go forward with this nor do I have any doubts that this was the absolute right thing to do. So let's get that straight ok, people?
Given the choice I would do this again without any hesitation. My need to become the woman I know I am is the one thing that has made me sane for perhaps the first time in my life.
What no post-op of any type has mentioned was the shock it was to wake up after surgery. There are many FFS and SRS women on this list and all of them talk about what a thrill it was to finally be who there were meant to be.
Over my next several posts in this thread, I will tell you, while it is still fresh in my head, the way I was unprepared for the pain that would overtake me once consciousness returned and the ongoing pain that I have as I go through the healing process.
Ladies, I have been through some major surgeries in my life. I have experienced some very severe pain in my time. And without going into too much detail, I have a certain level of constant pain for that has been with me for over 25 years. So I thought I was prepared for what would await me when I woke up after surgery.
Not even close.
I'll have posts of what all the fun things that happened in the clinic and the truly extraordinary staff that Dr Zukowski has from the receptionist all the way through to the Doctor himself. He accepts nothing but the absolute best from his staff at all times. The proof in that pudding are his other "Z" girls, and soon myself. I will be a beautiful Z girl and proud of it!. And you don't get that by being mediocre.
No the problem here was absolutely and completely ME. When anesthesia kicks in, it is ***LIGHTS OUT***. There is no drifting off to sleep, no counting backward from 100, nothing. Just the anesthesiologist saying that their about to put you out so they can intubate you.
(By the way, I will be discussing things in blatant medical terms. If you are squeamish about that, move along to one of my happy posts.)
The next thing that occurs is that you really have no knowledge of the passage of time. It is like a light switch. One moment you are off, the next moment you are on. There is no gentle return to consciousness, just like there was no real drifting off to sleep.
You may have your eyes closed or you may not understand what is being said around you. But one thing will be absolutely clear.
YOU WILL BE IN PAIN! Not a little "Oh I've just had an orchiectomy" pain, or "What was the number of the truck that hit me" pain. To my mind there is no description for the level of pain you will feel.
And that will be your closest companion for at least the next twenty four hours. Even with the industrial strength pain relievers they will give you.
There are more nerve endings in the face than there are just about anywhere else in the body. So to my feelings right now even SRS may be less uncomfortable than FFS.
Now you other ladies who've been through both, let me know. Which one caused more discomfort?
I'm going to go with SRS regardless so I guess I'll find out myself soon enough. As I said before nothing is going to stop me.
To you caregivers who will be with your SO's as they go through this. YOU ARE NOT PREPARED either unless you have a nursing or medical background. The amount of support your spouse, friend, acquaintance needs is more than just about anything else you may have had to do for another human being.
Now before you ladies start either running for the exit or get a posse together for a necktie party in my honor, let me again say, I am happier now, though very tender, than I have been in my life.
If I could trade places with reverend butt-head who thinks that this is a sexual turn on or some sort of perversion and that simply reading from scripture will cure me, I would trade with him in a minute and he may not be transsexual but he would come away with a much clearer idea of what we people of two spirits endure just to live.
I didn't want to bring everyones day down, but I am just now able to stay awake long enough to put a sentence together that doesn't sound like I'm a girl from the sixties (which I am by the way).
I just wanted to warn all of you who are contemplating this extreme measure that you will have a very, very rude awakening on that Christmas morning.
-Sandy (much humbled)
But I wanted to start a thread as part of my transsexual advocacy that is not all giggles and fun.
First remember that I am a transsexual and I have always been a transsexual and I will always be a transsexual. In no way am I questioning my decision to go forward with this nor do I have any doubts that this was the absolute right thing to do. So let's get that straight ok, people?
Given the choice I would do this again without any hesitation. My need to become the woman I know I am is the one thing that has made me sane for perhaps the first time in my life.
What no post-op of any type has mentioned was the shock it was to wake up after surgery. There are many FFS and SRS women on this list and all of them talk about what a thrill it was to finally be who there were meant to be.
Over my next several posts in this thread, I will tell you, while it is still fresh in my head, the way I was unprepared for the pain that would overtake me once consciousness returned and the ongoing pain that I have as I go through the healing process.
Ladies, I have been through some major surgeries in my life. I have experienced some very severe pain in my time. And without going into too much detail, I have a certain level of constant pain for that has been with me for over 25 years. So I thought I was prepared for what would await me when I woke up after surgery.
Not even close.
I'll have posts of what all the fun things that happened in the clinic and the truly extraordinary staff that Dr Zukowski has from the receptionist all the way through to the Doctor himself. He accepts nothing but the absolute best from his staff at all times. The proof in that pudding are his other "Z" girls, and soon myself. I will be a beautiful Z girl and proud of it!. And you don't get that by being mediocre.
No the problem here was absolutely and completely ME. When anesthesia kicks in, it is ***LIGHTS OUT***. There is no drifting off to sleep, no counting backward from 100, nothing. Just the anesthesiologist saying that their about to put you out so they can intubate you.
(By the way, I will be discussing things in blatant medical terms. If you are squeamish about that, move along to one of my happy posts.)
The next thing that occurs is that you really have no knowledge of the passage of time. It is like a light switch. One moment you are off, the next moment you are on. There is no gentle return to consciousness, just like there was no real drifting off to sleep.
You may have your eyes closed or you may not understand what is being said around you. But one thing will be absolutely clear.
YOU WILL BE IN PAIN! Not a little "Oh I've just had an orchiectomy" pain, or "What was the number of the truck that hit me" pain. To my mind there is no description for the level of pain you will feel.
And that will be your closest companion for at least the next twenty four hours. Even with the industrial strength pain relievers they will give you.
There are more nerve endings in the face than there are just about anywhere else in the body. So to my feelings right now even SRS may be less uncomfortable than FFS.
Now you other ladies who've been through both, let me know. Which one caused more discomfort?
I'm going to go with SRS regardless so I guess I'll find out myself soon enough. As I said before nothing is going to stop me.
To you caregivers who will be with your SO's as they go through this. YOU ARE NOT PREPARED either unless you have a nursing or medical background. The amount of support your spouse, friend, acquaintance needs is more than just about anything else you may have had to do for another human being.
Now before you ladies start either running for the exit or get a posse together for a necktie party in my honor, let me again say, I am happier now, though very tender, than I have been in my life.
If I could trade places with reverend butt-head who thinks that this is a sexual turn on or some sort of perversion and that simply reading from scripture will cure me, I would trade with him in a minute and he may not be transsexual but he would come away with a much clearer idea of what we people of two spirits endure just to live.
I didn't want to bring everyones day down, but I am just now able to stay awake long enough to put a sentence together that doesn't sound like I'm a girl from the sixties (which I am by the way).
I just wanted to warn all of you who are contemplating this extreme measure that you will have a very, very rude awakening on that Christmas morning.
-Sandy (much humbled)
Friday, July 20, 2007
Re: It's nearly Christmas...
Re: It's nearly Christmas...
Tomorrow is the big day for me. At least so far...
As I was getting dressed for work today it occurred to me that it was the last time I would be putting breast forms into my bra. I may need to get all new bras. At least some new ones. I will be bigger tomorrow...
It also occurred to me as I was putting my makeup on that tomorrow when I look in the mirror in the morning, it would be the last time I would see that face that had been staring back at me for 55 years. My new face will be much less masculine. It will be softer, more feminine. Not right away, of course. The first time I look at my face after I get back to my room I'll probably be horrified. No, scratch that... I WILL be horrified! I've seen pictures of other girls who have gone through this. I will look like I've been hit by a truck. And no makeup for at least two weeks. Otherwise there is a significant chance of infection. I don't want to endanger the doctor's good work by introducing some microbes that shouldn't be there...
If you girls have the stomach for it, I'll post pictures of the after effects.
But later, and not all that long after, I'll start to heal and the swelling will reduce, the incisions will heal, and the soft tissues will reform around my face.
Swan from duck, butterfly from caterpillar, dragonfly from nymph. I will emerge. The true me will be revealed.
I've been looking forward to this for months. Actually my whole life. It's one thing to dress and act as who I am. It will be a much appreciated boost to my self esteem to actually *look* like who I was always supposed to be, before all those nasty "y" chromosomes messed things up. At least mostly.
I brought my laptop along so hopefully I'll be able to post from the hotel where I will be recovering. If not I post when I get back. But it'll be a few days, regardless. I won't really feel like doing much more than sleeping for the first day or so.
-Sandy
P.S.
I just got a call from Dr Z telling me he would pick me up from my hotel at about 6:15 am tomorrow. He went over the instructions one final time. No food or drink after midnight. Wear something comfortable and loose. No makeup, no jewelry.
After all the preparations, this is now moving on its own. I can relax and flow with the tide of change that I have started.
I am at peace.
As I was getting dressed for work today it occurred to me that it was the last time I would be putting breast forms into my bra. I may need to get all new bras. At least some new ones. I will be bigger tomorrow...
It also occurred to me as I was putting my makeup on that tomorrow when I look in the mirror in the morning, it would be the last time I would see that face that had been staring back at me for 55 years. My new face will be much less masculine. It will be softer, more feminine. Not right away, of course. The first time I look at my face after I get back to my room I'll probably be horrified. No, scratch that... I WILL be horrified! I've seen pictures of other girls who have gone through this. I will look like I've been hit by a truck. And no makeup for at least two weeks. Otherwise there is a significant chance of infection. I don't want to endanger the doctor's good work by introducing some microbes that shouldn't be there...
If you girls have the stomach for it, I'll post pictures of the after effects.
But later, and not all that long after, I'll start to heal and the swelling will reduce, the incisions will heal, and the soft tissues will reform around my face.
Swan from duck, butterfly from caterpillar, dragonfly from nymph. I will emerge. The true me will be revealed.
I've been looking forward to this for months. Actually my whole life. It's one thing to dress and act as who I am. It will be a much appreciated boost to my self esteem to actually *look* like who I was always supposed to be, before all those nasty "y" chromosomes messed things up. At least mostly.
I brought my laptop along so hopefully I'll be able to post from the hotel where I will be recovering. If not I post when I get back. But it'll be a few days, regardless. I won't really feel like doing much more than sleeping for the first day or so.
-Sandy
P.S.
I just got a call from Dr Z telling me he would pick me up from my hotel at about 6:15 am tomorrow. He went over the instructions one final time. No food or drink after midnight. Wear something comfortable and loose. No makeup, no jewelry.
After all the preparations, this is now moving on its own. I can relax and flow with the tide of change that I have started.
I am at peace.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
It's nearly Christmas...
It's nearly Christmas...
At least that is the way I'm feeling right now.
In just about ten days, I check into Dr Zukowski's clinic. And about eight hours after that I will be *different*.
I don't want to say a new woman, because I'm already a new woman. But when I look in the mirror (after I heal) I'll see much less of the male markers left over from my battle with testosterone. And more of the softer more feminine face that has been trying to come out for so long. I won't have to wear makeup to de-emphasize my masculine traits like my Neanderthal brow bone, or squarish jaw.
I'll be able to wear makeup to better accentuate my feminine features. More to the point, I won't HAVE to wear makeup if I don't want to! Right now I don't dare go out in public with out makeup. I feel I am asking to get read if I do.
I'll probably have to learn different makeup techniques for my new face. I'm kind of looking forward to that.
The Christmas part is that while I know exactly what the good doctor has in store for me, I have no idea how I'm going to look.
For example, he said that part of the rhinoplasty/septiplasty will be to reduce the bony ridge of my nose and to shorten the end of the base and thin the width of the the of the nose. Making it more feminine looking. But I don't know how that will look on me. Or really what it will really look like. I've seen before and after pictures from the Dr. Z's book so I have an idea, but it isn't like you can go to the nose store and try on a bunch of different styles and have the one you like.
The same goes with the rest of the facial procedures. Also how will all of these changes REALLY make me look?
I trust the doctor and I am confident that he will do his best for me. As he said he doesn't try to fit his patients into a mold but rather work with them to give them the best possible results.
So on that "Christmas" morning in July I'll be anxious to see what I look like. Actually those first few days after surgery I'll probably look like the creature from the Black Lagoon. Maybe I should make that my new avatar! But still by then, I should get an inkling of what the final product will look like. Though for the first day or so, my eyes will be swelled shut so I won't see much.
The other procedure is tracheal shave. That will be a welcome change. I won't have to worry about that thing bobbing up and down when I talk.
And of course the breast augmentation. Or as Tink has so eloquently put it, being visited by the breast fairy. One of the things the doctor stressed was, buyers remorse. When he told me what size of implant he thought would look good with my frame, I was astounded. It seems like a huge amount. Like my breasts will end up in a different zip code than I am. The doctor stressed that virtually all of his patience who have opted for smaller size implants were eventually disappointed. The "buyers remorse" was that they wish they had gone with the recommendation. He explained that given my build and weight the size he recommended would look fine. Also when the implants are placed under the muscle, there is less protrusion so they will be a bit softer. So I'll be going with his recommendation.
You may have noticed I haven't mentioned the size of the implants. I did this on purpose. I really don't want this thread turn into a breast size debate. Once the procedure is complete and the swelling has gone down some, I'll post something about how my "girls" are developing and how I feel about them.
What I am looking forward to is not having to put breast forms on again. The one things that really gives my self esteem a hit are my small breasts. I feel like I'm being false having to put my forms on in the morning. Well soon that will be a thing of the past. And I look forward to it. (I'm hearing the Bob Hope theme song in the background...)
All told I should be out for about three weeks. By time I return to work, I won't be completely healed but enough of the swelling should have gone down so that I won't scare little children as I walk down the street.
Posted on: July 12, 2007, 12:13:40 AM
The clock is ticking down.
Actually the clock seems to have stopped! Just like a kid before Christmas...
An interesting feeling this time. Several weeks ago when I had my orchiectomy, prior to the operation I had more than a few thoughts questioning my motives and whether or not this was right for me.
This time there is no question, no hesitation. No C.L.O.D. fears. Just wishing Saturday would get here!
Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers as I go through the procedure. Thank you all!
-Sandy
In just about ten days, I check into Dr Zukowski's clinic. And about eight hours after that I will be *different*.
I don't want to say a new woman, because I'm already a new woman. But when I look in the mirror (after I heal) I'll see much less of the male markers left over from my battle with testosterone. And more of the softer more feminine face that has been trying to come out for so long. I won't have to wear makeup to de-emphasize my masculine traits like my Neanderthal brow bone, or squarish jaw.
I'll be able to wear makeup to better accentuate my feminine features. More to the point, I won't HAVE to wear makeup if I don't want to! Right now I don't dare go out in public with out makeup. I feel I am asking to get read if I do.
I'll probably have to learn different makeup techniques for my new face. I'm kind of looking forward to that.
The Christmas part is that while I know exactly what the good doctor has in store for me, I have no idea how I'm going to look.
For example, he said that part of the rhinoplasty/septiplasty will be to reduce the bony ridge of my nose and to shorten the end of the base and thin the width of the the of the nose. Making it more feminine looking. But I don't know how that will look on me. Or really what it will really look like. I've seen before and after pictures from the Dr. Z's book so I have an idea, but it isn't like you can go to the nose store and try on a bunch of different styles and have the one you like.
The same goes with the rest of the facial procedures. Also how will all of these changes REALLY make me look?
I trust the doctor and I am confident that he will do his best for me. As he said he doesn't try to fit his patients into a mold but rather work with them to give them the best possible results.
So on that "Christmas" morning in July I'll be anxious to see what I look like. Actually those first few days after surgery I'll probably look like the creature from the Black Lagoon. Maybe I should make that my new avatar! But still by then, I should get an inkling of what the final product will look like. Though for the first day or so, my eyes will be swelled shut so I won't see much.
The other procedure is tracheal shave. That will be a welcome change. I won't have to worry about that thing bobbing up and down when I talk.
And of course the breast augmentation. Or as Tink has so eloquently put it, being visited by the breast fairy. One of the things the doctor stressed was, buyers remorse. When he told me what size of implant he thought would look good with my frame, I was astounded. It seems like a huge amount. Like my breasts will end up in a different zip code than I am. The doctor stressed that virtually all of his patience who have opted for smaller size implants were eventually disappointed. The "buyers remorse" was that they wish they had gone with the recommendation. He explained that given my build and weight the size he recommended would look fine. Also when the implants are placed under the muscle, there is less protrusion so they will be a bit softer. So I'll be going with his recommendation.
You may have noticed I haven't mentioned the size of the implants. I did this on purpose. I really don't want this thread turn into a breast size debate. Once the procedure is complete and the swelling has gone down some, I'll post something about how my "girls" are developing and how I feel about them.
What I am looking forward to is not having to put breast forms on again. The one things that really gives my self esteem a hit are my small breasts. I feel like I'm being false having to put my forms on in the morning. Well soon that will be a thing of the past. And I look forward to it. (I'm hearing the Bob Hope theme song in the background...)
All told I should be out for about three weeks. By time I return to work, I won't be completely healed but enough of the swelling should have gone down so that I won't scare little children as I walk down the street.
Posted on: July 12, 2007, 12:13:40 AM
The clock is ticking down.
Actually the clock seems to have stopped! Just like a kid before Christmas...
An interesting feeling this time. Several weeks ago when I had my orchiectomy, prior to the operation I had more than a few thoughts questioning my motives and whether or not this was right for me.
This time there is no question, no hesitation. No C.L.O.D. fears. Just wishing Saturday would get here!
Please keep me in your thoughts and prayers as I go through the procedure. Thank you all!
-Sandy
Thursday, June 28, 2007
The Quilt
The Quilt
This past week, I had an opportunity to volunteer at our company's display of sections from the Names Project AIDS Quilt It was part of our LGBT Pride month celebration. The Quilt project was originally started in 1987 as a protest against the way in which people with AIDS were treated and many left to die without support by the healthcare industry.
A quilt panel is 3 feet by 6 feet and represents the size of a human grave. To date there are over fifty thousand quilt panels. It is so large that it can no longer be displayed in its entirety. Each one representing at least one human being. Think about that. The quilt only represents only about 17 percent of all the people just in the US of all the people who have died as a result of AIDS. Worldwide, these numbers are in the *millions*.
I am one that cannot comprehend the magnitude of such terrible numbers. But staring at a single quilt panel constructed to be the same size and shape as a human grave and then imagining a person lying on that spot. Then realizing that in some cases this panel is all that is left to remember the passing of that person...
A panel can be made up of any fabric, though they recommend long wearing cotton. They are decorated with pictures, buttons, or paraphernalia from the life of the person.
While I have lost a friend to AIDS, I contemplated making a panel for him, but I never did. Regardless, when I saw all those panels, and we only had a few hundred, I was moved to tears. The room took on the feeling of a wake. A somber place where lost friends can be remembered.
What devastated me were the panels for infants and children. Some less than a year old. I could not look at those panels without weeping.
To date there is no cure or vaccine for AIDS. All that is available is suppression therapy which involves a complicated regimented cocktail of expensive medications which can reduce the presence of the AIDS virus to virtual indictability. This adds years to the lives of those infected. But just because it is undetectable, it is still present and continues to wear away the immunity defenses of the human body.
An amazing coincidence occurred as well. One of our co-workers came to view the panel. He had lost two partners to the ravages of AIDS. He had made panels for each of them. And amazingly BOTH panels were on display. What made it even more miraculous was the each of the panels were part of different panel blocks (six panels to a block) so the chances of those two blocks being given to us to display is truly miraculous.
Please pray to all that is holy that the scourge of this disease is controlled soon. We have lost too, too many.
-Sandy
Sunday, June 24, 2007
All in a day's work...
All in a day's work...
The other day I was going into my office building and my mind was elsewhere. We're supposed to press our id badges against the reader to unlock the turnstile. I completely ditzed out and just barreled right into it. I hit the bar of the turnstile right at my hips and I was bent over double by the impact. Feeling *very* foolish I fished in my purse for my badge. The guard sitting behind his desk asked if I was alright.
I said; "Yes, I'm just a little ditzy today, that's all."
He said; "Well, just be glad you're not a man!"
I smiled sweetly at him and giggled.
He doesn't know *how* glad I'm not a man!
-Sandy
I said; "Yes, I'm just a little ditzy today, that's all."
He said; "Well, just be glad you're not a man!"
I smiled sweetly at him and giggled.
He doesn't know *how* glad I'm not a man!
-Sandy
Saturday, June 9, 2007
Before and After
Before and After
Julie and I were chatting the other night and we ended up talking about where we started from.
She mentioned the frightened woman who practically put her in a death grip the first time we went to dinner. I remember those days with amusement and chagrin.
But I also remember the person before that. The one who slumbers now.
I went back in my archives and did a little cut-n-paste and here are the results.
About the only thing in common between those two people is that they're both wearing necklaces.
The beard picture is from May of 2003, just before the inner turmoil in me started into its terminal phase.
The blond picture is from this past Be-All where I have been full time for about six weeks and happier than I have been in my life.
Now if I could have transplanted that beard hair to my head...
What do you think? Is there really that much difference between the two of us? I really can't say, I've been looking at that face for the last fifty five years so I'm too close.
I know many transsexuals would never want to see their old pictures again, let alone post them for public viewing, but I don't feel that way. My past is part of me and I can examine it without reliving it. That is a recent development though.
Enjoy, if nothing else for the giggle factor!
-Sandy
She mentioned the frightened woman who practically put her in a death grip the first time we went to dinner. I remember those days with amusement and chagrin.
But I also remember the person before that. The one who slumbers now.
I went back in my archives and did a little cut-n-paste and here are the results.
About the only thing in common between those two people is that they're both wearing necklaces.
The beard picture is from May of 2003, just before the inner turmoil in me started into its terminal phase.
The blond picture is from this past Be-All where I have been full time for about six weeks and happier than I have been in my life.
Now if I could have transplanted that beard hair to my head...
What do you think? Is there really that much difference between the two of us? I really can't say, I've been looking at that face for the last fifty five years so I'm too close.
I know many transsexuals would never want to see their old pictures again, let alone post them for public viewing, but I don't feel that way. My past is part of me and I can examine it without reliving it. That is a recent development though.
Enjoy, if nothing else for the giggle factor!
-Sandy
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